Three Saturdays in a row, Emily had been leaving “for work.” What I saw turned everything upside down.
“Late again?” Oliver tries to keep his voice steady, but it wavers.
Emily freezes, her hand on her bag. She turns slowly, as if buying time.
“Yeah, the projects a mess. The boss is furiouseveryones scrambling.”
“On a Saturday? For the third week running?”
“Oliver, dont be childish. Work is work.”
She kisses his cheekquick, perfunctory, like a neighbour in the lift. She smells wrongsomething sweet, milky, not her usual perfume. He frowns.
“Em, can we talk?”
“Later. Everything later, okay?”
The door slams. Oliver stands in the hallway, fists clenched. Third Saturday. Third bloody Saturday shes left at dawn and come home exhausted, silent, a stranger.
He cant take it anymore. He grabs his car keys.
Emily steps out of the building, glances around. Oliver ducks behind the wheelthankfully, hes parked behind a van. She gets into a cab. He starts the engine.
They drive for ages. Not to the officehe knew that immediately. To some residential area on the other side of London. His heart pounds. Hes about to find out.
Emily gets out by a worn-down block of flats. Oliver parks further down, follows on foot. She disappears inside. He waits, counts the floors. Third. Left window.
Half an hour passes. Then Emily reappears. But not alone.
With a pram.
Oliver nearly stumbles. A baby? They dont have childrentheyve only just started talking about it, before these Saturdays began
The baby wails. Emily rocks the pram, murmuring something. She looks lost, unsure. Then a woman bursts out of the buildingOliver recognises Emilys younger sister, Lily. The same reckless Lily whos been married and divorced twice by twenty-five.
“Em, thanks! Ill be quicktwo hours max!”
“Lily, you said an hour!”
“Please, Em! I really need this!”
Lily dashes off, leaving Emily with the screaming infant. She pushes the pram back and forth helplessly.
Oliver steps back around the corner, leans against the wall. So, not an affair. A nephew. But why the secrecy? Why lie?
He hurries back to the car, drives home. He needs to beat Emily back. Needs to think.
At home, Oliver paces. He could just ask. “Em, where were you?” But shed liehe knows it. Just like hes been lying.
Because he has a secret too.
Sarah. The receptionist from the next department. Nothing seriousjust chats after work, coffee, the odd film. She laughs at his jokes, listens to him talk about coding, looks at him the way Emily used to. Before their life became “buy bread,” “pay the bills,” “pick up your socks.”
With Sarah, its easy. She reminds him of the Emily he fell for seven years agobright, carefree, happy to listen to him ramble for hours.
The key turns in the lock. Oliver jumps, grabs the remote, flicks on the telly.
“Hey,” Emily peers in. “Youve been in all day?”
“Yeah. Couldnt be bothered to go out.”
She heads to the kitchen. He hears water running, dishes clinking. He follows.
Emily stands at the sink, scrubbing a mug. Her shoulders slump, shadows under her eyes. A stain on her jeanslooks like baby formula.
“Em.”
“What?”
“Youre exhausted.”
She turns, surprised.
“Yeah. I am.”
“Fancy dinner out? That Italian place we went to for our anniversary?”
“Oliver, Im shattered. Lets just order pizza?”
He nods. Watches as she pulls out her phone, searches for the takeaway number. Her hands shake.
“Em, whats going on?”
“What dyou mean?”
“Youve been different. For weeks.”
She freezes. The phone slips from her fingers, clatters onto the table.
“Its just work, Oliver. So much work.”
“On Saturdays?”
“Yes! On Saturdays! Stop nagging!”
Her voice cracks. Shes on the verge of tears. He moves closer, hugs her. She stiffens, then melts, pressing her face into his shoulder.
“Sorry. Im just so tired.”
She smells of baby powder and something sourspit-up, probably. Oliver rubs her back, feels her heart racing.
“Em, if somethings wrong, tell me. Im not a stranger.”
She pulls away, wipes her eyes.
“Its fine. Really. Just a rough patch. Itll pass.”
The pizza arrives forty minutes later. They eat in silence, avoiding each others eyes. Emily showers; Oliver stays at the table, staring at his cold slice of ham and pineapple.
He could say it. “Em, I saw you with a pram. Is it Lilys?” But then hed have to admit he followed her. And shed ask, “Where were you on all those Fridays?”
What would he say? That he sat in cafés with another woman? That he told her things hed stopped telling his wife? That sometimes he wonderedwhat if?
His phone buzzes. A text from Sarah: “See you Monday? Ive got that film I mentioned.”
Oliver deletes it. No. They wont meet. Enough.
Emily comes out in a towel dressing gown, hair damp, face flushed. Sits beside him.
“Oliver, lets not go anywhere tomorrow. Just stay in. Us two.”
“What about work?”
“Sod work.”
He smiles. When was the last time she said that?
“Alright. Just us.”
She takes his hand. Her fingers are icy, despite the hot shower.
“Weve lost something, havent we?”
“What?”
“Us. Weve lost us.”
Oliver squeezes her hand.
“Well find it.”
They wake late. Emily makes pancakesfirst time in a year. Oliver brews coffee, slices fruit. They eat on the balcony, even though its chilly.
“Remember breakfast in Paris?” Emily says. “On that tiny terrace?”
“Where you nearly dropped a cup on some tourist?”
“I didnt nearly drop it, I justplaced it badly!”
They laugh. How long since they laughed together?
The day passes oddly. Like theyre playing newlyweds. They binge a series curled up on the sofa. Cook togetherOliver chops, Emily stirs. No talk of work, money, plans. Just the here and now.
That night, Emily falls asleep on his shoulder. Oliver studies her facerelaxed, peaceful. The frown between her brows is gone. She looks like the girl who spilled coffee on his shirt seven years ago. “Oh god, sorry! Let me pay for dry cleaning! Oror Ill buy you another coffee? To make up for it?”
He bought her coffee instead. Then another. Then dinner. Then a ring.
Emily twitches in her sleep, mumbles something. Oliver tucks the blanket around her.
On Monday, he goes to Sarah.
“Hi! Thought youd forgotten about the film”
“Sarah, we need to talk.”
Her face falls. Shes sharpshe gets it.
“Wife?”
“Yeah. No. I meanI cant keep doing this.”
“Oliver, nothing even happened between us.”
“Exactly. And it wont. Im sorry.”
She nods, turns to her screen.
“Go. Just go.”
He leaves. His chest feels heavy and light at once. He did the right thing. Long overdue.
Emilys not home. A note on the fridge: “Back by seven. Dinner in the oven.”
Oliver reheats the food, sets the table. Emily arrives on time but fidgety.
“Oliver, I need to tell you something.”
He stills. Here it comes.
“Lily has a son. Four months old. The dad bolted when he found out. Shes aloneno job, no money. Ive been helping. Looking after the baby while she interviews. Or just so she can breathe. Im sorry I didnt tell you. Thought youd be against it.”
“Why would I be?”
“Well weve been trying for our own. And here I am with someone elses. And Ive lent her money sometimes. From my salary,” she adds quickly.
Oliver stands, rounds the table, hugs her.
“Silly woman. Of course you help. Shes your sister.”
Emily sniffles, presses her face into his chest.
“Im so tired of lying. Of making up where Im going.”
“No more lies.”
He thinks of Sarah. Of his own dishonesty. But its different. It was nothing. Just chats. Just
“Oliver, what about you? Any secrets?”
His heart skips.
“No.
