James Carter slammed his plate of steaming stew down on the kitchen table, the fragrant broth curling up like a accusation. He reached for a crusty loaf of bread with a flourish, as if the simple piece of grain were the only thing that could fill the empty space in the house.
Milly Hayes stood at the sink, a damp kitchen towel clutched in her hands. Inside her, a tight coil that had been winding for two years since their wedding day began to tighten again. At first Jamess references to his exwife Imogen were occasional, almost innocenta shirt not ironed properly, a curtain in the wrong shade, a botched holiday plan. But in recent months the ghost of Imogen had settled permanently in their twobedroom flat, hovering between the television and the sofa, whispering into Millys ear with Jamess own voice.
James, Milly tried to keep her tone even, though her words trembled, if you dont like it, you can cook it yourself or go to the diner. Ive been simmering this stew for two hours, just like my grandmothers recipe.
James rolled his eyes. Here we go again. Im only giving you constructive criticism so you can improve. Imogen never took offence; she learned. She was a brilliant housewife, a real firecracker, not youso calm youre practically a pond, but at least the house always gleamed.
The pond metaphor, Milly thought, hanging the towel on a hook. She was, indeed, a quiet personpatient, a librarian who loved silent evenings with a book. James had once said he was looking for a safe harbour after a tumultuous tenyear marriage to Imogen, which hed called a volcano of passion and tantrums. Now the harbour felt like a swamp.
If she was such an ideal housewife, why did you two split? Milly asked softly, sitting opposite him.
James stopped chewing, his brow furrowing. The question clearly struck a raw nerve.
Its we just didnt click. She was fiery, demanding. Always wanted moreBuy the coat, take a holiday, renovate the kitchen. I grew weary of the pressure. With her I felt alive, like a man who could move mountains. With you its flat, like a bog, and the stew is dry.
He stood, leaving his plate halfeaten, and drifted to the living room, shouting, Make me a cup of tea, extra sugarlifes already bland enough.
Milly remained at the kitchen island, watching the stew cool, feeling not anger but a clear, cold clarity. She realized she was exhausteddeadtired of competing with a phantom, of proving she was worthy of love not because she cooked better than Imogen, but simply because she existed.
James missed his former wife, idealising the past and forgetting the broken dishes and arguments, remembering only the rich stew and starchtight collars. If a man suffered so, perhaps a loving woman should help.
The next day Milly took a halfday offnot to lounge, but to investigate. Their town, a modest market town in Yorkshire, made it easy to track down Imogen, who was an active socialmedia user.
Imogens profile was a collage of bright dresses at the cottage, karaoke nights with friends, complaints about a leaking tap and the real men being scarce. Her status read: Actively seeking happiness.
Milly smirked; the puzzle was falling into place.
That evening James returned from work, still grouchy about the packed bus and the fact they hadnt bought a carImogen, Milly thought, could have saved every penny. Milly met him with a smile.
James, dinners readycutlets are on the table. I need to talk.
What about? he asked, poking at a cutlet. Another fight?
No, Ive been thinking about what you said. Maybe Im not as good a housewife as Imogen. I could learn a thing or two from her.
James swallowed hard. You serious?
Absolutely. I found her old phone number in the atticseems you forgot to copy it. Maybe shell share that stew recipe, or the cabbage pie you keep talking about.
James set down his fork, a spark of curiosity mixing with suspicion. Shes proud, might not reply.
Maybe not. But I saw her pageshes lonely, could use a hand.
James straightened, puffing out his chest. Shed be lost without a man. She can cook, but fixing a tap or hanging a shelf? Thats always been my job. Ive got golden hands, she always appreciated that.
Milly nodded. Our bathroom taps dripping, but youre tired, I get that. Maybe shes flooded over there. Could you give her a call? Just as a courtesy. Ten years together, after all.
James hesitated. The idea of calling an ex was uncomfortable, yet Millys suggestion stroked his ego. Just to ask how shes doing, right?
Exactly. Friendly.
He called half an hour later from the balcony, Milly listening through the thin walls. His voice shiftedfrom tentative to perky, then oddly triumphant.
Guess what, Milly? Imogens curtain rod broke in the bedroom. Shes sleeping under a streetlamps glare, cant find anyone to nail it down. I told her Id think about itbut
Go for it! Milly urged. Cant leave a woman in trouble. Its Saturday, go help.
Dont you mind? James asked, halfjoking.
Not at all. Its noble, and maybe shell teach me how to make borscht the way you like it.
Saturday arrived. James dressed in his best shirt, smelled freshsomething he hadnt done for Milly in a yeargrabbed his toolbox and headed to Imogens cottage.
He returned late, exhausted but smiling like a cat thatd gotten the cream. Milly poured him tea.
Did you manage? she asked.
Fixed the rod, rewired a socket, tightened a cupboard door. She even managed a mealmeat pies, jelly She sent her regards, called me a saint for letting her back in.
Milly smiled enigmatically.
Thus began their odd threeway life. James visited Imogen more often: adjusting the TV, moving heavy furniture, hauling potatoes because shes a frail lady who might break. He always returned fullstomached, smelling of someone elses kitchen, endlessly describing Imogens vivid personality.
She wore a scarlet dress today, snug as a second skin. Says its for herself, but I think shes dressing for a guest. And she laughsfullbore, like a trumpet. You just smile with the corners of your mouth, but theres a fountain of emotion underneath.
Milly listened, nodded, and stopped cooking dinner altogether.
James, youll still be dropping by Imogen after work to hang a shelf, right? Why should I bother buying groceries when shes already a culinary marvel? Ill just have a glass of kefirits good for me.
James protested weakly at first, then got used to the arrangement. He liked the calm of his flatclean shirts, Milly still doing the laundry, though without enthusiasm. Imogens place was a feast for his golden hands and the spark he craved.
A month passed. James grew more distant at home, irritated, bored. He came only to sleep.
One day, he said, lying on the sofa, eyes fixed on the ceiling, Imogen says she made a mistake, didnt appreciate me. She cried today.
Milly set her book down. And what now?
Im a decent man, I have a family. But my heart aches. Shes still my
Milder now because she wants free repairs, Milly thought, but she answered, James, youre tormenting yourself, her, and me.
What do you mean? he asked, propping himself up.
Look at us. We live like neighbours. You find me boring, Im a bog, while shes a volcano of passion and pies. Maybe you should try to go back?
James froze, stunned. Are you kicking me out?
No, Im letting you go. You always compare me to her, and the scores never in my favour. Why keep hurting anyone? Go, spend a week or two figuring yourself out.
What if I find it better there?
Then thats that. I just want you happy, James.
It was a bluff of the highest order. Milly knew if she staged jealousy, James would stay out of duty, hating her forever. But if she let him go
He lingered two days, pacing the flat, giving Milly the look of a dog begging for scraps. She calmly packed his suitcaseshirts, socks, his favourite sweater, even a tin of his beloved instant coffee.
So Im leaving? he asked at the doorway, shifting from foot to foot. Just a break, Milly. To sort things out.
Temporary, she replied, nodding. Go. Imogens waiting. Dont make a lady nervous.
He stepped out, the door closing behind him. Milly turned the lock twice, then fell to the floor and burst into laughtera nervous, relieffilled laugh. At last she was alone in her quiet flat, surrounded by books, no one nagging about dry cutlets, no one demanding attention.
The first three days James didnt callperhaps enjoying his honeymoon with Imogen. Milly also kept silent. She rearranged the living room, bought new blue curtainsher favourite colour, not hisand went to the theatre with a friend.
On the fourth day James called, his voice oddly flat.
Hey, Milly. How are you?
Great, reading a book. You?
Fine where are my winter boots? Cant find them in the suitcase.
Theyre on the top shelf, James. You said youd be back soonautumns here.
Right could you
No, James. Im busy. Let Imogen buy you a new pairshes so caring.
He hung up.
A week later his calls became regular.
Milly, my backs killing me. Imogens sofa is awful, springs digging into me. We had an orthopedic one. Fix her sofa, will you? She earns well, right?
Shes not earning muchshe quit a month ago, says shes finding herself. Im working two jobs, hauling groceries. She expects fine cheeses and red fish, but the moneys gone. Yesterday she threw a fit because I didnt bring enough.
Ah, the volcano of passion you talked about, Milly replied calmly. You wanted to be in shape? Enjoy it.
Are you mocking me?
Just stating facts. Ive got yoga now, so Im off.
Three days later James called, clearly drunk.
Milly shes mad. She made me wallpaper the hallway at night because the colour under the lamp didnt suit her. I havent slept in two days. I want to come home. Your stewdry as it isat least its quiet.
Sleep it off, James, Milly said sharply. You chose fireworks, you got fireworks. Im an amoeba; those passions arent for me.
Two and a half weeks after his departure, Friday evening arrived. Milly sat in an armchair, cocoa in hand, watching a TV series. A knock camefirm, demanding, followed by the sound of a key turning.
She wasnt surprised. She rose, walked to the door but left the inner chain latched, only the outer lock ajar.
The door cracked open five centimetres. Jamess unshaven, bloodshot face peered in, a battered suitcase at his feet.
Milly, open up. Im back. Ive had enough of Imogen. You were righther swamp was rotten. She used me, needed a sponsor, never even cooked last weekjust boiled frozen dumplings! She pretended she made them herself. I found the packet in the bin.
Tragic story, James, Milly said evenly through the gap. But I cant let you in.
What do you mean? This is my flat! Im on the register here!
Its council housing, gifted by my parents. Youre registered at your mothers, remember? We only lived here. Ill change the locks tomorrow; the locksmith cant make it today.
Youre joking? Im a man of my wordnow Ill cherish you, wash my feet, drink your water!
I dont need you drinking the water from my floor. I needed you to respect me when you lived here, not to compare me to a phantom.
Youre sorry! Open the door, its cold out!
Go to Imogen. Theres plenty of fire to warm you.
She threw me out when I said I couldnt afford the coat! Called me a loser, said her previous husbandwhoever that waswas better!
Milly laughed, loud and genuine.
What a twist of fate, she said. Youre being compared to a former. How does that feel, James? Energised? Toned up?
Stop the sarcasm! Let me in!
Theres no home for you here. Your home is where youre valued. Im better off alone. I dont want starchtight collars any more. Ill wear a wrinkled tee and eat what I like.
She slammed the door. James pounded, shouted, threatened, wept. Neighbours gathered at the landing; Milly had to warn the police to make him leave.
He retreated to his mothers house, then tried to lurk outside her work with flowers, called from unknown numbers, but Milly remained firm. Something finally burned out in her that night when he left with his suitcase for the better life.
Six months later they formalised their divorce. In court James looked pitiful, pleading for the judges pity, claiming Milly had deceived him and driven him out. Milly only smiled.
She met a new man a year laterordinary, not perfect. When she served him her signature stew and waited with bated breath, he simply ate two bowls, wiped the sauce with his bread and said, Thanks, Milly. You must be tired. Sit down, Ill wash up.
No mention of an exwife. No talk of how to fry onions.
James, they say, got back together with Imogen, split again, reunited once more. Some people apparently need that volcano of passion to feel alive. Milly watched all that from her quiet, cosy harbour, where strangers were never allowed ashore.
Sometimes you have to help someone make a mistake so they learn the price of what they had. And you learn you deserve more than being a pale shadow of someone elses past.
If this tale struck a chord, thank you for reading.
