Her again? Emily froze, salad bowl in hand, watching as her husband nervously cancelled a call and flipped his phone face-down on the gleaming oak table.
Whos her? Oh Emily, dont start, James grimaced, as if struck by a sudden toothache. He reached for a clementine, peeling it methodically, his gaze fixed on the fruit instead of meeting hers. Its just someone from work, year-end is mayhem, the IT lad panicking about servers. You know what its likeeveryones in a tizzy.
Emily set the bowl of potato salad at the tables edge. The clink of crystal sounded distant. The sitting room was thick with pine, roast chicken, and the perfume shed spritzed on minutes before. The telly chirped with cheerful tidings of the year past, celebrities grinning beneath tinsel, but the festivities shed worked so hard to gather that morning were rapidly seeping away, like the fizz from an uncorked bottle of prosecco.
James, its ten oclock. Thirty-first of December. Whos calling about servers? Your phone said Grace. I saw it clear as dayIm not blind, thank you.
Her husband sighed, surrendering his half-peeled clementine, and finally met her eyes. The same old mix of irritation and guilt danced therethe cocktail hed been plying her with for half a year.
Well yes, it was Grace. So what? Shes allowed a problemisnt she? We were married for ten years, we have a son, even if he is grown up now. I cant just ignore her if she needs help.
Shes got a son of her own, twenty-two, perfectly capable. Emilys temper cooled into a hard sort of calm. But you have a wife, James. Me. And we agreed to spend this New Year together. Just us. No mothers, no girlfriends, and certainly no ex-wives.
Dont be so cold, Em! James shot up from his chair, pacing the room. Her bathroom pipes burst. Boiling hot water everywhere, cant shut off the valve, everythings seized up. The emergency plumber wont comeits New Years, people are already tipsy. Shell flood the neighbours, they just had their place done upcost them a fortune. Am I supposed to let her foot the bill and come begging to me, since her wages are laughable?
Emily stared at him, unmoved. The story might have been convincinghad it not been the fifth calamity this month. There was the time Graces car broke down on the A-road (and James dash off with a petrol can at midnight), or the curtain rail incident (she swore she’d faint atop a stepstool), or the sudden palpitations (James fetched the medicine, ambulance would never come in time).
Grace, his ex, was a woman unusually gifted at brewing a storm from clear skies, somehow always managing to entrust the rescue to her former husband. When Emily and James married three years back, Grace swore never to see him again. Odd how, once he got promoted and bought that shiny new Volkswagen, disaster began to court her doorstep.
James, Emilys voice smoothened out, cool and cutting, if you walk out that door now, dont bother returning.
There you go again! he cried, flustered. Im not going for drinks! Just a valve, a clamp, in and outforty minutes max. Ill be back by half eleven, easy. Wont even miss the first round of champagne. Its just how it is!
He was already eyeing his jeans, abandoned half an hour ago for comfortable clothes.
Shes got a son Emily pressed, exasperated. Let Tom sort the pipe.
Toms away camping in Wales, no signal! James pulled on a jumper. Dont be daft, Em. Ill Facetime you if you wantshow you the wretched pipe!
He rushed up, pecked her on the cheekbrisk, businesslike, like ticking a box. He still smelled of that fresh shower gel and the hope for a quiet life shed cherished three years running. She neither leaned in nor pulled away, simply stood, marble-cool amid the decorations.
I said, dont come back, she said, staring at a fixed point on the bookshelf.
Oh, come off it, drama queen! James called from the hall, zipping his coat. Dont come back, dont come back… Where else would I go? One hour and Im back. Leave those salads till Im home!
The front door slammed shut. The lock clicked. Silence fell, broken only by the TV presenters exuberant, And now, the song of the year!
Emily stood motionless for a minute more, then drifted to the window. Their flat on the first floor overlooked the street perfectly. She watched James dash out, slip slightly on the icy pavement, gaspingly clear the windscreen of his car, leap in. The engine screamed, headlights flashed, and away he spednot with the urgency of a man off to mend a burst pipe, but with the wild relief of a prisoner unshackled.
Emily turned back to the table: the potato salad, herring, prawn canapés, cold cuts shed spent all day preparing, the beef brisket simmering away. Shed spent two days on this meal. The fishing rod hed longed for lay under the tree, neatly wrapped, waiting.
She sank into a chair, eyes on her husbands phoneabandoned in his rush.
Her heart skipped. James never parted with his phone, not even in the loo. Grace must have made her sound so desperate hed left it behind.
The screen lit up. A message. Big letters: Grace.
Emily knew the code. James was painfully predictablehis son Toms birth year. Shed never checked his phone before; shed thought it beneath her. But tonight, her world unravelled and she deserved the truth.
She entered the four digits, opened the messages.
Graces latest, just now:
*”Sweetheart, are you on your way? Everyones gathering. Tom and his fiancée are here, waiting for Dad to join us. I baked your favourite Victoria sponge. The bubbles are chilling!”*
Emily read it twice. Tom and his fiancée are here. The same Tom who was off the grid. Everyones gathering. Victoria sponge.
She scrolled back. Nothing about a burst pipe. No mention of disaster. Instead, message after message:
*2:30pm. Grace: Are you sure you can sneak away? Tell her my blood pressures up or something.*
*2:35pm. James: Ill think of something. Emilys fussing, feels awkward. But truly, I want to be with you. Its boring hereshell have the sulks again.*
*3pm. Grace: Stop moaning. You promised. New Years a family affair. Were your family. Shes just attached to the flat. See you by eleven.*
Emily set the phone down. No tremblingonly a bright, ringing clarity. Like striding out of thick fog into a sun-strewn clearing.
Attached to the flat, was it?
The flat she and James shared belonged to her, left by her parents. James had arrived with a battered suitcase and debt on an old Ford, which shed helped pay off. For three years hed lived off her roof, never mending a thing in the flat, always helping his struggling old family.
Emily looked at the clock. 10:45pm. Barely over an hour till midnight.
She rose, went to the bedroom, and fetched the big suitcase on wheelsthe one from their honeymoon in Majorca. She set it on the bed, flung open the lid.
Everything needed to happen quickly and methodically. Shirts first. She swept them from hangers, dumped them in, not bothering to fold. Next: jeans, jumpers, T-shirts. She upended his sock drawer in one go.
The suitcase filled up fast. She zipped it, sat on the lid to fasten the latches.
Not enough. He had plenty left.
Out came the big black bin liners120 litres each. Into one, all his shoes: boots, trainers, slippers. Into another, jackets, hats, scarves. A third: all his toiletries from the bathroom.
She worked like an automaton, emotionless, only the goal in mindpurging her space of rubbish before Big Ben struck.
Her gaze landed on the rod under the tree. She ripped off the expensive wrapping; the graphite glinted under the fairy lights. Into the bag with the jackets it went, the tackle box from the balcony in after.
11:15pm.
Emily dragged the suitcase and the heavy bags to the corridor. Dressed, shod, angry adrenaline lending her strength, she heaved everything out to the shared landing.
Most flats had a shared entry with another, protected by a sturdy door, but she went right for the lift. She assembled the bags in a neat pile, propped the suitcase in front, and, as the finishing touch, placed his phone on top.
She paused, fetched a sheet of paper and a felt-tip, and wrote in large, forthright letters: HAPPY NEW YEAR! BEST OF LUCK TO YOU AND YOUR FAMILY! Taped it down.
Back inside, she locked both bolts, then, most importantly, flicked the chainno way to get in from the outside.
11:30pm.
Emily went to the kitchen and turned off the oven. The beef was perfect. She took the best slice for herself, added apples, poured a glass of cold sparkling wine.
The flat felt tranquil, newly aired. No need to serve, listen to complaining, or catch guilty glances.
She switched on the fairy lights to their gentle fade.
On the telly, the Prime Ministers message had begun. Emily watched bubbles rise in her glass.
This past year has been challenging the voice intoned.
Too right, Emily replied aloud. But next years going to be grand.
Big Ben chimed.
One. Two. Three…
She made her wish: never again let someone wipe their boots on her.
Twelve! The National Anthem. Fireworks boomed, painting the sky outside.
Emily sipped her wine and savoured a forkful of beef. Delicious. Exquisite.
Half an hour drifted by. Emily was having tea and her personal cake when the doorbell rang.
First, a short, confident ring. James, back as promisedperhaps Graces plan misfired, or maybe hed missed his phone, or felt an hour was sufficient for decency.
Emily didnt move. She sat in her armchair, reading, lamp on.
The bell rang again, longer, more insistent.
Then the clink of a key in the lock. Once, twiceno luck. Chain held fast. A rustle, keys jingle, another attempt.
Em! His voice, muffled by door and padding. Em, come on! Im here! Open up, the chains on!
Emily turned the page.
Em, are you asleep? Anxiety crept in. Open up, its me! Left my phone, can you believe it? Had to come backbarely helped at all, quick fix and I shot right back!
The lies poured out so easily that she almost smiled. What a talent.
With her phone, she found Jamess number (he hadnt spotted his phone outsidethe landing light was probably out, as usual). She thought to send a message, but didnt. She simply listened.
Emily, its not funny! Let me in! Im freezing out here!
A fist thumped the door. Again.
What are you playing at? I came back! We can still celebrate!
Suddenly, he fell silent. Maybe his eyes adjusted finally, or a neighbour came to smoke and switched on the landing light.
A pause of ten seconds.
What in the… are those my things? Em?!
Another frenzied pounding, now boots against the door.
Are you mad!? Whats all this? You cant do that! Open the door, this is my home too! Im on the lease!
Emily got up, approached the door, and, without opening it, spoke firmly:
Youre not registered here, James. Your temporary tenancy expired three days ago. We forgot to renew, remember? This is my flat.
Emily, please! Open up! Lets talk like adultsfor goodness sake! Is this because I popped over to help my ex?
I saw the messages, James. Your phones on the suitcase. Have a readsee what you wrote about your attachment to the flat.
A weighty silence fell. All she could hear was Jamess heavy breathing.
You you read them?
Your passwords Toms birth year. Youre as predictable as everand not too bright.
Em, theyre just words! I was calming her down! You know what shes like! I love you!
Leave, James. Go to your family. Theres Victoria sponge, Tom and his fiancée, a real celebration. Thats what you wanted. I want sleep.
I cant drive, its past one, had a drink at Graces! Taxis are impossible, fares are extortionate!
Not my problem. Youve got familyTom can fetch you. Or Grace will, as you used to fetch her.
Ill break the door down!
Try it. Ill call the police. My brothers on duty tonightyou remember how much he likes you.
James certainly did. Emilys brother, a police sergeant, had long warned her that James was a good-for-nothing.
You cow! he yelled. Bloody hell, three years wasted!
Take your things and go or Ill dump them all down the chute.
She heard a thump as he kicked the suitcase. A clatterthe suitcase overturned. Then rustling, cursing.
Youll regret this! he shouted. Youll come crawling! See who wants you at forty-five!
Happy New Year, James, Emily said, and walked to her bedroom.
She heard the lift groan, then dwindling footsteps.
Emily lay down, pulled up her feather duvet. She thought tears would come, or pain. Yet there was none. It felt as if shed just aired out her home, bundled up the rotting rubbish, chucked it clean away.
She fell asleep at once, to the distant echo of fireworks.
In the morning she was woken by the phone. Jamess mother.
Emily! Whats going on? squealed the voice, skipping formalities. James says you threw him out in the freezing cold! Hes at Graces, sleeping on her kitchen benchmy poor boy! How could you?
Good morning, Mrs. Adams, Emily replied, stretching luxuriously. Happy New Year.
What New Year? Youve destroyed the family! All over nothing but jealousy! He only went to help!
Mrs. Adams, Emily cut her off. Your sons been cheating with his ex. He called me an attachment to the flat. He lied right to my face. Ive returned him where he belongs. You should celebratea proper family reunion.
What? his mother choked. What messages? James says you made it all up!
Ill send you the screenshots on WhatsApp. You can read what he thinks of you, too. Theres something about the old bat with her endless advice.
The call fell silent. Emily hung up and blocked the number. She sent Mrs. Adams the choicest screenshots from Jamess thread with Grace.
Five minutes later the phone rang once more. James, this time from Graces mobileshe blocked that too.
Emily turned off her phone.
Her plans were set: visit the market in the city centre, wander through the winter stalls, try mulled wine, pick out a new perfume. Tomorrow shed ring the locksmith for new locks.
Life was marching on, promising a delicious new chapter.
