Two Little Miracles

She heard the zip on his case as he closed it, the trundle of the wheels, the sharp click of his leather soles against the beautiful wooden floor.

‘I’m going now. Are you coming?’

‘No.’

‘Are you sure? Because, if you don’t, that’s it. Don’t expect me to run around after you begging.’

She nearly laughed at the thought, but her heart was too busy breaking. ‘I don’t.’

‘Good. So long as we understand one another. Where’s my passport?’

‘On the table, with the tickets,’ she said without turning round, and waited, her breath held.

Waited for what—some slight concession? An apology? No, never that. I love you? But she couldn’t remember when he’d last said those words, and he didn’t say them now. She heard his footsteps, the wheels of his case on the floor, the rattle of his keys, the rustle of paper as he picked up the flight details, his passport and tickets, then the click of the latch.

‘Last call.’

‘I’m not coming.’

‘Fine. Suit yourself. You know where to find me when you change your mind.’ Then there was a pause, and again she waited, but after an age he gave a harsh sigh and the door clicked shut.

Still she waited, till she heard the ping of the lift, the soft hiss of the door closing, the quiet hum as it sank down towards the ground floor.

Then she sat down abruptly on the edge of the sofa and jerked in a breath.

He’d gone. He’d gone, and he hadn’t said a word to change her mind, not one reason why she should stay. Except that she’d be breaking her contract.

Her contract, of all things! All she wanted was some time to think about their lives, and, because she wouldn’t go with him, he was throwing away their marriage and talking about a blasted contract!

‘Damn you, Max!’ she yelled, but her voice cracked and she started to cry, great, racking sobs that tore through her and brought bile to her throat.

She ran to the bathroom and was horribly, violently sick, then slumped trembling to the floor, her back propped against the wall, her legs huddled under her on the hard marble.

‘I love you, Max,’ she whispered. ‘Why couldn’t you listen to me? Why couldn’t you give us a chance?’

Would she have gone with him if he’d stopped, changed his flight and told her he loved her—taken her in his arms and hugged her and said he was sorry?

No. And, anyway, that wasn’t Max’s style.

She could easily have cried again, but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction, so she pulled herself together, washed her face, cleaned her teeth and repaired her make-up. Then she went back out to the living room and picked up the phone.

‘Jane?’

‘Julia, hi, darling! How are you?’

‘Awful. I’ve just left Max.’

‘What! Where?’

‘No—I’ve left him. Well, he’s left me, really…’

There was a shocked silence, then Jane said something very rude under her breath. ‘OK, where are you?’

‘At the apartment. Janey, I don’t know what to do—’

‘Where’s Max now?’

‘On his way to Japan. I was supposed to be going, but I just couldn’t.’

‘Right. Stay there. I’m coming. Pack a case. You’re coming to stay with me.’

‘I’m packed,’ she said.

‘Not jeans and jumpers and boots, I’ll bet. You’ve got an hour and a half. Sort yourself out and I’ll be there. And find something warm; it’s freezing up here.’

The phone went dead, and she went back into the bedroom and stared at her case lying there on the bed. She didn’t even own any jeans these days. Or the sort of boots Jane was talking about.

Or did she?

She rummaged in the back of a wardrobe and found her old jeans, and a pair of walking boots so old she’d forgotten she still had them, and, pitching the sharp suits and the four-inch heels out of the case, she packed the jeans and boots, flung in her favourite jumpers and shut the lid.

Their wedding photo was on the dressing table, and she stared at it, remembering that even then they hadn’t taken time for a honeymoon. Just a brief civil ceremony, and then their wedding night, when he’d pulled out all the stops and made love to her until neither of them could move.

She’d fallen asleep in his arms, as usual, but unusually she’d woken in them, too, because for once he hadn’t left the bed to start working on his laptop, driven by a restless energy that never seemed to wane.

How long ago it seemed.

She swallowed and turned away from the photo, dragged her case to the door and looked round. She didn’t want anything else—any reminders of him, of their home, of their life.

She took her passport, though, not because she wanted to go anywhere but just because she didn’t want Max to have it. It was a symbol of freedom, in some strange way, and besides she might need it for all sorts of things.

She couldn’t imagine what, but it didn’t matter. She tucked it into her handbag and put it with her case by the door, then she emptied the fridge into the bin and put it all down the rubbish chute and sat down to wait. But her mind kept churning, and so she turned on the television to distract her.

Not a good idea. Apparently, according to the reporter, today—the first Monday after New Year—was known as ‘Divorce Monday’, the day when, things having come to a head over Christmas and the New Year, thousands of women would contact a lawyer and start divorce proceedings.

Including her?

Two hours later she was sitting at Jane’s kitchen table in Suffolk. She’d been fetched, tutted and clucked over, and driven straight here, and now Jane was making coffee.

And the smell was revolting.

‘Sorry—I can’t.’

And she ran for the loo and threw up again. When she straightened up, Jane was standing behind her, staring at her thoughtfully in the mirror. ‘Are you OK?’

‘I’ll live. It’s just emotion. I love him, Janey, and I’ve blown it, and he’s gone, and I just hate it.’

Jane humphed, opened the cabinet above the basin and handed her a long box. ‘Here.’