I was waiting for my wife, Olivia, to arrive at the little café on Garden Street where shed got an interview for a frontofhouse job. When she walked in, she froze. Shed seen me sitting at a corner table with a woman she didnt recognise.
Olivia, whos just turned fiftytwo, had been pushing herself lately. After being made redundant from the library a year back, she felt useless, stuck at home while I kept the bills coming in. Shed told me she wasnt ready to settle into a pensionfree life, so Id supported her decision to look for work again.
Why are you doing this, Mum? our daughter Emma had asked, eyes wide as if Id been about to jump out of a plane. Youre already fiftytwo!
Exactly why, Olivia replied, buttoning her grey blouse and giving herself a critical look in the mirror. Im not going to sit around and wait for retirement.
Dads going to object, Emma warned.
My dad says a lot of things, Olivia muttered, adjusting her collar. I just want to feel useful. And the extra cash wont hurt.
Emma sighed, but Olivia had already decided. Shed been pacing the house like a caged animal ever since the library cut her loose. I was earning well enough, but she needed more than money.
She grabbed her handbag. The interviews at two.
Where exactly? I asked.
At The Mill on Garden Street. They need a manager. I called yesterday, they set me up with the manager.
Emma nodded, but I could see she wasnt thrilled. It would take time for her to get my blessing, if she ever did.
Outside, the spring air was unusually warm for midApril. Olivia walked briskly, nerves buzzing. It had been twenty years since shed taken a job; everything now lived on the internet, but the ad had been a printed notice with a phone number. Shed called, theyd invited her in.
The Mill was a snug, welcoming place, its sign simply reading The Mill. Olivia had passed it countless times but never entered; Id always preferred homecooked meals to cafés.
She pushed open the door. Light flooded the room, the scent of coffee and fresh pastries filling the air. A young waitress stood behind the counter, and a few patrons lingered at small tables. Olivia scanned the room, waiting for the manager to greet her.
Then she saw me.
I was at a window table, back to her, dressed in my favourite blue shirt. My broad shoulders, the shortcropped greying hair, the little mole on my neckshe could recognise me anywhere. Across from me sat a woman, about thirtyfive, with long auburn hair and a bright laugh. Her hand rested on the table, uncomfortably close to mine.
Olivias heart sank, a leaden weight pulling her down. She stood at the doorway, unable to move. Her thoughts tangled, her pulse thudding so hard the whole café seemed to hear it. What should she do? Approach? Turn and flee? Make a scene?
Just then a man in his forties, wearing a crisp white shirt, appeared. Good afternoon, you must be Olivia Thompson, he said. Im Denis Peters, we spoke on the phone.
Olivia turned toward him, words catching in her throat. She gave a mechanical nod.
Please, have a seat over there, he gestured to a table a short walk from where I sat.
She tried to protest, her voice trembling, Maybe?
Itll be quieter there, Denis replied, already heading to the spot. Olivia had no choice but to follow.
She chose a seat with her back to me, hoping to avoid the sight, but the ache didnt lessen. Inside, everything clenched into a tight knot.
So, youd like to work as an administrator? Denis opened his notebook. Tell me about yourself. Where have you worked before?
Olivia forced herself to focus on his words, but all she could hear was, Victor is here with another woman Victor
I I was a librarian for twenty years, she managed, her voice distant. Head of the reading room.
Strong people skills, Denis noted. Why the change?
Redundancy, she said, her throat dry. The library was restructured.
I watched as a waitress placed a cup in front of the woman beside me, her giggle cutting through the room.
Do you have cashregister experience? Denis asked.
Yes, I do, Olivia replied, nodding without really understanding the question.
She needed to turn around, to be sure it was really me. But the certainty was theremy shoulders, my eyes, the molenothing could be mistaken.
Could you start next week? Denis asked, pulling her back to reality.
What? Olivia blinked.
Im asking when you could begin.
She opened her mouth, but before she could answer, she heard my voice, soft and unusually gentle, speaking to the woman. It was a tone I hadnt used with Olivia for years.
Excuse me, she said abruptly, rising so fast the chair nearly toppled. I need the restroom.
She darted to the ladies room, slamming the door shut. As soon as she was inside, tears crashed over her, hot and bitter. She stared at her reflection: fiftytwo, a few grey strands in her chestnut hair, laugh lines around her eyes, a face worn by years of patience. Opposite her, the auburn woman was fresh, vibrant, beautiful.
Calm down, she whispered to herself. Maybe shes a colleague, a friend, a relative.
But colleagues dont sit that close, and friends dont rest their hands on the same table as a husbands.
She splashed cold water on her face, brushed away the makeup shed tried to fix, and steadied her shaking hands. She had to decide whether to finish the interview or walk out.
When she emerged, Denis was still at the table, papers spread out. The window seat was empty; I and the woman had left.
Im alright, Denis said, noticing her pallor. You look a bit pale.
Just nervous, she answered, forcing a smile.
Dont worry. The interviews almost over. I think youre a good fit. Any questions?
She asked the usual things about schedule, pay£12 an hour, dutiesand listened mechanically while the fire inside her threatened to burn the whole building. She wanted to run home, to go back in time, to never have set foot in that café today.
Denis shook her hand. See you Monday at nine, he said.
She left the café, scanning the street for menothing. She drifted aimlessly, thoughts fluttering like trapped birds.
Maybe it was just business. I worked in a construction firm as a sales manager, full of client lunches and meetings. Why would I be at that café, a place I never liked?
She dialled my number. The line rang three times before I answered, my voice calm.
Hey, its me, Olivia said, her voice trembling. Where are you?
At work, I replied, a hint of irritation in my tone. Whats up?
Just hows your day?
Fine, I said, sounding a little annoyed. Im busy, love. Ill call you later.
Did you have lunch yet? she asked.
Yes, in the office, I said, short. I cant talk now.
She hung up on the pavement, the phone clattering to the ground. For the first time in twentyeight years of marriage, Id told her a straight lie.
She sat on a bench, legs shaking, while commuters hurried past. The world kept moving, but hers had just turned upside down.
That night I got home late. Id told Emma Id be delayed, as I always did. The flat was quiet. Shed gone to bed already. Olivia brewed tea, perched by the window, turning the possibilities over in her mind. Confront? Storm? Pretend nothing happened?
I returned just before midnight, weary, hair mussed.
Cant sleep? I asked, surprised to see her up.
No, she said, gripping her mug. How was work?
Exhausted, I muttered, opening the fridge. Its been a nightmare.
Meetings?
Just one after another.
She stared at my back, the familiar silhouette shed known for so long. I felt a sudden knot in my throat.
Victor, she called quietly.
Yeah? I turned, a slice of sausage in hand.
Do you love me?
The question hung heavy. I tapped my forehead, bewildered. What are you on about?
I just want you to say it. Do you love me?
I chewed slowly, then said, Of course. Were a family.
It wasnt the answer she wanted. Her voice was flat as she turned to the window.
Youre odd today, I said, trying to lighten the mood. How did the interview go?
It went fine. I got it.
Good then. If you want the job, go for it. Im off to bed.
I drifted to the bedroom, leaving her alone by the window. Outside, the spring night deepened, traffic humming in the distance. Life went on, but mine felt suddenly foreign.
The next morning I left early as usual. Olivia lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, knowing she had to decide something. She eventually got dressed and boarded the tube, not knowing where she was heading. She ended up at the station and took a train to the north, to her friend Veras flatVera lived on the other side of town, the only person Olivia trusted.
Blimey, what a face youve got, Vera exclaimed, pulling Olivia into a hug. Whats happened?
Olivia spilled everything: the café, the auburn woman, my lie. Vera listened, pouring tea.
What now? she asked finally.
I dont know, Olivia admitted, burying her face in her hands. Im lost.
Could it have been a business meeting? Vera offered.
No. I saw the way you looked at her.
Vera stirred the sugar, thinking. Maybe you should have walked up to him then?
I froze. I was confused.
Right. How about we go back? See if hes there often?
Olivia looked at Vera, the idea absurd but tempting.
Like a detective? she laughed bitterly.
Exactly. Find the truth.
The next day they slipped back into The Mill, sitting in a corner booth. Olivia felt foolish, like a schoolgirl spying on her husband after fiftytwo years.
At precisely one oclock, Victor entered alone, took the same window seat, ordered a coffee, and fished out his phone.
Bloody scoundrel, Vera muttered, watching him. Hes waiting for someone.
A few minutes later the auburn woman walked in, coat draped over her shoulder, handbag slung across. She smiled at Victor, he stood, embraced her briefly, then pulled a chair out for her. They sat opposite each other, hands touching the table.
Vera jumped up, ready to leave, but Olivia grabbed her arm.
No, dont.
What? You see whats happening, dont you? Vera whispered.
I do, Olivia said, her voice surprisingly steady. Thats why I dont need to.
They watched in silence as Victor and the woman laughed, paid, and left together.
What now? Vera asked when they were alone.
Now I know the truth, Olivia replied, standing. Thanks for being there.
Back at home, Olivia hauled a large suitcase from the wardrobe and began packing Victors thingsshirts, trousers, socks, his razor, deodorant, toothbrush, even his paperwork. She did it methodically, almost calmly.
Emma walked in from school, eyes wide.
Mom, whats happening?
Your father has another woman, Olivia said without pausing. Im packing his suitcase.
What?! Emma gasped, colour draining. Mom, are you serious?
The truth, Olivia snapped, zipping the bag. I saw them together. More than once.
Emma sat on the bed, bewildered.
No maybes, Olivia declared. I spent twentyeight years with this man. I know when Im being lied to.
Victor returned that evening, a bag in his hand, his face paling when he saw the suitcase on the hallway table.
Whats this? he asked.
Your things, Olivia said, standing in the doorway. Take them.
He looked at her, bewildered. Olivia, what are you talking about?
The auburn woman from The Mill. The lie. The affair.
Silence fell, deafening. Victor stared at her, then sank onto a chair.
How do you know? he whispered.
I saw it. With my own eyes. Not once, but twice.
He covered his face with his hands.
Its not what you think, he stammered.
What then?
Its not important.
It is to me.
Victors face was gaunt.
Her names Sophie. We met at a conference six months ago. Shes a designer. I never meant for this to happen.
Six months, Olivia repeated. Youve been living a double life for six months.
I never wanted to ruin our family.
But you already have.
Victor rose, tried to step closer, but Olivia stepped back.
Dont.
Olivia, lets talk. Maybe
No, she said firmly. No maybes. Pack your things and leave.
And Emma?
Shell manage. Shes an adult.
Victor stared at her a long moment, then nodded, grabbed the suitcase, and walked out. The front door clicked shut softly behind him.
Olivia stood in the hallway, listening to his footsteps fade up the stairs and the door closing downstairs. She sank to the floor, back against the wall, feeling the weight lift just enough to breathe.
Emma emerged, sat beside her, and wrapped an arm around her mother. They sat like that for a long while, saying nothing.
A week later Olivia started work at The Mill, pulled on a uniform, clipped on a badge, and took her place behind the counter, smiling at the first customer who walked in.
Life carried on. A new routine, a new chapter, her own.
