Margaret walked into the little café for her interview and saw her husband sitting there with another woman.
Mom, why would you even think of doing this? Lucy stared at Margaret, her face the picture of someone about to jump out of a plane. Youre already fiftytwo!
Thats exactly why I have to, Margaret buttoned her grey blouse, studying herself critically in the mirrored wall. Im not going to sit at home waiting for my pension.
But Victors against it! He said
Your dad says a lot of things, Margaret adjusted her collar. I just want to feel useful. And the pay wont hurt, mind you.
Lucy sighed, the words catching in her throat. Margaret knew her daughter was worried, but the decision was made. After being made redundant from the library a year earlier, she had felt trapped at home, like a bird in a cage. Victor earned well enough in his construction sales job, but Margaret felt empty, useless.
Im off, she said, grabbing her handbag. The interviews at two.
Where at?
At The Mill café on Alder Street. They need an administrator. I called yesterday and they set me up with the manager.
Lucy nodded, but it was clear Margaret hadnt earned her approval. Time would tell.
Outside the air was springwarm, even though it was only midApril. Margaret walked briskly, nerves humming. It had been twenty years since shed last taken a job. The world had gone digitalonline resumes, recruitment sitesbut a plain printed ad in the Sunday paper with a phone number had caught her eye, and the call had landed her here.
The Mill was a modest, cosy place. The sign read The Mill. Margaret recognised it from countless passby glances, though shed never entered. Victor never liked cafés; he preferred homecooked meals.
She pushed the door open. Light flooded the room, the scent of fresh coffee and pastries hung in the air. A young waitress stood behind the counter, and a few patrons lingered at tables. Margaret scanned the room, waiting for the manager.
Then she saw him.
At a window table, with his back to her, sat Victor, his favourite blue shirt draped over his shoulders. He was unmistakablebroad shoulders, shortcropped silvering hair, a tiny mole on his neck.
Opposite him, a woman laughed, her red hair spilling over a light coat. She leaned close, her hand resting on the table almost touching his.
Margaret froze. Her heart dropped, a leaden weight crushing her legs. The woman was about thirtyfive, vibrant, her laughter ringing too close.
She stood at the entrance, unable to move. Thoughts tangled, her pulse pounded so loudly it seemed the whole café could hear it. What now? Approach? Turn and flee? Cause a scene?
Good afternoon, are you Margaret Hughes? a man in a crisp white shirt stepped forward, his voice calm. Im David Clarke, we spoke on the phone.
Margaret turned toward him, words catching in her throat. She managed a mechanical nod.
Come in, lets sit over there, he pointed to a table a short distance from Victors.
Maybe? Margaret began, voice trembling.
Itll be quieter, David said, already moving toward the seat. Margaret had no choice but to follow.
She chose a spot that kept Victor out of her sight, but the relief was fleeting. Inside, a tight knot tightened.
So, you want to be an administrator, David opened his notebook. Tell me about yourself. Where have you worked before?
Margaret tried to focus on his words, but the only chant in her head was, Victor here. With another woman. Victor. With another.
I I worked at the city library for twenty years, she heard herself say, distant. Head of the reading room.
Good people skills, David noted. Why the change?
Redundancy, Margaret swallowed. Her throat was dry. The library was restructured.
She glimpsed a waitress placing a cup at Victors table, heard the womans bright giggle again.
Do you have cashregister experience? David asked.
Yes, I do, Margaret replied, nodding, though she wasnt sure what she was agreeing to.
She needed to turn, to confirm it was really Victor, not some lookalike. But she knew it deep downher husbands posture, his scar on the left wrist.
Can you start next week? Davids voice snapped her back.
What? Margaret blinked.
Im asking when you could begin.
Just then Victors voice floated over from the other table, soft and gentle, something he hadnt said to Margaret in years.
Excuse me, Margaret stood abruptly, almost toppling her chair. I need the restroom.
She fled to the small washroom, the door closing behind her with a soft click. Tears, hot and bitter, streamed down her cheeks. She pressed her palms to the sink, staring at her reflection: fiftytwo, a few silver strands in her chestnut hair, lines at the corners of her eyes. Across from her, the young woman was radiant, beautiful.
Calm down, she whispered to herself. Maybe shes a colleague, a friend, a relative.
But colleagues never sat that close, never rested a hand so near his.
She splashed cold water on her face, steadied her makeup, and forced herself back to the table. The manager was still there, papers spread out, while Victors table sat empty.
You alright? David asked as she sat down, his tone gentle. You look pale.
Just a bit nervous, she forced a smile.
Itll be over soon. I think youre a good fit. Any questions?
She mechanically asked about shifts, salary, duties, nodding at his answers while the fire inside her threatened to erupt. She wanted to run home, to turn back time, to never have walked in today.
Excellent, David said, extending his hand. Well see you Monday at nine.
Monday, nine, Margaret repeated, shaking his hand and standing.
Outside, the street was quiet; Victor was nowhere in sight. Margaret drifted down the pavement, thoughts fluttering like caged birds.
Maybe it was just a business meeting. Victors job in construction required client lunches, after all. But why the café? Why the redhaired womans laugh, the intimate proximity?
She dialed Victors number. The line rang three times.
Victor? she heard his steady voice.
Hey, its me, she said, her own voice shaking. Where are you?
At work. Whats up?
Nothing just checking in.
Busy, love. Im in a meeting. Ill call you later, okay?
Did you already have lunch? she asked.
A short pause.
Yeah, at the office. I really cant talk now.
He hung up. Margaret stood on the pavement, the phone still pressed to her ear. He had just lied to herfor the first time in twentyeight years of marriage.
She sank onto a nearby bench, her legs giving out. Passersby hurried past, oblivious, while her world had been turned upside down.
She trudged home late, wandering the city, trying to collect her thoughts. Victor wasnt therehed said hed be late. Shed always taken his word for granted. Now every morsel of it tasted sour.
Lucy was already in bed, the flat quiet. Margaret brewed tea, sitting by the window, replaying scenarios in her mind. Confront him? Throw a tantrum? Pretend nothing happened?
Victor stumbled in past midnight, looking exhausted, a crumpled coat over his shoulders.
Cant sleep? he asked, surprise flashing in his eyes.
Cant, Margaret replied, clutching the mug. How was work?
Dead tired, he muttered, heading for the kitchen, opening the fridge. A nightmare of a day.
Meetings?
Yeah, one after another.
She watched his backthe same back shed known for decades, the same shoulders, the same hands.
Victor, she called softly.
He turned, a slice of ham in his hand.
Do you love me? she asked, the question hanging heavy in the air.
What whats that about? he rubbed his temple, bewildered. Twentyeight years together, a grown daughter, and you ask me that?
Just tell me. Do you love me?
He chewed, then said, Of course. Were a family. His tone was flat, not the warm reassurance shed been hoping for.
Youre odd today, he said, moving closer. How did the interview go?
Fine. They hired me.
Good then. Keep at it. Im off to bed, exhausted.
He retreated upstairs. Margaret stayed by the window, watching the night deepen, cars humming below, streetlights flickering. Ordinary life, except hers was no longer ordinary.
The next morning Victor left early, as usual. Margaret lay awake, staring at the ceiling, knowing she had to decide. She could not just wait.
She dressed and headed out, catching the tube without a destination. Eventually she realized she was heading to her friend Veras flat on the other side of townVera was the only person Margaret trusted.
Blimey, you look wiped, Vera greeted her with a hug. Whats happened?
Margaret poured out everything: the café, the redhaired woman, Victors lie.
What now? Vera asked.
I dont know, Margaret muttered, burying her face in her hands. Im lost.
Maybe it was just a work thing? Vera suggested.
No, I saw the way he looked at her.
Vera stirred her tea, quiet for a moment. You could have walked up to him then, right there.
I froze. I was terrified.
I get it. But what if we go back? See if hes a regular there?
Margaret looked at her, the idea sounding absurd but oddly compelling.
Like a detective? she said with a bitter smile.
Exactly. We need the truth.
The following day they returned to The Mill, sitting in a corner booth. Margaret felt foolish, like a schoolgirl spying on her husband at fiftytwo.
At precisely one oclock Victor walked in, alone. He chose the same window table, ordered a coffee, and pulled out his phone.
Jolly hell, Vera muttered under her breath. Hes waiting for someone.
Margaret watched, unnoticed, as Victor sipped his drink.
A few minutes later the door opened. The redhaired woman entered, a sleek coat over her shoulder, a bag slung across her body. She was striking, impeccably groomed.
She smiled at Victor, who stood to greet her, embracing briefly. Their handshake lingered, their fingers intertwined on the table, a tenderness Margaret hadnt expected.
Enough, Vera whispered, rising, but Margaret grabbed her arm.
Dont, she said, surprisingly steady. Ive seen enough.
They stayed a while longer, watching Victor and the woman laugh, share a pastry, pay the bill together, and leave arm in arm.
What now? Vera asked as the café emptied.
Now I know the truth, Margaret replied, standing. Thanks for being here.
Back home, Margaret fetched a large travel bag from the wardrobe and began packing Victors belongings methodically: shirts, trousers, socks, his razor, deodorant, toothbrush, documents. She placed each item with deliberate calm.
Lucy burst in from school, stopping at the doorway.
Mum, whats happening?
Your father has another woman, Margaret said without pausing, folding a pair of trousers. Im packing his suitcase.
What?! Lucys face went pale. Mum, are you serious?
The truth. I saw them together. More than once.
Lucy sank onto the bed. But maybe
No maybes, Margaret snapped, zipping the bag. I spent twentyeight years with this man. I can tell a lie when I hear one.
Victor returned that evening, noticing the bag in the hallway.
Whats that? he asked, eyeing the open suitcase.
Your things, Margaret replied, standing in the doorway. Take them.
He went pale. Olivia, what are you
The redhaired woman from The Mill. The lie. The affair.
Silence hung heavy. Victor stared at her, then slumped onto a chair in the hallway.
How do you know? he asked, voice hoarse.
I saw. I was there.
He buried his face in his hands. Its not what you think.
What then? Margaret pressed, her voice even.
Its not important, he mumbled.
It is, she said, eyes blazing. Who is she?
It doesnt matter, he whispered, his face twisted with exhaustion.
It matters to me, Margaret retorted. Your name is Marina. You met her at a conference six months ago. Shes a designer. It just happened.
Six months, Margaret repeated. Six months of doublelife.
I never meant to break us.
But you already have, she replied, stepping back. Take your stuff and leave.
What about Lucy?
Lucys an adult. Shell manage.
Victor stared at her for a long beat, then nodded, gathered the bag, and walked out. The door closed softly, the click barely audible.
Margaret stayed in the hallway, listening as his footsteps faded up the stairs, the front door shutting downstairs. Only then did she collapse onto the floor, leaning against the wall.
Lucy emerged from her room, sat beside her mother, and pulled her into a tight embrace. They sat like that for a long while, saying nothing.
A week later Margaret returned to work at The Mill, slipped into her uniform, pinned on her name badge, and took her place behind the counter, greeting the first customer with a practiced smile.
Life went on. A new routine. Her own.
