The Door

The Door

Peter Johnson stared blankly at the door in front of him. What on earth was he doing here? Funny how your feet can just carry you to places when your mind drifts Here he was at the doorstep of his old flat, the place he and his wife shared for nearly a quarter of a century. Now he found himself standing there, completely caught off guard by the sight of the very plain, very ordinary door. Honest to God, in that building, every other door looked pretty much the same.

It was padded with imitation leather and crisscrossed with brass studs. Only one of thema silver-toned onestood out. Peter remembered perfectly well how, about fifteen years ago, when the original brass stud went missing and a bit of the material bulged out in a sorry lump, hed patched it up himself. Since then, that silver dot had sparkled back at him from a sea of gold. Standing there, caught up in memory, Peter found he didnt rush off anywhere

—

Everything changed for Peter Johnson a year backright when he was, oddly, absolutely ready for it. Work, though steady and safe, had become suffocating. His family life, meanwhile, felt like wading through thick, lukewarm treacle: he was stuck, sinking, craving colour and fizz and emotion. He was missing real life.

Like a man clutching at twigs to keep from drowning, Peter searched desperately for some way outsome path back to a world with brightness, with laughter, with a sense of purpose. That twig, for him, turned out to be his secretary, Daisy.

Daisy was young and dazzling, bursting into his life with loud pop songs, wafts of luxurious perfume, and the taste of Prosecco at her lips. For the first time in a very long while, Peter fell head-over-heels. He remembered how hed once loved his now-wife, how gentle and tender that old romance wascompared to Daisys fireworks, it seemed faded, like a half-forgotten dream…

His wife must have sensed the storm coming; as if she knew someone else had intruded on their marriage, she grew quiet, withdrawn. Her eyes always seemed to be searching Peters for some unspoken answer to that ancient question every woman wants to know

Peters affair with Daisy took off like a whirlwind; he felt younger, desirable, full of life again. He poured all his spare time and money into the new relationship, but old habits die hard: he wasnt ready to leave home for good. After restaurant oysters with Daisy, hed find himself longing for his wifes homemade shepherds pie, sneaking into the kitchen late at night to raid the fridge.

Who knows how long it would have dragged on, half in one world and half in the other? In the end, Daisy got tired of being the secret and turned up at the flat to speak with Peters wife directly andshe saidtake Peter with her. Only his wife and university-age son were home. They listened to Daisys bold declaration in silence; his wife clutched at her chest, reaching for her medication, while his son quickly packed Peters things into a suitcase and, stone-faced, sent both Peter and Daisy out the door…

—

So began a whole new life for Peter Johnson. It carried him along like a river in full floodnot giving him a moment to breathe. The days blurred into a parade of endless meet-ups, restaurants, gallery openings, and boutique shopping trips. At some point, though he couldnt pinpoint exactly when, Peter started feeling worn thin by it all. And facing it honestlyeven to himselfwas harder still: he just couldnt keep up with Daisys manic pace anymore.

He decided he needed a break, literally. He holed up in a comfy chair at home, surveying his new world, trying to take it all in. At first, being with Daisy was a novelty. But gradually, irritation crept in. Turns out, glamorous Daisy was entirely useless at daily life. She really couldnt run a home, nor had the faintest idea how to cook.

But that wasnt even the worst of itPeter realised he and Daisy had absolutely nothing to talk about. The poor girl was painfully, hopelessly shallow. Her life revolved around crisp notes, flashy wrappers, and online admirers. At first, he tried to talk to her about meaningful things, to plant just a seed of knowledge in her pretty head, but he quickly noticed that even the lightest thought-wrangling made Daisy all knotted up in confusion. Eventually, Peter gave in.

He stopped trying to change her, sipping in silence the shockingly foul tea Daisy brewed in the eveningsthe same tasteless stuff from cheap teabags. Hed reminisce about his ex-wife, who made the most wonderful cuppahe could almost taste it even now, that perfect herbal aroma. He remembered her roast dinners, her toad-in-the-hole. Truth be told, his ex-wife had been the perfect homemaker in every way. Hed find himself thinking about those evenings they spent curled on the sofa, gently bickering for hours about some new book or a Hitchcock film

Once, Peter tried to return home. Not forever, just…well, he couldnt have explained it himself. He went back to the old flat late one night. No one answered, but from the cold hallway, he could hear plaintive sobbing through the door. He turned away and sat for a while outside, staring up at the windows that once felt so familiar. He didnt leave until all the lights went out inside.

Time passed, and the generational divideas it always doesgrew wider and wider between him and Daisy. She found Peters older ways more and more tiresome; he, in turn, found her shallow. They stopped going out together, spent evenings apart. And so, without quite knowing how, Peter found himself once again standing before the door of his old flat.

—

There he was, staring at that silvery, slightly crooked studhammered in by his own clumsy handsand found he had no idea what to do next. Should he walk away? But where would he goback to whom? Daisy had lost all interest in him, that much was clear. Stay? But would they even take him back here? Would they forgive him, or just shut him out?

Something about that off-kilter stud bothered him. Peter reached out and touched its chilly metal tip. Suddenly, the door swung open with surprising ease. The scent of his old home washed over him like a warm blanket. He closed his eyes and breathed it in deep, and when he opened them again his wife was standing in the kitchen doorway, faint lines crinkling around her smiling eyes.

Im home! thought Peter Johnson, as he stepped inside and gently closed the door behind him.