Your things are by the lift. Take them and go.
“Charlotte, why have you locked the door?” hes smiling, but there’s a flicker of worry in his eyes.
“Ive changed the locks, Simon.”
“Why?” The smile drops from his face.
“Because Ive finally wised up. Your things are by the lift. Pick them up and leave.”
Charlotte is forty-six; her “Romeo” is fifty-one. Youd think the age gap is idealboth grown adults, plenty of life under their belts, no rose-tinted specs.
Shes been through a divorce, long since got over it, while Simons had two tragic breakups. On the surface, a perfect pair.
He used to heap praise on Charlotte all the time:
“Smells wonderful,” he’d say, biting into her pie. “Youre magic, Char.”
“Its just an apple tart,” shed protest, blushing. “Eat up while its hot.”
The only thing that truly got to Charlotte was Simons obsession with reminiscing.
“You know, I used to cook for Lucy too. On weekends. Made pancakes. But she said I was just wasting flour.”
Imagine! “Simon,” she used to say, “you only ruin good ingredients.”
And when we split, she even took those frying pans.
Said: “Mum gave them to me, dont you dare touch.”
“How small-minded,” Charlotte would tut. “Arguing over frying pans…”
“If only it were just frying pans!” Simon would give a bitter smile. “She took everything.”
She transferred the flat into her name while I was away on work trips, trying to put food on the table. Gave the car to our soneven though hed just turned eighteen and didnt even have a licence.
I walked out with just my sports bag. Literallypants, socks, and a toothbrush.
Charlotte always felt so sorry for him in those moments. How could someone throw you out on the street like a stray dog after years together?
“And the second?” shed quietly ask, though she knew the story back to front.
“We twigged pretty fast it wasnt meant to be. Four years wasted. Her mother got involved, it all went to bits. There was nothing to split but the debts and our daughter. I left it all. No point dragging it through the courts, is there? Im not like that. Ill earn it all again.”
“A real man,” Charlotte thought respectfully. Noble. Most blokes wouldve fought over every fork; he left with his head held high.
“Ive got a big flatplenty of space,” shed suggested at the start, three months ago. “And theres my place in Kent. Could do with a mans touch.”
“Char, I feel awkward,” Simon looked away. “Im no freeloader. Ill get a decent job, sort myself out…”
“Dont be silly. Its easier together.”
It took a while, but he moved in. He really didnt have muchbattered suitcase, a couple of suits past their best, and his old laptop.
Charlotte wrapped him in care. She wanted him to realise not all women are out for blood.
Her ex-husband, Philip, was a straightforward splitjust ran out of love. They sold the house, bought two smaller places. Philip paid maintenance, sent a card for Christmas every year. Brief, but reliable.
Simon was different.
***
The first red flag waved after a month.
A small thing, but…
Simon said he was nipping to B&Q for some wardrobe hingesthe door was hanging off.
“Ill be quick,” he called from the hall. “Back in a flash.”
He was gone four hours. Came home empty-handed.
“They were shut, honestly!” he complained, kicking off his shoes. “Doing a stocktake or something. I mustve tried every shop in towncouldnt get the right size anywhere.”
Charlotte frowned.
“B&Q? On a Saturday? Theyre open all hours.”
“Thats what I thought! But there was a note on the door.”
“How odd,” Charlotte shrugged. “Never mind, well try another day.”
That evening, as she took out the waste, she bumped into Mrs. Green from next door, heaving a huge bag marked B&Q.
“That looks heavy,” Charlotte said, holding the door.
“Ohdont get me started. Queue was enormous! Theyve got discounts todaytook me ages to get to the till.”
Charlotte stopped in her tracks.
“Discounts? I thought they were shut for stocktake?”
Mrs. Green looked at her as if shed gone mad. “Stocktake? Not a bit of it! Buzzing in thereI just left.”
Charlottes heart was pounding as she headed home.
Why lie, Simon? If you visited a mate or fancied a walk, just say so! Why invent a closed shop?
Simon sat in front of the telly, flicking through channels.
“Simon,” she tried to stay calm, “I saw Mrs. Green, shed just come from B&Q. Said it was packed.”
He didnt even turn. His face didnt shift an inch.
“Yeah? Mustve finished by then. When I went, had a signClosed for 15 minutes, technical break. Waited half an hour, nothing. Tried the marketno luck there either.”
“You said stocktake. And you said you went all over town, though.”
Finally, he turned, brows knitting in genuine confusion.
“Char, why split hairs? Stocktake, breakwhats the difference? Didnt get the hinges, Ill go tomorrow. Why make a fuss?”
Charlotte instantly felt guilty. She was nitpicking, wasnt she? Maybe he got muddled. Men never pay attention to details…
A week later it repeated. He said his old boss called for an interview.
“Big firm, Char. Decent pay!” he gave her a thumbs-up. “If I get it, well be set. Ill buy you a fur coat!”
He came home that night looking like thunder.
“Well?” she asked.
“Oh,” he waved a hand, “it was a joke. Promise the world, offer peanuts and slave hours. I told them to hire some other mug.”
“Shame,” she sighed. “Youll find something else. But who calleda Mr. Walker?”
“Mr. Walker?” Simon frowned as if lost.
“You saidyour old boss.”
“Oh, him… No, it was Steve, the assistant manager. We were close. Walkers retired ages ago,” he quickly turned and washed his hands.
Charlotte could swear hed told her three days before how Mr. Walker shook his hand and promised to invite him back.
“Is my memory dodgy?” she wondered.
That night, as Simon slept, his mobile pinged.
Charlotte would never snoop, but the message flashed up in bold on the screen:
“Babe, when are you paying back that loan? Its been a month. Not nice to be ignored.”
Number not saved.
***
Over breakfast, she said,
“Simon, you got a message last night. Someone wants you to settle your debt.”
Simon choked on his toast, turning scarlet.
“Must be some mistake. Probably spam. So many scammers now…”
“They called you ‘babe.'”
He laughed, forced.
“Its got to be a scam! They know how to get your attention. Dont worry, Char.”
He snatched up his phone and nervously deleted something.
“Listen,” he changed the subject, “about my daughter Sarah from my first marriage… Shes in trouble.
The little ones ill, needs pricey medication. She phoned me up in tears.
Cant say no, can I? Bloods blood after all.”
“Of course,” Charlotte said, wary. “How much do you need?”
“About five hundred pounds. Just until I get paid. Youre a star if you can help out!”
She eyed him.
“Five hundred… Whats wrong with the boy?”
“Um, severe allergy. Ended up in hospital. Hes on rehab now.”
“I see.”
She fetched the cash from the drawer.
“Here you go.”
“Thanks, love!” he leapt up, kissed her cheek. “Youre a diamond. Sarah will be forever grateful.”
All day, Charlotte couldn’t shake a sick feeling. It wasnt the moneymoney comes and goes.
It was the instinct that Simon was lying.
She remembered the old tablet he left on charge by the sofa. He never really used it, all his messaging was on his phone.
She knew the passcodefour ones. Simon had once asked her to find a film on it.
Charlotte opened his social media, dug into his messages. Found his conversation with Sarah Simonson. His daughter.
Short and grim.
“Dad, when are you paying the child support? Mum says shell go to court. Weve got nothing left and you just spin us stories!”
Yesterdays date.
Simons reply:
“Sarah, bear with me. Working a mug for a few quid right now, Ill pay up soon. Stop hassling me.”
Charlotte sat down, numb. “A mug”… Thats her. Shes the mug.
She scrolled further. A chat with Emily xx.
“Babe, where are you? Im waiting. You promised to bring it today.”
Simons reply:
“On my way, love. Just squeezed some cash out of my old bird, said it was for the grandkid. See you in an hour.”
Charlotte put the tablet down. Her hands were steady. An icy clarity set in.
All those “vicious exes” who took him for a ride. All those “failed marriages”… There never were any villains.
Just regular women, who were sick of his endless lies. He wasnt a victim, he was a leech.
She got up, fetched the black bin liners from beneath the sink, strode to the bedroom, and opened his wardrobe.
Suitshangers and allstraight into the bin bags. Shirts, socks, the lot.
She packed up his razor, toothbrush, chargers. Three bursting bags at the door.
Changed the lock barrelthankfully her DIY was up to scratch and there was a spare in the toolbox from the last renovation. Twelve years makes you handy at anything.
***
Simon turned up three hours later, jiggled the key, tried his luck.
Charlotte opened up, chain on.
“Char, why are you locking me out? And the locks playing up…” His smile was back but his eyes gave away his nerves.
“Ive changed the lock, Simon.”
“Why?” His grin crumpled.
“Because your ‘mug’ finally got wise.”
Simon froze.
“What are you talking about? What mug?”
“The one youre playing for cash. Your things are by the lift. Take them and go.”
“Are you mad? Who put this idea in your head? I was at my daughters! Dropped off medicine for the grandson!”
“I read the messages, Simon. With Sarah. And with Emily.”
He fell silent. A flash of fear, then cold anger in his eyes.
“You what… You went on my tablet? Who gave you the right? Thats private! Thats my life!”
“My life is my home and my purse. Youre a thief and a liar.”
“Sod you!” he snapped. “As if I needed you! Old baglived with you out of pity! Thought at least you could cook, but even your stews rubbish!”
“Take your stuff, Simon. And count the five hundred as fee for the show. I got off cheap.”
He tried to retort, but Charlotte shut the door in his face.
A muffled kick and a stream of abuse came from the hall.
She wandered into the kitchen. His mug sat on the table, cold tea scumming the bottom.
Charlotte tipped it out, chucked the mug in the bin. His favourite bowl followed.
Her phone buzzedher ex-husband Philip.
“Hi, our daughter said the taps leaking at your place in Kent. Ill be passing Saturdaywant me to pop by and look? How are you?”
Charlotte smiled.
“Hi. Do pop by. Apple tart and tea await. Im fine, really. Better than I thought.”
***
The leech troubled her for a while.
He showed up most eveningssometimes weeping, begging forgiveness; sometimes banging on the door, yelling threats.
A call to the police sorted itSimon finally got the message.
And all Charlotte wanted was peace, quiet, and… solitude.
