I know all about her
Who called?
Martin flinched so hard he nearly dropped his phone.
Nobody. Just a scammer
Claire kept slicing cucumber for the salad, not even glancing up. That was the third scammer to call this eveningan impressive tally for someone who used to complain that only his mum and the postman ever rang.
Martin shoved his mobile deep into his jeans pocket and made a bee-line for the fridge. He paused with the door open, staring at the shelves like he was searching for lifes meaning behind the Gouda. After thirty seconds of spiritual contemplation, he shut the fridge and came away empty-handed.
Dinnerll be ready in twenty minutes, Claire called.
Mm, alright.
He shuffled off to the lounge and immediately cranked up the telly. Loud, of coursefar too loud for their modest London flat. Claire smirked quietly and kept chopping.
The late nights started the week after the first dodgy calls. At first it was just one evening stuck at work, then two in a row, and by the end of the month, Martin was getting home at nine practically every night.
Crash deadline, hed explain, peeling off his coat in the hallway. Clients in bits, boss is tearing his hair out.
Right, Claire would say, popping his reheated dinner on the table and sitting opposite with a book. She didnt ask for details, or which project was in such danger that it needed all these extra hours. Martin always seemed to be bracing himself for an interrogation, rehearsing half-baked excuses on his walk home. But the questions never came, and he never quite knew where to file all these unused explanations.
Youre not cross? he finally asked one night, prodding his shepherds pie.
About what?
Well me getting in so late.
Claire just turned another page of her novel.
Work is work.
Martin nodded uncertainly, distinctly unsettled by how calm she was. People who lie always get twitchy when you trust them without question.
In December, the gifts began to arrive. Earringsnot for Christmas, or an anniversary, just because. Then a silk scarf from that boutique on the High Street theyd passed a hundred times together, which Claire had never once admired.
Youll like it, Martin offered, thrusting the bag at her. Thought itd go with your camel coat.
Claire unwrapped it, ran her fingers over the fabric. Lovely.
Do you like it, really?
Of course.
She tucked it away in the wardrobe beside all her other special itemsrarely seen in daylight. Martin looked elated, but with the uneasy brightness of a man whos just received absolution for sins he hasnt confessed.
Money started flowing like tea at a village fête. A flash new television even though the old one was fine. An overpriced coffee machine that Claire had only mentioned once, idly, months ago. Front row theatre tickets.
Claire accepted everything with easy grace and a polite smile, but inside, she was piecing together a puzzle: the scent of unfamiliar perfume on his collar; messages Martin read in the bathroom with the tap running; the sudden habit of setting his phone face down.
The work do was at a riverside restaurant. Claire wore her camel coat and the silk scarfMartin beamed when he saw her. His work mates were bustling about the buffet like overexcited hens at Easter. Someone had already started on the toasts.
Emma wandered over while Martin was off fetching drinks.
Could I borrow you for a second?
They slipped over to the window, away from the hubbub.
We barely know each other, Emma began, fiddling nervously with her handbag. My husband works in Martins department.
I know.
Its just She whipped out her phone and scrolled to the right photo. Last week, I was in town, and Sorry, I wasnt sure if I should show you.
There was Martin, embracing a dark-haired woman. The next photo: the pair of them snogging outside the restaurant.
Claire gazed at the pictures, her face unreadable.
I know its not really my place, Emma blurted. But I thought youd want to know.
Thank you.
Areyou alright?
Im fine, Claire replied calmly.
Emma looked flustered. I wont tell anyone. Not even my husband, I promise.
Id appreciate that.
Martin reappeared with two glasses of bubbly. Claire took hers and smiled, perfectly as usual. He didnt notice a thingfar too distracted by his hunt for a passing canapé.
They drove home in silence. Martin hummed along with the radio, while Claire stared out at the endless parade of streetlights, pondering the fascinating ability of people to dread exposure yet leave a trail of clues everywhere.
That was a good night, Martin announced cheerfully as he parked up. You have fun?
Loads.
She took her time. The following weeks unfolded like clockwork: breakfasts, evening meals, small talk that meant nothing. Martins work emergencies piled up. Claire kept her questions to herself.
The gifts kept coming. A gold bracelet for New Year. A spa voucher. Permission to splurge however she liked on the kitchen renovation. Claire accepted everything gracefully.
The bank transfers began in January. Not enough to grab attention£150 for massage, £200 for facialist, £300 for new boots.
Mum, Ive wired it over.
I see, love. Molly didnt ask what for. Claires voice down the phone said enough. Itll all be okay, sweetheart.
I know.
Claire made up stories for Martin about her extravagant beauty treatments and shopping sprees. He nodded vaguely, never even checking the numbers. Who cares what a new wellness session costs when guilt is so cheap?
Bit of a pricey purse, he commented, spotting the branded carrier bag in the hallway one evening.
Italian leather.
Looks sharp.
The bag had been on clearance for £30. The other £470 made its way to her mum. Martin never noticedby now, he didnt notice much beyond his phone and his ever-urgent meetings.
Molly tucked the funds into a separate account, all in her name. Claire never explained, but a mother always knows. Something was brewing. Something big.
Why not come stay for the weekend? Molly asked.
Not yet, but soon.
Claire chipped away at their joint savings account with methodical determination. English lessonsshe never enrolled. Fitness club membershipnever existed. A fancy dentistno need.
Martin heaved a sigh of relief every time, grateful to be paying penance in advance. Each transfer: a little indulgence, another stone in the wall between him and his conscience.
Need anything else? hed ask.
Ill order from that shop tomorrowbig sale on bedding.
Of course.
He never asked which shop, or what sale. Claire smiled to herself. Its easy to fool someone lost in his own fibs.
By the end of February, the joint account was down to £8.43. Claire checked the balance that morning while Martin was in the shower. She closed the app without a second thought.
That evening, she cooked his favourite fishcakes and laid the table in the lounge rather than the kitchen.
Whats the occasion? Martin asked, baffled.
Sit down.
He sat. Claire remained standing.
I know about her.
Martin froze, fork halfway to his mouth, turning white as a ghost.
About who?
Dont, Martin.
The fork clattered onto the plate.
But howwhere?
It doesnt matter.
He tried to stand, but his legs refused. Claire regarded him coolly, almost serenely. Shed been steeling herself for this for months. Now all she felt was exhaustion.
Claire, I can explain
No need.
But it was a one-off, I
Ill be filing for divorce in the morning.
Martin grabbed for the table edge like it was a lifeline.
Wait lets talk. We can
No.
Claire walked away to pack her bags. Martin stayed staring at his stone-cold fishcakes, the game now well and truly up.
Molly opened the door before Claire could even knock.
Stews on the hob. Beds made.
Claire hugged her mum at the threshold. For the first time in ages, her shoulders loosened, the tension draining out.
Thanks, Mum.
Eat first. Chat after.
The divorce went quickly and quietly. Martin didnt argue, never quibbled. The joint account was empty and the flat was hisin the end, there was nothing to split.
Claire signed the papers with almost giddy relief. No hard feelings. No vengeance. Just freedom.
Six months at her mums flew by: work, novels, rambling walks through those old familiar streets. Then the estate agent called with good news.
One-bedroom in the new buildbang on budget. Fancy a viewing?
Claire did.
Her mortgage sailed through in a weektop-notch credit, steady job, and, crucially, that down payment shed squirrelled away from their shared account.
She picked up the keys on a bright August afternoon, the heavy bunch weighing reassuringly in her pocket.
She spent her first night sprawled on an air mattress in her bare new living room. Furniture wasnt coming till the next day, but she didnt care. She lay gazing at the blank ceiling, thinking about how far shed come in a year.
No regrets. No what ifs. Just peacefresh paint and the smell of new beginnings.
Claire grinned into the darkness.
Come morning, shed make a fresh brew in her new coffee pot and sip it by her own window. Then shed start making the place into her homeslowly, one step at a time, exactly as shed dismantled her deceit-riddled marriage.
Patience and strategy. Theyd brought her hereand theyd take her wherever she wanted to go next.
