He Chose Not Me
Rachel lazily steered her trolley down the wide, empty aisles of Sainsburys. The faint aroma of just-baked rolls from the in-store bakery hung in the air, mingling with the sharper scent of citrus. Saturday, ten oclock in the morning: a time when most of the nation was blissfully horizontal, still snuggled up in bed or, for the overachievers, pretending to be productive around the house. In the shop, all was unusually serene. No panicked throngs at the tills, no shrill cries for Barry, were out of semi-skimmed! Just a handful of sleepwear-clad souls gently orbiting the shelves, half-awake and mostly just admiring the packaging.
Rachel relished this rare peace, the golden hour before the hungry stampede. Shed developed the good sense to do one big shop each week, thus avoiding the midweek desperation dash for forgotten garlic or emergency lasagne pasta. Her trolley already sported a neat arrangement of vegetablescrisp cucumbers, plump tomatoes, a sprig of fresh coriander. Bags of rice jostled with two packs of organic yoghurt. Rachel drifted along the aisles, glancing at her shopping list, mentally ticking things off (and making a note to actually buy salt for once).
Her gaze flicked boredly from one brightly-coloured box to another, idling, untilhang on. Was that? She blinked, then squinted. Yup. She knew that face.
Elliot? The name escaped at slightly more volume than intended.
Elliot was at the canned goods, standing tall and a little awkward, clutching the shopping basket in one hand while his elderly mother peered at various tins of tomatoes. She squinted at the labels, occasionally murmuring questions. Elliot leaned in, patient, answering softly.
At the sound of his name, Elliot spun round. His face went blank in confusionno doubt running through a mental Rolodex of forgotten acquaintances. Then a tight, somewhat forced smile.
OhRachel? Hi! I didnt expect to see you here. He quirked an eyebrow, as if Sainsburys was a secret society.
Rachels stomach gave an involuntary little flip. She pushed her trolley forward, not wanting to block the aisle, and replied breezily, No, its been ages, hasnt it? Hows life treating you?
Her voice sounded far too casualastonishing, really, given the mess of questions buzzing in her mind. Ten years, was it? More? They both seemed to have skipped a decade and upgraded their personalities.
Suppose its alright, Elliot shrugged. Same old. Work, home. You know the drill.
His mother, previously engrossed in the tightrope world of tomato paste, now turned slowly, subjecting Rachel to a thorough once-over, suspicious as a border collie. Her gaze said: who is this woman and how much of my sons life does she think she owns?
Mum, this is Rachel. We used to well, you know, years back, Elliot stammered, We talked.
Hmm. His mother was clearly more interested in the 30% off sign attached to the tins. Get those, Elliot. Theyre a bargain.
Obediently, he reached for the discounted tomato purée, stacking cans in the basket like a well-trained supermarket commando. Rachel, standing a little to one side, caught herself observing the pair with a sort of clinical curiosity. Years ago, this everyday partnership would have sent her hurtling into a cyclone of emotion. Now, only a muted interestlike re-watching an old soap.
Well, nice seeing you, Rachel nodded. She actually meant it. There had once been so much between themenough, perhaps, for a lifetime? And even if it hadnt ended peacefully, finding him healthy and still collecting multi-buy discounts with Mum was a weird sort of comfort. Her predictions of the past had, if she admitted it, all come truecomically so. All the best.
Same to you, Elliot replied, smile stretched just a tad too hard. Good luck.
Rachel nudged her trolley further down the aisle, scanning the cheese and sausage offers while part of her mind stuck on the peculiar thread of their brief encounter. Memory, ever helpful at this sort of thing, began showing short clips from the pastvivid, occasionally painful, still fresher than shed like to admit.
Those days had seemed so promising. Rachel and Elliot had been together a year. He wasthe exact man shed wanted: attentive, considerate, always ready with the right joke to diffuse a sticky moment. Theyd spent evenings cocooned in little cafes over cappuccinos and banoffee pie, gone to the cinema, seen everything from weepy comedies to gloomy art-house, endlessly criticising the popcorn and the acting. Theyd loved their aimless strolls through the city centre: chatting about nothing very much, or simply walking in companionable silence.
Back then, Rachel had half-convinced herself shed found her happily ever after. She pictured a future thick with laughter, warmth, shared holidays. In her mind, it all fit so easily, like matching socks from the dryer.
Naturally, life decided to stick its oar in.
The alarm bells in their relationship had been gentle, almost polite. Rachel agonised over the right moment to bring up the Big Conversationeventually landing it, rather hopefully, over dinner, candles flickering, plates of tasty lasagne.
Maybe we should try living together? she ventured, clinking her fork nervously. We already spend most weekends in each others flats, weve survived a couple of tricky holidays. Seems logical, doesnt it?
She let the sentence hang, brimming with all her hopes for a proper familysomeone to cook for, argue with about television remotes, wake up to, not just text from a lonely bed. What was so odd about wanting that? Some people got married after three dates.
Elliot hesitated. His knuckles tightened on the table. He gazed off into the middle distance, like a daytime TV detective. After a pause, he said, Rach, you know how it is Mums on her own. Shes used to me being home every night. Its just hard for her, you know?
No annoyance in his voice, just earnest worry. For him, this was genuinely difficult, a tangled loyalty knot.
Rachel sighed and tried not to roll her eyes. She respected his closeness to his motherof course she didbut still surely a grown man could manage a two-bedroom flat and the occasional Sunday lunch visit?
Were not planning to abandon her in a field, Elliot, Rachel said gently. You can see her, call her, cook her roast on Sundays but we need our own space. It’s healthy. What about a family of our own? Kids? Even a dogone without the spectre of your mother’s allergy!
Elliots analysis turned to the placemats. Softly, he said, She brought me up alone Im all shes got. I cant just spring it on her, that Im moving out. Shell get used to it soon. Promise.
No excuse, reallyjust a fact. For him, Mum was still the sun, and he wasnt ready to orbit another star.
Rachel saw he wasnt saying never, but he wasnt saying lets go pick out crockery together, either. She decided to leave it. After all, he did still talk about marriage and children, and at least he hadnt suggested moving in with Mummy. Living with Elliots mother would have meant spectacular, daily World Wars over chores, hygiene, and dusting routines. Not her idea of bliss.
She smiled and said lightly, Alright, no rush. Well chat again soon.
And on they went: banter, laughter, grand plans for the weekend. But underneath, a small, cold doubt: what if later never came?
Then Rachel fell ill.
No warning, really. One evening she was fine, just work-tired, curled up watching Bake Off repeats. Next morningwham. Her body felt glued to the mattress; every muscle ached, her throat was raw, her head thumped. Her skin blazed, and yet she shivered underneath her duvet.
With trembling fingers, she dialled Elliot. El, Im really, really poorly. Sore throat, fever can you come stay for a few days? I can barely move.
Of course, he said straight away. Stay in bed, Im coming. Need anything from Boots?
I think Ive got the basics
Alright, Ill be there soon.
True to his word, thirty minutes later he breezed in, loaded with oranges and a box of peppermint tea. Rachel, swaddled in a blanket, managed a wan smile as he arrived.
Thank you for coming, she whispered, instantly feeling a little safer.
Did you really think Id leave you here to decompose? he countered, giving her a gentle peck on the forehead, then morphing into Nurse Elliotthrusting paracetamol and tea upon her, smoothing her hair, refusing to let her do a thing.
He spent the whole day fussing. Water here, temperature there, herbal concoctions a-plenty. When Rachel dared wobble off the sofa, Elliot physically glued her down: Rest! Doctors orders! He even cooked chicken soup (sort of) and hovered until shed managed three spoons.
By the evening, Rachel did feel a touch betterthe feverd dropped, the burning eased. She lay half-asleep as he washed up in the kitchen, quietly congratulating herself on her taste in men. If this was what the future heldsticking together, facing things as a teamshed surely chosen well.
The morning, however, was a crushing anti-climax.
Rachel woke alone. Dragging herself upright, she saw all traces of Elliotbag, toothbrush and allgone. Her phone flashed blankly; no missed calls, no messages. A cold pit opened in her chest. She pressed call.
El, where are you?
Im back at home, he replied, apologetic but resolute. Mum got upset when I didnt come back. Her blood pressure shot up and she panicked. I couldnt just leave her, Rach.
For a second, she couldnt speak. Part fever, part fury.
Youve left your sick girlfriend alonewho can barely standbecause your mother got upset?
Its not like that, he fumbled. Shes on her own youll be alright, Ill pop over after work. Bring supplies. Whatever you need.
He sounded reasonableon paper. Only, to Rachel, this was the death knell for their relationship, broadcast in full HD.
Just two days with me, is that so hard? Weve talked about marriage, Elliot! Do you plan to run home to your mum after the wedding, too?
Well, well all live together obviously, he replied blithely, as if it were standard protocol. Whats the issue? I cant leave her, Rachel. Shes given up so much for me
No doubt, no compromise. He simply saw the world this way, and nothing would shift it.
Elliot, Rachel straightened up, cold clarity taking over. Youre old enough to have your own life now. We cant play at being kids forever. How do you expect me to live with your mother?
Itll be fine, he said, with the confidence of a man whos never had to share a kitchen. Well all be together. She needs us. End of.
Rachel searched for wordsbut found only tiredness.
Its not fine, Elliot. Its ridiculous. Youre not a child anymore. We need our own place, our own life. I cant and I wont live with your mother. End of.
He paused for a long, exasperated moment. Look, Rachtheres loads of girls out there, but Ive only got one mum. If I have to choose, Ill always pick her.
Rachel went very still. So that was thatshed always be second place. Not ideal.
In that case, she said, barely above a whisper, dont come back. Find someone who wants to be your mothers housemaid too.
He spluttered. Rach, dont be childish
Ive said everything, she replied, her voice so calm it was frightening. You wont ever have your own family this way, and youll only regret it when youre old and lonely.
He hesitated, waiting for her to give in, but she didnt. He awkwardly said goodbye, wished her a swift recovery, and added that hed be waiting for her to see sense when she was up and about.
Rachel snorted, suddenly finding herself shuffling to the window, curling up in her favourite chair with a blanket wrapped tightly around her. She ached everywhere, inside and out. She called her best friend, croaked out a plea for company. Being alone suddenly seemed utterly impossible.
And now, ten years later, here she was, scrutinising Red Leicester like a cheese connoisseur, but quietly grateful to her past selfnot for the pain, but the guts to walk away.
A lot had changed. It wasnt easy, not at first. But life slowly stitched itself together in a new, more satisfying pattern.
After Elliot, Rachel turned her attention to her career. She wanted more than just the steady paycheque. She enrolled on a masters course, juggling classes, work, not to mention nights in the library. All that effort paid offa degree, followed by a new job with far more potential. More responsibility, a bigger pay packet, and, crucially, a desk with actual sunlight.
Travel, always a distant dream, became her mission. First a quick city break to Prague; then, finally, basking on a beach in Turkey; and eventually, three weeks sifting gelato through Rome, Florence, and Venice. Every new passport stamp reminded her how big and exhilarating life could be, when you actually left the house.
The homefront brightened up too. One day, as she bought cat food for her neighbour, she was ambushed by a grey fluffball with massive eyesnow officially named Percy, the worlds chattiest cat, who greeted her home each night with determined yowls. Looking after Percy, she found, was an unexpectedly heartwarming anchor in her world.
She learned new things. The art of the perfect cappuccino (after several messy experiments and an investment in a decent Italian machine). Now, she wouldnt start her morning without the delicious satisfaction of a cup made just right.
But perhaps the most delightful change arrived when she met Tom. It happened at the Christmas dohe worked in the next department, a gentle, thoughtful sort of chap with a kind smile and a knack for listening when everyone else was desperate to talk about themselves. At first, just polite nodding in the corridor, then coffees together, then longer, weightier chats.
Their relationship unfolded gentlyno theatrics, no drama, just mutual respect. Walks through parks, debates about books, shared dreams. A year in, they moved in together; it turned out living with Tom was nothing but easy. Two years on, a small family wedding with just friends and a Victoria sponge.
Now Rachel stood in Waitrose, pondering cheese for a celebratory dinner, a little bubble of warmth inside her. They were expecting their first childa thought both thrilling and terrifying. She imagined regaling her child with tales of far-flung adventures, teaching the simple joys of coffee, cheese, and never, ever living with Granny.
She grabbed a block of Mature Cheddar, grinning. Life had turned out richer and stranger than shed ever dared hope, all those years ago when shed sat, staring out into the snow with a broken heart.
All good? Toms voice appeared from nowhere, comforting and familiar. He rested a hand lightly on her shoulder, making sure she hadnt drifted too far away.
Yep, Rachel turned, smiling, snuggling in ever so slightly. Warm palm, safe gaze, a permanently amused little crease between his eyebrowsinstantly, she was anchored in the now. Just got a bit lost in old memories.
Good ones or bad? asked Tom, not shifting his hand, simply curious, not prying.
Educational, mostly. She gazed out at the humming supermarket, smile half-wistful. Sometimes youre forced to hurt, to actually figure out what it is you want. And where you need to go next.
Tom noddedhe never pushed for details, never demanded secrets, just waited until she wanted to tell him. That, more than anything, was what she cherished: his refusal to rummage about in her emotions.
Shall we finish up? he squeezed her shoulder again. Im worried your homemade pie is losing its soul back at home.
Rachel burst out laughing. Toms passion for pie was as legendary as his knack for forgetting bin day.
Lets grab a chocolate cake for pudding, then! Your favourite.
They set off, meandering towards the cakes, bantering lightly about puddings and ingredients, no tension, just happy, relaxed partnership.
Meanwhile, back with the tinned goods, Elliot and his mother still circled the discounts. He picked up whatever she pointed at, nodded, never argued. She muttered about the merits of chopped vs plum tomatoes. He agreed. All as it ever was, all safe, all unchangedjust the way some people like it.
And so, life rolled on, trolley-wheels squeaking, into the delicious, unpredictable future.
