“I’ve got a new life now,” said the husband and turned off the light.
“Marina, dear, is it true your Nicholas has moved to the cottage for good?” asked Auntie Margaret from next door, leaning over the fence.
Marina startled, nearly dropping the watering can. Shed been tending to the tomatoes for half an hour, but her thoughts tangled like old threads in a forgotten sewing box.
“Oh, no, Margaret. Its just the summer heathe wanted to stay a bit longer out there,” she replied, avoiding eye contact.
“People do talk, you know,” Margaret said, shaking her head. “They say he took all his things. Even sold the car…”
Marina spun around. Sold the car? How did the neighbour know something she didnt?
“Margaret, really, dont listen to idle gossip. Nicholas just fancied getting serious about the garden, thats all,” her voice wavered, just slightly.
Margaret gave a knowing nod and stepped back from the fence. Marina stood there, watering can in hand, staring at the glistening tomato leaves. Sold the car So it was true. Not just empty words from a week ago, when shed asked him to help carry the heavy shopping bags.
“I cant live like this anymore, love,” hed said, sitting on the edge of the bed, not looking at her. “Ive got a new life now.” And then he turned off the light.
By morning, he was gone. Just a note on the kitchen table: *Keys to the cottage in the drawer. Dont let the food spoil.*
Marina set down the watering can and walked inside. Thirty-two years of marriage. Thirty-two years in this house, filling it with furniture, repainting walls, arguing over lampshades. She remembered choosing that chandelier in the loungehow hed spent half the day cursing the short wiring.
“Mum, how are things?” Their daughter Emma rang, her voice sharp with worry. “You sound strange…”
“Just tired, darling. This heat, you know,” Marina murmured, sinking onto a stool by the phone.
“Hows Dad? I havent seen him in agesthought Id pop round with Oliver this weekend.”
Oliver, their seven-year-old grandson, adored his grandfather. Weekends were for fishing trips and makeshift carpentry. What was she supposed to tell him?
“Dads at the cottage, busy with the garden. You know how he is about his tomatoes.”
“Right. So youre just alone there? Why not come stay with us?”
“Oh no, no. Ive got the preserves to think about,” Marina lied, rushing her goodbye.
Preserves. What a joke. Every August, the kitchen turned into a factoryhim scrubbing jars, her chopping vegetables, the whole house smelling of vinegar and garlic. Nicholas used to boast about their pickles at work. *My Marinas got golden hands!* hed say, squeezing her shoulder.
Now what? Who were the preserves for? Who was any of it for?
She drifted to the window. Children played in the street, women gossiped on benches. Life rolled on. Hers had just stopped.
The landline rang. For a wild second, she hoped it was himbut the voice was unfamiliar.
“Marina? Its Sarah from the cottages, near your plot.”
Her stomach dropped. Had something happened?
“Yes, go on.”
“Well, your husband asked me to tell you not to worry. Says hes staying in the villagerenting a room from the Wilsons, just three doors down.”
“Renting a room?” Marina repeated.
“Yes. Said the cottage was too cramped. Easier this way. If you need anything, just ring the Wilsons, theyll pass it on.”
She hung up slowly. Renting a room. So he really meant to stay apart. But why? What had she done?
She wandered through the house, touching framed photos. Their weddingyoung, beaming. Emmas birthhim cradling the tiny bundle, glowing. Holidays in Cornwall, birthdays, Christmases
When had it ended? When had they stopped laughing, planning, dreaming? She tried to recall their last real talk and couldnt. Lately, it was just logistics: shopping lists, chores, whats on telly.
“Marina, remember when we went to the theatre?” hed asked out of nowhere three months ago.
“Which time?”
“*La Traviata*. You wore that blue dress with the little flowers.”
She remembered the dress. Fifteen years ago, maybe more.
“Of course. Why?”
“Just its been a while,” hed sighed, changing the channel.
She hadnt thought much of it then. Now she wonderedhad he been reaching for something lost?
In the hallway mirror, a tired fifty-seven-year-old woman stared back. When had she stopped being the girl whod charmed young Nicholas?
Emma arrived within the hour, frantic. “Mum, whats going on? I rang the cottageneighbours say Dad hasnt been there in a week!”
Marina told her everythingthe note, the call from Sarah. Emma listened, aghast.
“But you two were always solid. Never even argued!”
“We didnt argue,” Marina agreed. “We didnt talk, either.”
Emma stormed off to confront him, but Marina stopped her. “If he wont speak, dont force him.”
“Mum, be serious! Thirty-two years, and he just walks out?”
They sat up late, reminiscing. “Was he happy with you?” Emma asked.
Marina hesitated. “We were comfortable.”
“Comfortable isnt happy.”
In the morning, Marina booked a haircut, bought a new dress, dug out long-neglected makeup.
“Mum, are you going to a wedding?” Emma laughed when she saw her.
“Im going to see your father.”
The village was postcard-perfectsmoke curling from chimneys, kids splashing in the pond. Sarah pointed her to the Wilsons.
Nicholas was digging potatoes when she found him. Thinner, tanned, younger-looking.
“Marina?” He froze.
“Lets talk.”
They walked to the pond in silence.
“I dont understand,” she said. “Explain it to me.”
He stared at the water. “I was suffocating. Same routine, year after year. When were you last truly happy?”
She had no answer.
“Im not blaming you. But we became strangers sharing a house.”
“And here?”
“Here I just live. Read, talk to people. When did we last talk about anything real?”
He was right. But whose fault was that?
“Did you try?”
“You were always busy. And I gave up trying.”
A frog croaked. The pond shimmered.
“So what now?” she asked.
“I dont know.”
“What if we tried differently?”
He looked up.
“Meet me tomorrow,” she said. “Four oclock. The café on the square.”
He blinked, then smiledthe first real smile in years.
“Alright. Its a date.”
That evening, Emma rang. “Mum? What happened?”
“Ive got a date tomorrow.”
“With who?!”
“Your father.”
A stunned silence.
“Mum, have you gone mad?”
“Maybe,” Marina said softly. “Or maybe Ive just woken up.”
