You can leave. Its easier with Mum, blurted James on their third wedding anniversary.
Emily froze mid-stir, the wooden spoon hovering over the bubbling beef stew. Steam curled toward the ceiling, and for a moment, the only sound was the faint gurgle of the pot. Had she misheard? But the silence in the kitchen was so thick, his words hung in the air like an unwelcome guest.
What did you just say? She set the spoon down deliberately and turned.
You heard me. No need to play dumb. Mum and I were fine before you, and well be fine after, James replied, flipping channels as if discussing the weather.
Emily sank onto a stool. Three years ago, shed moved into this house as a hopeful young bride, dreaming of Sunday roasts and a family of her own. Jamess mother, Margaret, had greeted her with thinly veiled disapproval, but Emily had believed time would soften things. Shed wanted to belong.
James, whats brought this on? Her voice betrayed her with a wobble.
Oh, dont act clueless, he scoffed. Youre just in the way. Mum was right from the start. Why do I need a wife who only complicates things?
Margaret materialised in the doorwaylike shed been eavesdropping from the hall. A smug little smile played on her lips.
Jamie, love, dont get yourself worked up. Your blood pressure, she cooed, resting a hand on his shoulder. And Emily, dear, perhaps it *would* be best if you stayed with your parents for a bit. Clear your head.
Emily looked from Margaret to James. He nodded in agreement, and something inside her snappednot with a bang, but like a soap bubble popping.
What have I actually done wrong? she asked, eerily calm.
Margarets eyes narrowed. Look at you! The house is a mess, your cookings mediocre at best, and worst of allyouve come between us. My boy used to confide in me. Now? Nothing.
Mums got a point, James chimed in. Life was peaceful before. Now youre always nagging, always unhappy.
Emily remembered last night: asking James to hang a curtain rail. *Too tired.* Yet when Margaret needed a shelf fixed? Hed leapt up like a golden retriever.
I nag? She laughed humourlessly. James, the kitchen taps been dripping for *three weeks*. You couldnt spare five minutes.
Oh, the tap again! He waved a hand dismissively. Mum never bothers me with trivial nonsense.
Because I do it myself, Margaret sniffed. But this one expects to be waited on hand and foot.
Emily stood and began clearing the table, movements mechanical. When shed met James, hed seemed so independenta factory foreman with his own car and flat. Sure, he lived with Mum, but that wasnt unusual, was it?
You know what? She stacked plates with quiet precision. I *will* leave. Maybe youll breathe easier.
Quite right, Margaret approved. Young people rush into marriage without a second thought.
James said nothing, eyes glued to the tellysome late-night film credits rolling, though Emily doubted he saw them.
Ill just finish dinner, she added. Waste not, want not.
The mundane words rang oddly final, like the last note of a song no one had listened to.
She ladled stew into bowls, sliced bread, set out butter. Moving slowly, as if memorising the ritual. The last supper in this house.
Eat while its hot, she called.
James slouched to the table. Margaret took a deliberate sip.
Needs more salt, she declared.
Emily ate in silence, listening to the grandfather clock in the halla hideous heirloom with a chirping cuckoo. It had kept her awake for months after the wedding. Now it was background noise.
Where will you go? James muttered suddenly.
My parents, for now. Then well see. Ive got my job. Ill manage.
Margaret pursed her lips. Birminghams a long commute. Hardly practical.
Ill cope.
For the first time, Margaret looked uncertainas if it dawned on her Emily might actually *leave*.
Dont be daft, James blurted. Its just a row. Couples have them.
Emily studied him. Did he *really* think this was a tiff about burnt toast?
James, *you* said I should go.
Wellheat of the moment! Blokes say stupid things.
Heat of the moment? She snorted. Felt pretty calculated to me.
As she loaded the dishwasher, James hovered awkwardly.
Em stay. Well figure it out.
Figure it out? She turned, drying her hands. Im tired of figuring. I want a proper marriage.
Whats *improper* about us?
Oh, I dont knowmaybe that Ive lived here three years and still feel like an intruder?
Margaret bristled. I treated you like family!
Emily laughed softly. Margaret, youve never once thanked menot for cleaning, cooking, *anything*. But oh, youll critique my laundry folding.
James paced. Youre blowing this out of proportion.
Am I? When was the last time we went outjust us?
He floundered. The cinema last month!
With *your mother*. Who picked the film.
She wanted to see it!
Mum wants, Mum doesnt Emily sighed. What *I* want never seems to matter.
Margaret shoved the bread bin shut. Dont pin this on me. I raised Jamie alone! And now you want to shove me aside.
I want *a husband*, Emily snapped. Not a man who needs his mums permission to breathe!
Silence. The cuckoo clock chimed half-eight.
So thats it? James mumbled.
Thats it.
He nodded, sank back into his chair, and scrolled his phone.
Emily left the kitchen. Upstairs, she dug out the suitcase shed arrived with three years ago. It held her clothes easilytoo easily. How little of herself shed brought here.
James lingered in the doorway as she zipped it shut.
Dont rush off, he tried.
Three years isnt rushing, James.
He helped with her coat in the hallway, hands unsteady.
Em
Dont. She hoisted her bag. Youll be happier this way.
The door clicked shut behind her. Outside, autumn air bit her cheeks. A cab idled at the kerb, the drivera grandfatherly typetook her case.
Train station? he guessed.
Going home.
As the car pulled away, Emily phoned her parents.
Mum? Its me. Can I come stay a few days? Yes. Alone.
No questions. Just Well leave the light on.
Oddly, she didnt feel shatteredjust light. Like shrugging off a heavy backpack after a long hike.
You know, she told the driver, I think Im doing the right thing.
He smiled in the rearview mirror. Heart knows best, love. Lifes long. We learn.
The train left in ninety minutes. Plenty of time. Emily bought a tea at the station café, watching commuters dart past.
Her phone rang. James.
Where are you?
Platform 3.
Come back. Well talkjust us.
James, the trains boarding.
Youre *really* leaving? Over one argument?
She almost laughed.
Over three *years* of arguments. Goodbye, James.
She hung up. When he called again, she let it go to voicemail, sliding headphones on instead.
The train was punctual. Her seatmate, a silver-haired woman, peered at her.
Going home, love?
To my parents. For a bit.
Ah. Im visiting my granddaughter. Missed her rotten. She patted Emilys hand. Youll sort yourself out. Pretty thing like you?
Emily stared out at the blur of city lights fading into countryside. Starting over at thirty was terrifying. But staying? That was impossible.
Dawn streaked the sky as the train pulled into Birmingham. Her mum hugged her tight, no interrogation.
Hungry? Ive made pancakes.
Over breakfast, Emily explained. Her dad scowled; her mum sighed.
Knew that man-child was trouble, she muttered. A grown bloke tied to his mums apron strings? Recipe for disaster.
Well. Its done.
And what now?
Emily shrugged. Job hunt. Flat hunt. Live.
For the first time
