James, youve got it all wrong. Hes just a friend, my wife said, perched on another mans knee
I was standing in the doorway of our sitting room, unable to move as if my feet had fused with the parquet flooring wed chosen together three years agoshe had lobbied for dark walnut, I argued for light oak, so we settled for something in-between. Compromise. Forever compromise.
James, you dont understand, Alice said, sitting on the lap of a man in a sharp suit whose hand was casually resting on her waist. Hes my friend.
Friend. The word hovered there, out of place and ridiculous, like a Christmas bauble in the middle of July.
Id got home early. My meeting in the City had been cancelled at the last minute, so I figured Id surprise herpicking up her favourite pistachio éclairs from the little patisserie on Charing Cross. The box was still clutched in my handwhite with golden swirls. Strange how I remember that detail: pressing my fingers firmly into the cardboard, probably squeezing the cream filling flat inside.
James, let me introduce you. This is Oliver, she said as she stood up, smoothing down her blue skirtbrand new, never seen it before. Were working together on a project.
Oliver offered his hand. A firm, self-assured handshake. A flash of a watch on his wristno idea which make, but certainly not a high street special. He smelt of expensive aftershave, aged tobacco, andunmistakablyher perfume. Chanel No. 5. The one I gave her for her birthday.
A pleasure to meet you, he said in a deep, smooth voice. Alice speaks very highly of you.
Highly. Of a husband who counts beans in a building firm, who falls asleep in front of Match of the Day, snoring away, who never remembers to bring home flowers unless its someones birthday.
I I bought some éclairs, I said, and even to my own ears it sounded especially pathetic.
Alice took the box, not even glancing inside, and placed it on the coffee table next to two wine glassesred, nearly finished. The bottle was the fancy one wed promised to open for our anniversary. Which wasnt for another two months.
Oliver was just leaving, she said. She looked at him, and I saw something in her face I hadnt seen in ages. Her eyes sparkled, her cheeks flushed. Was shehappy? Isnt that right, Oliver?
He didnt hurry. He finished his wine, carefully set down the glass, grabbed his blazer from the back of our sofathe grey one with the scuffed arm where my favourite jumper left a mark.
See you tomorrow? he asked, but it didnt sound like a question.
Of course, Alice replied. We have our presentation.
Presentation. Project. Work. Words that shield anything behind them.
When he closed the door behind him, I was still rooted to the middle of the sitting room. Alice went into the kitchen, and I could hear the tap running as she washed glasses. Methodical, precise, as alwaysshes always hated dirty dishes.
Fancy a cuppa? she called as if nothing had happened.
I followed her. The kitchenbarely big enough to swing a cat, white cabinets that took her six months to choose after ploughing through every catalogue out there. The fridge was plastered with magnets from our trips: Bath, Brighton, Prague. Last trip together was two years ago.
Alice
Dont start, she said, not turning around as she polished a glass. Ive told you. Hes my friend. Were working on a project together, one that could change my career.
Since when do friends sit on each others laps?
And since when do husbands cause a scene about nothing?
Nothing. Id just caught my wife on another mans knee, and it counted for nothing.
Do you realise how that looked?
Now she turned. Calm facealmost cold. How did she manage that? Or had I just never noticed?
I know how it looked. But you have to trust me. Fourteen years, James. Fourteen years of marriage, and youd throw it all away just because you thought you saw something?
Thought. A handy wordit lets you pin the blame on someone else: You imagined it, thats in your own head.
I picked up my jacket.
Where are you going? Now, for the first time all evening, her voice betrayed a flicker of worry.
Out for some air.
James, dont. Lets just talk.
But I was already gone.
London at night greeted me with that sharp October breeze, tinged with the smell of fallen leaves. I wandered aimlessly, through familiar streets and faces I didnt know. Found myself outside the Old Oak station, where we first met, waiting for a mate in a coffee shop. Shed wandered in and asked if the seat opposite was free. That coffee shop shut ages agonow it was some trendy bar with a neon sign.
My phone rang and rang. Alice. Alice. Alice. I ignored the calls, then muted it after the fifth. I ducked into the first pub I came across, ordered a pint. Not my usual habit, not on a weeknightnot ever. But this day was different. The day your life comes apart, and youre sat in a grotty little pub with plastic chairs, drinking lukewarm lager from a cloudy glass.
Nearby, a group of uni lads were laughing over something on their phones. At the bar, a man about fifty was working his way steadily through the spirits, the barman keeping a wary eye. An ordinary evening in an ordinary pubapart from my world falling apart.
A text came through. Please come home. We need to talk. Alice.
Talk. Shed explain that I misunderstood, that Oliver really was a friend, shes working hard on her career, they had a glass of wine, and her sitting on his lapjust a silly accident, a misunderstanding.
And Id believe it. Easier that way, isnt it? Easier than facing the truth. Easier to keep your eyes closed, pretend normality. The old routinework, home, sofa, telly. The occasional half-hearted Saturday night sexjust another tick box, like brushing your teeth before bed.
I drained my pint and ordered another.
Woman trouble? the man at the bar called over. He slid onto the seat next to mine, reeking of booze.
Thats about right, I sighed.
Theyre all the same, mate. He waved his glass vaguely. Say one thing, do another. Mine swore shed never do me over. Then she moved in with the bloke upstairs. Hear them laughing through the ceiling, all night
His voice trailed off into his glass. I pitied himand feared him. Was that who Id become in a decade? Bitter, drunk, left behind?
I paid up and stepped out. It was near eleven. Where now? Nowhere felt right. To friends? What friends? Tom got married and moved to Surreysee him for a pint twice a year. The others, just work mates, only good for a quick drink after work, nothing more.
I hailed a taxi and recited my mums address.
Mum answered in her bathrobe, with curlers in her hairshe always does her hair old-school, even though Ive offered to buy her a proper styler countless times.
Jimmy? Whats wrong? She always knows when somethings offmothers intuition.
Can I stay tonight?
Of course, love. Come on in.
The flat smelt just like it had when I was a boyvanilla, cinnamon, something sweet and familiar. Mum fussed, fetching sheets, putting the kettle on.
Have you and Alice argued?
Something like that.
She didnt push. She gave me a hug, and suddenly there was a tightness inside me I hadnt felt before. I didnt crygrown men dont crybut I struggled to breathe as she stroked my head.
Itll all be alright, she whispered, just like she used to. Somehow it always works out.
But I knew it wouldnt. Something valuable shattered that night, something you cant fix or glue back together.
That night, back in my old room on the same sagging sofa bed, I stared at the ceiling. Posters of footballers still hung on the wallsMum never had the heart to take them down. My phone buzzed relentlessly. Alice called, texted. Later she messaged: If you wont come back and talk like a grown up, Ill have to make my own decisions.
Decisions. What did she mean? That Im a bad husband? That I dont trust her? That I make a fuss over nothing?
At some point towards morning, I dozed off, waking up past ten. The flat was quiet; Mum had gone to work, leaving sandwiches and a note: Eat, love. Well talk tonight.
I made instant coffee, had a shower. The stranger in the mirror had bags under his eyes, stubble everywhere. Thirty-eight, looking every day of fifty.
I avoided going home. Kept putting off the inevitable conversation. Did the shopping, cleaned a bit, fixed the dodgy door handle in the hallwaysomething Id promised to do for months.
Around four my phone rang, an unknown number.
James? A mans voice, unfamiliar. Its Oliver.
I froze, unsure what to say.
I need to meet you, he persisted. About Alice. Its important.
I dont
Please. Half an hour of your time. You know Café Kettle on Regents Park? Ill be there.
He hung up before I could respond.
I sat, stared at my phone. A trap? Did he really want to talk? What do you even say to the bloke who had your wife on his lap last night?
Curiosity got the better of me. So did anger. I wanted to look him in the eye, say my piece. Maybe even punch himthough Ive never hit anyone in my life.
Café Kettle was trendy, all exposed brick and houseplants. Oliver sat in a corner, untouched espresso in front of him. He nodded as I joined.
I dont see what we have to talk about, I began.
Its about Alice. And all this.
All of us? You showed up in my house, you
I know what it looked like, he interrupted. Its not that simple.
Then make it simple.
He leant back, hands rubbing his face. He looked tired, even defeated. Not the slick professional of last night.
Alice shes remarkable. Sharp, driven. As soon as she joined our firm half a year ago, she stood out. Not like thatnot the way you think. As a professional. She brought a project idea that could make us millions.
So?
So I became her mentor. Helped her out. We spent a lot of time together. Maybe too much.
He trailed off, and I understood everything in that silence. No words needed.
Youre having an affair, I said. It wasnt a question.
He nodded. Slowly, as if confessing a crime.
Two months. It started after a business trip up North. We didnt plan it. It just happened. Alice said you two had been like flatmates for years. That there was nothing left.
Flatmates. I tried to remember the last time she and I properly talked. Not about bills or the food shopbut really talked. A month ago? Six? A year?
So why are you telling me?
Because Alice wants a divorce. And I He gritted his teeth. I want to be with her. Properly. Ive got the flat in town, Im sorted. I can give her what you cant.
What I cant. Yachts? Diamonds? Trips abroad? I worked my socks off so we could have a comfortable place, so she could do her part-time courses without worrying about cash. And it still wasnt enough.
Did she put you up to this?
No, shell talk to you herself. But I thought I should tell you first. Man to man.
Man to man. He steals my wife and talks about honesty.
Get out, I said, standing up so hard my chair toppled. A few people turned, but I didnt care. Get out before I do something stupid.
I stormed outside, gulping air, my hands shaking. Every impulse screamed to go back, flip that table, hit him. My legs dragged me away instead, around Regents Park, past mothers with prams and old folks feeding pigeons. Life carrying on, as if nothing had happened.
I pulled out my phone and rang Alice. She picked up after the first ring.
James
Ive just spoken to your Oliver, I cut in. Hes told me everything.
Silence. Heavy and endless.
Where are you? she finally asked.
Near Regents Park. What does it matter?
Come home. We have to talk.
Whats left to say, Alice? Youve been cheating on me for two months. Two months lying, looking me in the eye
Not on the phone. Just come home.
She hung up. I gripped the phone so tight my knuckles went white. All around, the city buzzedcars, people, music from a window somewhere. All I felt was emptiness.
I didnt go home straight away. Wandered the streets for ages, idly looked at bookshop shelves, never reading a word. Sat on a park bench, watched kids play.
Alice was waiting in the kitchen when I finally arrived, dressed downjeans, plain white top, no makeup, hair in a ponytail. Like when we first moved in. Back then, we slept on a mattress by the radiator, couldnt afford proper furniture, but wed been happy.
Cup of tea? she asked.
No tea. Just tell me.
She sat opposite, hands folded on the table, no ring on her fingerwhen did she take it off?
I didnt want you to find out this way. I wanted to say it myself, at the right time
When? Next year? Never?
Please, dont shout.
Im not shouting! My voice had risen; I tried to pull it back. I just want to know why? What did I do?
You didnt do anything, she looked me square in the eye, sadness everywhere. Thats just it. You didnt do anything wrong. But you stopped doing anything right. We became robotswork, dinner, sleep. When did we last talk about anything real?
We could change that. We could
No, James. Ive tried. Suggested weekends away, evenings out, trips to the theatre. You always said you were tired, too busy, too skint. The right time never came.
It was the truth. Raw, unkind, but true. I always had an excusework, money, exhaustion.
So with him, its all different? I heard my voicesmall, beggarly.
With Oliver, I feel She faltered, searching for the word. He sees me. Listens. Gets excited about my ideas, my plans. With him, Im not afraid to be myself.
And with me, you were?
I just stopped trying eventually. Didnt see the point. You werent interested.
I wanted to protest, but couldnt. Id drifted, nodded along when she talked, thinking only of myself. Said no to anything new, always tired.
I can change, Alice. Please. Just one more chance.
She reached out, touched my hand. Its too late. Ive already made up my mind. I want a divorce.
There it was. That word I dreaded: divorce.
You want to be with him.
I want to start again. Whether its with him or notdoesnt matter. I cant live in this emptiness anymore.
She stood up, gazed out the window. Autumn dusk was crowding in.
You keep the flat, she said quietly. I dont want anything. Just my things.
Alice
Dont, James. Please, dont make this any harder. Ive made my choice.
I realised then that Id lost her for good. And there was nothing I could do.
Three weeks went by. Alice packed up and moved to a rented flat on the other side of town. Claimed she wasnt ready to live with Oliver just yetneeded space.
I went to work, came home to the empty flat. Mum rang sometimes, asking if I was alright. I lied, of course. She saw through it, but didnt push.
One evening, sorting through a cupboard, I stumbled across old photos. Alice and me at the seaside, young and tanned and beaming. She was laughing, clutching me, her eyes holding that spark I hadnt seen for years. When did it go out? I didnt have the answer.
I threw out the box of éclairs the day after that talk. Nobody was going to eat them.
That Saturday I went to the theatre for the first time in years. Alone. Bought a ticket to the play Alice had mentioned, ages ago. A woman in her forties sat beside me; we shared a brief smile during the intervalfor no reason at all.
I smiled back.
Maybe that was a beginning, rather than an ending. Maybe there was a new life where I could learn to listen, to pay attention, to feel again. A life where I wouldnt take people for granted.
And I let Alice go. It wasnt easy or quick. But I let her go. Love, I learned, isnt about holding on too tightly. Sometimes, its about letting go.
