«Get out of my house!» Margaret screamed, brandishing a rolling pin. «Thirty years I’ve put up with your drinking, and now some floozy half your age!»
«Please, Maggie, hear me out…» Anthony pressed himself against the fridge, dodging her wild swings. «It’s all lies! Who told you such rubbish?»
«Lies?» Margaret’s voice rose to a shriek. «And the photos are lies too? What about you blowing our entire salary on her?»
She hurled the rolling pin to the floor, snatching her phone. The screen glowed with vibrant colours – there she was, that girl no older than twenty-five, embracing her husband outside a café in Covent Garden. The next image showed them kissing.
«Patricia from next door texted me yesterday,» Margaret hissed. «Bumped into you in the city centre. Pure coincidence!»
Anthony’s chin sank to his chest. Greying hair stood in disarray; his shirt wrinkled. At fifty-eight, he suddenly felt like a pathetic old man.
«Maggie, I can explain—»
«Nothing to explain!» She grabbed a jar of strawberry jam and hurled it at him. Glass exploded against the wall, crimson streaks oozing down the wallpaper. «Pack your bags and run back to your tart!»
Just then, the doorbell echoed through the hall. Margaret wiped her eyes with her dressing gown sleeve and went to answer.
«Hello?» Her voice trembled, laced with rage.
«Mum? It’s Sophie.» Her daughter sounded drained. «Can I come over? Had a row with Robert. Can’t bear being home.»
Margaret glowered at her husband, still frozen by the fridge, then sighed. «Come, love. Only… Dad won’t be here.»
«Where is he?»
«I’ll explain later. Hurry.»
Anthony shuffled silently to the bedroom, stuffing clothes into an old duffel bag. His hands shook; his throat parched. How had this happened? Six months ago he’d been a content family man, loving husband and father. Now…
Claire entered his life by accident. He’d been renovating the office where she worked as an accountant. Delicate, fair-haired, with sea-green eyes. Soft-spoken and shy. With her, he felt transformed – younger, stronger, needed.
Initially, they only chatted during breaks. Then he lingered unnecessarily at the site. Within a month, he couldn’t imagine a day without seeing her.
«Tony? What are you doing?» Margaret’s voice sliced through his thoughts as she appeared in the doorway.
He turned. His wife leaned against the frame, face swollen from weeping. «Packing.»
«And where will you go? To her?»
Anthony hesitated. Claire rented a studio flat, but he’d never seriously considered moving in. «Not sure
He breathed in the familiar scent of home, a mixture of tea and lavender polish, silently vowing in the dark that he would rebuild what he had shattered, brick by painful brick, even if it took the rest of his days to simply lay the foundation.