That evening, Kate was late leaving the office, and when she returned home, she learned her husband had been with the neighbour.
I remember how Kate stepped off the bus just before nine, the roar of the old double-decker pulling away echoed through the chilly dusk. Instantly, her heel slipped into a crack in the pavement; she jerked her foot, groceries swinging in the carrier bag and pulling her shoulder down. Inside were a chicken, a pint of milk, and three onions. Nothing special just supper.
She crossed the estate, thoughts flitting from the report due Friday to the milk she probably shouldnt have bothered with Simon hadnt drunk it the past fortnight, muttering lately about heartburn. The streetlamp beside Number 3s door was out again. She ought to write to the council, but really, when had she ever actually done it?
The lift wasnt working she pressed eight and nothing lit up. With a sigh, Kate started up the stairs. On the fourth floor, someone was frying onions. On the sixth the stale tang of cigarettes. On the eighth, silence, and the neighbour opposite Nadias door slightly ajar, perfume curling into the corridor. That sweet, oriental scent; Kate knew it but didnt dwell on which bottle it was.
Entering her own flat, she set her bag on the kitchen counter and called:
Simon, Im home!
No answer.
She hung her coat, slipped off her shoes, glanced into the lounge empty. Even the bedroom nobody. The TV was off. The remote lay on the sofa atop the mornings haphazardly folded Times. All as usual.
Kate went back to the kitchen and started unpacking. Chicken into the sink, ran the tap. She texted Simon: Where are you?
Three minutes. Five. No reply.
She put a pan on the hob, poured a glug of oil, and began slicing an onion. Had started on the second when her phone buzzed not Simon, but her mother-in-law.
Yes, Mrs Harris?
Kate, is Simon home?
No, not yet. Why?
Oh, nothing. Hes not picking up, wanted to ask about Saturday.
Text him hell get back to you.
Of course, darling Dont be cross, I just
Im not, Mrs Harris.
Well, good. Lots of love.
Kate put down her phone and turned back to the onions. The oil was spitting. She tipped the onions in and stirred. They hissed, curled at the edges and browned.
The flats front door banged.
Its me, Simon called from the hallway.
Kate didnt turn.
Supperll be twenty minutes, she said.
She heard him kick off his shoes, head to the bathroom. Water running washing his face, perhaps. Then he came and stood in the kitchen doorway.
Been home long?
Half an hour, she said, Where were you?
At Nadias.
The spatula paused in Kates hand. She didnt turn. Stared at the frying pan.
Which Nadia?
The neighbour. Over the way. Her shelf came away, needed a nail knocked in, she asked for a hand.
Kate calmly began stirring again.
Took you a while with that shelf.
There was more than just the shelf. Her tap was dripping she wanted that sorted.
Did you fix it?
Yeah, sorted.
Well done.
Simon lingered.
Whats the matter? he asked.
Nothing. If the taps fixed, good. Go on, Ill call you when its ready.
He shuffled off. Kate turned the heat down, reached for the chicken and started chopping. The knife fought her all the way blunt, ought to be sharpened. She finished, tipped it into the pan, and set the lid on top. Her hands were steady. Her head, too, more or less.
Nadia Cole. Thirty-two. Divorced. Moved in opposite a year and a bit ago, worked at some design firm, Kate couldnt remember the name. Always well-groomed, dyed brown hair, hair always set. Jeans that hugged her. Bright smile, straight teeth. The first to say hello, Hi Kate! as though they were old mates, lifelong neighbours.
Kate thought: just a neighbour. Thats all.
She filled the kettle and set it to boil. Fetched the mugs. Only after setting out two did she notice habit.
Simon called from the lounge:
Kate, you know where the telly remotes got to?
On the sofa under the paper.
Oh, got it!
The TV started up news, recognisable drone. Kate gazed out the kitchen window. Only one of the estates three lampposts was lit. The kids were gone for the evening; just two teens sat on a bench with corner-shop coffees.
She picked up her phone and dialled a contact. Once, twice, three times.
Hello? Nadias voice, always soft, slightly surprised.
Nadia, its Kate. From opposite.
Kate! Hi! Everything alright?
Nothings wrong. Just quick one. Was Simon round at yours today?
A pause brief, but unmistakably there.
Yes, he was. He helped with the shelf. Heavy thing, needed a hand…
How long was he at yours?
Oh. Hour and a half, give or take. Why?
No reason. Good night.
Kate hung up. Hour and a half. A shelf and a leaky tap in all that time. She lifted the spatula, checked the pan, and turned over the chicken. The oil spat; she snatched her hand back.
Simon came into the kitchen.
Were you on the phone?
My mum, Kate said.
He plucked an apple from the bowl, ate where he stood, leaning on the doorframe. Kate set out the plates, forks, bread.
Simon, she said, back to him, Was that the first time youve been to hers?
Whose?
Nadias.
Well no. She wanted a lightbulb changed once. Told you about it.
You didnt tell me.
Did, Kate. You just cant remember. Was back in summer.
Did it take you an hour and a half to change a bulb then, too?
Simon lowered his apple.
Youre keeping tabs on me?
I asked her. She said hour and a half.
So what? We chatted a bit. She poured some tea. Is that a crime?
No, Kate replied. Nothing criminal.
She brought the pan to the table, using a potholder. The chicken was done. Plain old chicken with onions. Supper as usual.
Come, lets eat, she said.
Simon sat. She poured out, first him, then herself. They ate in silence, the TV buzzing about weather, some expected chill by weeks end.
Tasty, Simon remarked.
Mm.
Kate, he ventured.
What?
Are you angry?
She looked at him. He wore that look a mixture of guilt and injury, the face of someone accused of a thing he doesnt think hes done. Shed seen it so many times.
No, she said. Not angry.
Alright then.
He finished, washed up his plate, and went back to the lounge, the faint roar of football soon joining the room.
Kate sat, her own untouched plate before her. She lifted her fork, tasted a morsel, chewed, swallowed.
She found herself caught on the pause in Nadias voice soft, subtly surprised. The briefest pause but it was there.
***
Next morning, Kate woke earlier than usual. Simon was still dozing. She washed quietly, dressed, made coffee, drank it by the window. The estate was empty but for the caretaker in a hi-vis vest, sweeping round the bins.
At work, the thought hovered, not sharp, but persistent. Like a splinter you feel but cant see.
Lunchtime, her friend Helen rang.
How are you?
Im alright.
You dont sound alright.
Its nothing, Helen, just tired.
Simon?
Why do you always jump to Simon?
Because when your voice is nothing and you say youre fine, its always Simon.
Kate was quiet.
Tell me, how would you take it? she asked.
Take what?
Your husband, at the neighbours flat. Fixing shelves. Taps. Hour and a half. Having tea.
Helen paused.
First time?
Says it isnt. Was there in summer changed her bulb, apparently.
And the neighbour? Whats she like?
Divorced. Young. Attractive.
Kate.
What?
Have you told him?
Told him what?
What you think.
I dont know what I think. Maybe theres nothing. Maybe Im being daft.
Maybe, maybe not.
Exactly.
Talk to him properly, Helen said. Dont hint, dont skulk about taps. Say it outright.
Easier said.
I know. But you cant live ducking out of your own life.
I wont, Kate said. I wont.
That evening, Kate came home to find Simon already in. There was a loaf on the counter, kettle boiled, him scrolling on the sofa.
Hi, he said. You eaten?
At work.
I can make some pasta, if you want?
No, thanks.
She hung up her coat, went to the kitchen, drank water from the tap, then sat in the old armchair opposite the sofa.
Simon.
Hm?
Put the phone away.
He did, sensing the tone.
Alright.
I need to ask you something, properly this time. Please, answer truly.
Go on.
Is there something with you and Nadia?
He didnt answer right away. A second. Two.
No, he said.
You paused before answering.
I didnt I just
Simon. You did.
He stood, paced. Turned his back to her, looking out the window.
Theres nothing, Kate. I promise.
Then why the pause?
Because you say something like that and wait for me to panic. Its uncomfortable.
You keep going to her flat. Not just once. Drinking tea. An hour and a half, and you dont tell me.
I did about the bulb!
No, you didnt.
Kate, honestly, I said. You mustve forgotten.
She watched his back.
Turn round, please.
He did, face tense.
Theres nothing, he repeated. She needed help, I helped. Thats normal helping your neighbour.
Normal, Kate agreed. What isnt normal is not telling me.
I didnt hide it!
You did, Simon. She kept her voice steady. Yesterday, I asked it directly: Been to hers before? You only owned up when I pushed. You didnt say on your own.
He fell silent.
Alright, he said. I see how it looks. But honestly
But what?
Its just I like someone listening to me, thats all.
Kate blew out her breath.
So, youre saying I dont?
Didnt say that
You said nice when someone listens. Meaning not me.
Kate, youre twisting it
Im not twisting anything. Im listening now, Simon.
He slumped back onto the sofa, rubbed his face.
Youre always tired. You come home worn out, irritable. Ill talk, you wont catch a word. Its been like this a while. Im not blaming you. Just thats how it is.
So you turn to a neighbour?
I didnt run to her the way you mean it.
What way do I mean it?
You think theres something physical.
I honestly dont know, Simon. Thats why Im asking.
He looked at her.
Theres nothing physical. Never has been. Thats not what its about.
Then what?
He hesitated.
She just talks, you know? Asks about my day, sets her phone down, theres no TV droning on
Kate studied her husband. Twelve years. Shed known him twelve years, and here he was saying he went next door for a conversation.
I see, she said.
Kate
No, I do. Thank you for saying it.
Youre angry.
Im not.
Then why that face?
Im thinking.
She went to the kitchen, poured herself a glass of water, stood a moment, then came back.
Simon, can I ask one more thing, honestly?
Alright.
Are you in love with her?
He looked at her a long time.
No, he said. No, its not that.
What is it, then?
Its just a breath of fresh air. For half an hour, I feel like myself like someones happy to talk with me. Thats all.
A breath of fresh air, Kate repeated. You dont get that in your own flat you go across the hall.
Thats not what I meant
You did.
He rubbed his face, silent.
Kate thought, maybe he was right. She did come home worn out, unable to speak or listen. Work, commute, cooking, cleaning, reports and bed. Five nights out of seven. Shed assumed he noticed and understood that he didnt ask more because he saw the load. Evidently, he didnt. Or he did, and grew tired of it.
Alright, she said. Heres what I propose: you stop going there. Not on your own. Not without me. At all.
Kate, youre being silly
Its not silly. Thats my condition. In return, Ill make sure I really listen to you. Ill try, I promise. Deal?
Simon studied her.
Youd make a contract out of anything.
Its my job, she replied, dryly.
I wont go, then. If that matters so much.
It does.
He nodded.
Want pasta after all? he asked.
No. Lets have a cup of tea.
Alright.
He bustled at the kettle and mugs. From her chair, Kate watched the glow above the estate. Only one lamplight shone against the darkness.
She thought: perhaps this conversation isnt finished. That bit about someone actually talking to me that mattered. More than shelves and leaky taps. That needed thinking over it was about them, not the woman across the hall.
Simon returned with two mugs.
Mint tea, like you like.
Thank you.
He sat opposite, gripped the mug to warm his hands as he always did, even in June.
Kate, he said quietly.
Hm?
Im sorry.
For what, exactly?
For not telling you. I should have.
Yes, she agreed. You should have.
I didnt even realise how it looked. For me, it was just dropping by, helping, chatting. But actually
But actually, its a sign.
A sign of what?
That somethings wrong between us. That you cant talk to me, so you go to her.
He nodded, slow and grave.
Probably, yes.
Thats worse than anything physical, Simon. It means weve drifted apart, going through the motions.
You think so?
Im not sure. I just know we must do something, while we still can.
Like what?
Talk. Like you do with her, Kate said, gently not reproachfully. Lets do that. Proper talking. With each other.
We are, now.
Yes. Thats good.
Silence stretched between them as their tea cooled, snow dancing in the street outside. A woman hurried by with a small ginger dog, hastening home. The lamplight flickered and steadied.
You like her? Kate asked.
Nadia?
Yes.
He paused, not dodging the question, which she valued.
Shes pleasant. But no not like that.
Not in the way I mean?
No. Not that way.
Are you sure?
Kate, do you want me to say Im sure, or do you want the truth?
The truth.
Honestly shes nice. I like talking to her. But I love you. Thats different.
Kate held his gaze.
Alright, she said softly at last.
Alright what?
Alright, I trust you. For now.
For now?
Dont give me reason not to, and there wont be a for now.
He nodded.
Deal.
***
Three weeks drifted by.
Kate didnt watch over Simon, didnt treat it as an ordeal. Life went on work, suppers, chores. But she made an effort come evening. Put her mobile out of reach. Asked about his day, and listened. It wasnt easy she was always run ragged but she tried.
Simon noticed. She could tell, by the way he lingered after work, sitting near, not diving for the TV or his phone. Hed talk about things.
One night he said:
They want me on a new project complicated, but well-paid.
Tell me about it.
He did twenty minutes, about the project, the people, his fear he might not manage. Kate listened, properly, not nodding blindly.
Why afraid?
Its an unfamiliar field. Different skills.
But youve handled new challenges before.
That was when I was younger.
Simon, youre only forty-one.
Exactly.
Thats not old.
Nor very young.
Take it, she said. If youre nervous, all the more reason. Nerves mean you care.
He considered.
You think so?
I do.
He nodded, slow.
Alright. Ill think on it.
He took the project. Three days later, he came home flushed with the aftertaste of a tough talk with management.
I agreed, he said.
Good.
Nervous, though.
I know.
Kate, he looked at her, Thank you.
For what?
For telling me, that night. About talking. At first I just thought, well, shes cross, itll wear off. But then I saw you were right.
I wasnt angry.
I know. That was what frightened me most, to be honest.
Kate smiled.
It is scarier.
When youre angry, its obvious. When youre calm and say I trust you, for now well
Well what?
It means business.
Yes. It does.
After a moment, Simon asked, Does she worry you, still?
Who?
Nadia.
Kate thought. No, not anymore. What troubles me is that you felt lonely right here, and I didnt notice. Thats something I should have seen.
It wasnt your fault.
Maybe not. But I should see it.
Simon was quiet.
If you feel that again, dont go to the neighbour. Come to me. Even if Im swamped. Just say, Kate, I need to talk. Ill put the work away.
Truly?
Truly.
Promise?
I promise.
He nodded.
Good. Deal.
***
She ran into Nadia in the lift, early December. Kate had shopping bags, Nadia was just in from work, grey wool coat, big tote. Both stepped in together.
Hi, Nadia said, a twitch of nerves in her tone.
Hi.
On your way home?
Yes.
The lift inched upwards. Nadia stared at her phone. Kate gripped her grocery bag.
Kate, I just
No need, Kate said.
I only wanted to explain
Nadia. Kate met her glance, calm. No explanations needed. Its alright.
You sure?
Im sure.
On the eighth, the lift stopped. The doors slid open.
Have a good evening, Kate said, stepping out.
Nadia followed, keys in hand. Each to their door. Nadias closed softly, as always.
Inside, Kate set her bag down and kicked off her shoes.
Its me, she called.
Hello! Simon replied from the kitchen. I made soup, hungry?
Yes, said Kate.
She hung her coat, went through. The kitchen smelt of proper soup, bay and pepper. Two bowls already on the table.
Simon ladled out steaming soup, turned and smiled.
Cold out?
Yes, minus seven.
Sit, warm up.
She sat. Tried the broth hot, flavoursome, a little salty, as Simons always was.
Slightly salty, she remarked.
He grinned, Bit distracted.
With what?
The project. Mulling it over.
Hows it going?
Getting there cracked one problem today. Bit much to explain.
Tell me after supper?
He looked at her.
I will, he said.
Through the window, the first snow of the year dusted the ledge, the roof across the way, faint lines of white on wires. Kate watched it fall and thought: things didnt fall apart, not because there was no problem, but because shed chosen not to let them.
The spoon felt warm in her hand, soup hot. Across the table her husband sat.
For now, it was enough.
***
Another month on.
Kate realised she no longer thought about Nadia. Not out of effort simply, new concerns took priority. Simons project was in full swing, and he came home riding highs or lows. One evening, black as thunder.
Whats wrong? Kate said.
Client changed everything at the last minute. Three weeks work wasted.
Everything?
Almost. Back to square one.
He slumped in his coat at the kitchen table. Kate set a mug of tea before him. He gripped it, lost in thought.
Simon?
Mm.
Would you rather I try to talk, or just sit here a bit?
He gave her a look startled at the ordinariness of the question.
Just sit, please.
Alright.
She poured herself tea and sat. They said nothing, darkness thickening outside as snow fell, city snow destined to turn to slush by morning. Kate held her cup, mind quiet.
After ten minutes, Simon exhaled.
Thank you.
For what?
For not asking a thousand questions.
Youll tell me when youre ready.
I will. Later. Not now.
Alright.
She heated up dinner. He ate, slowly returned to himself. Over food, chatted briefly, not in detail. Kate listened. No unwanted advice, no Itll be alright. Just listening.
Youve changed, he said, out of nowhere.
How?
Less sharp, somehow Softer.
Ive always been like this.
No, he said. Not always. But now, yes.
Kate thought, he was probably wrong; she wasnt different, but shed learnt to pay attention. Not because she was different, but because shed been frightened. The night he said Just nice to talk to someone who listens, something shifted inside her quietly, without commotion. Just shifted.
She didnt voice that. Sometimes, silence was best.
That winter, Mrs Harris visited for a week. Kate had steeled herself, but it all passed peacefully. Mother-in-law arrived with jars of jam, a pair of winter boots for Simon wrong size, of course, so back they went. Evenings, they sipped tea and heard all about Aunt Margerys move to Brighton. Kate listened. Mrs Harris said one night:
Kate, you look beautiful, you know.
Thank you.
No, truly. Theres something about you lately Had a rest?
No, just work, thats all.
Well, good, she nodded, as older folk do. Means home is good.
She hadnt meant much the sort of thing old people say on instinct. But Kate realised suddenly, it was true. Home was good. Not perfect nothing is. But good.
In January, Nadia changed her locks. Kate heard the scraping, the men talking in the hall. They met again in the lift; this time Nadia smiled, easy and guiltless.
Evening.
Evening.
Chill out there tonight.
Yes, minus fifteen.
They parted on the landing. Kate opened her front door, pulled off her hat, rubbed her ears frozen.
Its me! she called.
Dinner? Simon called back.
Yes.
Potatoes are on.
Good.
She stepped into the kitchen. He was at the cooker, stirring a pot. He turned.
Your nose is crimson.
Bit nippy out.
Go on, warm up. Ill do the rest.
Ill stand here. Its warm.
She leaned by the oven. Watched him at work, humming something tuneless.
What are you singing?
No idea, it just comes out.
Nice tune.
Youre teasing.
No.
He glanced at her sidelong.
Truth?
Truth.
He turned back to the pot. She looked at his back broad, in his usual old flannel shirt, threadbare at the elbows. Shed seen that shirt about eight years now. Time for a new one, maybe.
Simon, she said.
Hm?
Nothing. Just
Just what?
Just its good, thats all.
He turned to her carefully, like he wanted to understand.
Yes, he said. Its good.
Potatoes boiled on the hob. The snow whirled outside. In the kitchen, it was warm, rich with the smell of food and home.
Twelve years, she thought. And, God willing, many more.
