Well stay with you for a couple of months, my husband said, his mother nodding beside him. Then Ill have to call the constable, I replied.
Who would ever strip you of your flat? And when your exhusband turns up at the door with his mother and two suitcases, insisting he has every right to live therewhat would you do? Smile and step aside, or summon the courage to slam the door in their faces?
Emma still remembered the last day John walked out. It was an ordinary Tuesday; she was stirring a stew in her modest kitchen. He simply shoved his belongings into a bag and said, Im exhausted. Thats enough for me. Ive had enough.
He didnt bang the door, didnt raise his voice. He slipped away quietly, as if vanishing from her life entirely, leaving his mother behind.
John and Margaret had always been two halves of the same apple. Margaret had always mattered more to him than anyone else. To her, a daughterinlaw was merely a temporary nuisance. Your housekeeping leaves much to be desired, my son, she would remark whenever she visited. A family without children isnt really a family, she would addthough she never wanted grandchildren herself; she simply needed her son at her side, constantly. Maternal love, twisted.
Thirteen years together dissolved without a trace.
In the first months after he left, Emma waited for a call, a messageanything. Then she stopped. Strangely, it became easier for her.
A year of solitude taught her the rhythm of silence, her own pace, and the fact that no one winced at the scent of her favourite perfume, no one switched off her music midway, no one commented on her every move.
In those early months she woke feeling a void. Then she realised it wasnt emptinessit was freedom. Gradually she began applying makeup each morning, not for anyone else but for herself. She bought bright accent cushions and hung a painting of a tigerwoman that John had once dismissed as tasteless.
She grew to love her new life, to love herself.
After their wedding John had said everything was fine, that it was just the two of them. Yet when they visited friends with children, he would change. Hed play with the little ones, laugh, then fall silent.
At night they would lie side by side in bedno hugs, no kisses. Emma once suggested, Perhaps we should adopt? He just shook his head: I dont want someone elses child. A wall rose between themnot from fights, but from silence. Every evening in the same flat, at the same table, in the same bed, yet infinitely distant.
Back at university she had once refused to carry a pregnancy to term, fearing she couldnt juggle studies and a baby. She regretted it daily, especially after learning she would never be able to become a mother.
A knock sounded on a Sunday evening. Emma had just stepped out of the bath, wrapped in a large towel. Sundayher day, the one she allowed herself not to be a teacher, just a woman with foam on her face and treats in hand.
She threw on a dressing gown, opened the door, and froze.
There stood John, looking thinner despite a fresh haircut, and behind him, Margaret, her face triumphant, each hauling bagshim with his familiar duffel, her with two massive trunks.
Hello, John said, scanning Emma from head to toe. You look well.
She instinctively tightened her gown. His gaze was intrusive, as if he owned the right to judge.
Moms flat had a burst pipeeverythings flooded, he continued as if nothing had changed. Repairs will take two weeks, maybe a month. Well stay with you. After all, youre alone, and the flat is practically shared. Were husband and wife, after all.
A whole year had passed without a word, a letter, a call. And now he stood on her doorstep as if hed only left yesterday.
We wont be long, Margaret added. A couple of months at most, then well be on our way. You dont mind, Emma?
Tata, it was the first time in thirteen years Margaret had used a pet name. It frightened Emma more than anything.
She felt the old, compliant self stir, ready to say, Yes, of course, come in. Yet another self, the one who had learned the value of solitude, rose beside it.
No, Emma said.
What? John asked, as if he hadnt heard.
I said no. You will not live here.
Margaret stepped forward, wedging herself between Emma and the doorway.
Whats with that look, love? You think we like begging at your door? Weve got a force majeure. We have nowhere else to go. Besides, you owe John so much. He took you in after your problems others wouldnt have accepted you.
John, move your foot, Emma snapped, pressing her weight against the door. Im not joking.
Come on now, he pushed harder, the door swinging wider. Well stay a month or two and then well be off. Its no big deal. Step aside, love.
He reached for her shoulder. Emma recoiled.
Just try to touch me, he snarled.
Margaret seized the moment, shoving her trunks into the flat.
What a performance, girl? she hissed, eyeing the hallway. Your husbands back and you act like a witch. And that smell we need to air this place out.
Emmas cheeks burned with a mix of anger and shamethey had barged into her home and now dared to complain!
Out! Right now! she screamed. This is my flat! MINE! And you are not living here!
Calm down, John rolled his eyes. Youll wake the neighbours. Well just stay a couple of months; no ones taking your dump.
Yes, dear, Margaret said, shrugging off her coat. No need for hysteria. Better make us some tea.
Margaret let out a harsh caw: What? Have you lost your mind? Thats your husband! Your family!
Exhusband, Emma corrected. Certainly not family.
She snatched her phone from the bedside table and dialled 999. Her hands trembled, but her fingers hit the keys precisely.
Are you mad?! John lunged, trying to snatch the phone. What on earth are you doing?
Dont you dare! Emma shoved him back with her free hand. Im calling the police! Youve broken into my flat unlawfully!
Hello, she said into the handset, retreating to the living room. Someone has broken into my flat. Theyre trying to stay by force. Im frightened! Theyre aggressive! Please send someone!
She gave her address.
Youve lost it?! John shouted at his mother. Mom, did you hear that? Shes calling the local officer!
Out! Emma repeated, brandishing the phone like a weapon. The officer is on his way!
Are you nuts? Margaret clutched her trunks as if fearing theyd be seized.
This isnt my problem, John spat. Step out of the way, love.
Mom, do something! he wailed, trying to force the door.
The door swung open and Inspector Clarke stepped intall, in uniform, as if conjured. The hallway was still a scene of dispute.
Im Inspector Clarke, he introduced himself. Weve received a report of unlawful entry. Whats happening here?
His gaze swept over the three of them, settling on Emma, tearful and trembling in her robe. He recognised hershe was the girl from the third row of their old secondary school.
Emma? he said, surprised and a little ashamed.
Clarke? she breathed, both startled and embarrassed.
Whats going on? he asked, his face hardening.
This is family drama, officer, John interjected, forcing a smile. My wife got a bit carried away. We
She isnt my husband, Emma interrupted, voice shaking. We havent lived together for a year. They broke in by force and refuse to leave.
Shes lying, Margaret cackled. My son came home, he has the right! And what does she do? You see for yourself.
Are you registered at this address? Clarke demanded of John.
No
