The Invisible Wife

The Invisible Wife

Lizzie! The cheerful voice rang out, and her friend, brushing raindrops from her vivid red raincoat, flopped into the chair opposite. Sorry, the traffics awful. Have you ordered?

Only coffee, Lizzie gave a weak smile. I was waiting for you.

Jane shrugged off her coat, gave Lizzie a critical once-over, and whistled dramatically.

Good grief, Liz, do you even look in the mirror in the mornings? What are you wearing? Grey jumper, grey trousers. Are you depressed or just trying to turn invisible?

Its comfortable, Lizzie replied with a shrug. Im fifty-two, Jane, I cant be bothered with all that anymore.

Right, Jane ordered a cappuccino and a croissant with a practiced wave. And wheres your Rob? Off fishing again?

Lizzie nodded.

He left Friday night. Back Sunday for lunch. Same as always.

Same as always, Jane mimicked. And you do the same as always, right? Sitting at home alone, watching telly, darning socks? When was the last time he took you out? Restaurant, theatre, even the cinema? Seriously, search your memory!

Lizzie felt her cheeks flush.

We we went to the cottage in July. Together.

The cottage! Jane burst out laughing. Where you weeded the flower beds and he fixed the shed! Such a romantic break. Liz, darling, lifes passing us by. Were not girls anymore, true, but were not old biddies either. And youyoure burying yourself alive.

Dont be ridiculous, Lizzie sipped her coffee, finding it bitter. Were a normal family. Twenty-eight years married. That must mean something?

Twenty-eight years of habit, Jane retorted. You know what I see? Youve gone transparent. As far as Robs concerned, youre like the fridge or a footstool: there, working, end of story. When did he last say something nice to you? Or even ask how you are?

Lizzie meant to argue, but the words stuck. The truth was, most evenings were silent. Rob reading about fishing tackle on his tablet, she knitting or watching soaps. Occasionally hed ask what was for supper. Sometimes shed remind him about the gas bill. That was the sum total of their conversation.

Struck a nerve, have I? Jane leaned in; her eyes sparkled. Listen, Ive met someone. A photographer, Tom. Fascinating man, knows how to talk and listen. His exhibition opens Saturday at that little gallery near Covent Garden. Come, get out of the house.

Jane, I

No wriggling out, Jane waved her off. You need to get out of your shell. Dress up a bitIll help! Youll love being noticed again. Its lovely, trust me.

Lizzie sighed. There was no point arguing with Jane. Besides, the thought of going out didnt seem so bad. The flat really was quiet these daysfar too quiet.

***

On Saturday night, Lizzie stood before the mirror, barely recognising herself. Jane had brought over a burgundy dressnot too flashy but elegant, belted to flatter her waist. Lizzie wore makeup for the first time in months, styled her hair.

Well, look at that, she murmured, studying her reflection. And I thought Id

Turned into an old lady? Jane grinned in satisfaction. No, darling, youve still got it. Youve just forgotten.

The gallery was a cosy, high-ceilinged space with white walls hung with black-and-white photographs: old London mews, unfamiliar faces, disused Underground stations. About thirty people mingled, wine glasses in hand, conversing quietly.

Jane steered Lizzie to a tall man streaked with grey, in a black rollneck and jeans.

Tom, this is my dearest friend, Lizzie, Jane announced. Lizzie, meet Tom, the artist himself.

Tom turned. Lizzie met his gazegrey eyes, warm smile, soft little lines fanning from the corners. He held out a hand.

Lovely to meet you. I hope you enjoy the show.

I Im not really a photography buff, Lizzie admitted as she shook his hand. His was dry and warm.

No need, Toms smile grew. You just have to feel. Come, let me show you my favourite.

He led her to a photograph in the corner: an old woman at a window, light catching her face so that every wrinkle looked like stories lived, and her eyes, deep and sad, stared far into the distance.

See? Tom said quietly. Shes my neighbour, eighty-three. I took this a year and a half ago. She told me about the war, her husband she lost, bringing up three kids alone. And what amazed me wasno self-pity in her eyes. Only this deep sadness and so much dignity.

Lizzie stared at the photo, a tightness in her chest.

Shes beautiful, she whispered.

She is, Tom agreed. Beautys not only in youth or perfect skin. Its in living, suffering, and still being yourself. He studied Lizzie thoughtfully. You know, youve got that sadness in your eyes too. Its interesting. Like youre always thinking of something you never say out loud.

Lizzie was thrown. No one had looked at her like that in years. Rob looked, but never *saw*. This stranger seemed to be peering straight inside.

Im just tired, I suppose, she managed.

Tired? Tom asked, simply, as if theyd known each other for ages.

Lizzie nearly made a joke, but suddenly the words tumbled out.

Tired of sameness. Every day like the last. Get up, breakfast, housework. Rob off at work, then off fishing. The kids have grown, moved out. I sit in the flat wonderingwhere am I? Wheres the girl who dreamt of adventure?

She faltered, startled by her own honesty.

Sorry, she whispered. I dont know what came over me.

Dont apologise, Tom gently touched her elbowa soft, reassuring touch. Thats called honesty. You dont get much of it now. Tell you what. I run a little club. We meet once a week, chat about photography, books, sometimes go painting outdoors. Come next Wednesday. I promise, youll enjoy it.

Lizzie wanted to say no. Wanted to say she was busy. Wanted to

All right, she heard herself reply. Ill come.

***

Rob returned Sunday, as usual, smelling of river and bonfire smoke. Lizzie greeted him at the door.

So? she asked. Catch anything?

Couple of perch, Rob strode to the kitchen, dropped his rucksack. Not bad. How was your weekend?

All fine, Lizzie replied. Jane and I went to an exhibition.

Good, Rob opened the fridge for some ham. You should get out more. You spend too much time indoors.

He said it absently, not looking at her, already back in his own head. Lizzie felt a flare of irritation.

Rob, why dont we go out? Together. Restaurant, maybeor the theatre?

Rob looked at her in surprise.

What for? Expensive, isnt it? Anyway, Im shattered after fishing. Another time, yeah?

Another time. Always another time. Lizzie nodded and left the kitchen. In her room, she texted Jane: Send me the clubs address. Ill go Wednesday.

***

The club gathered in the basement of a converted Victorian housesoft sofas, shelves of books, old cameras dotted on coffee tables. About fifteen people, most around fifty. Tom greeted Lizzie by the door.

Glad you came, he said warmly. Sit wherever you like.

The evening flew by. They discussed a French photographer, read a bit of Auden, then simply talked. Lizzie listened quietly, oddly content. No one asked about gas bills or housework. Nobody looked at her like she was just part of the furniture.

Afterwards, Tom walked her to the bus stop.

Did you like it? he asked.

Very much, Lizzie admitted. It felt like another world.

It is another world, Tom smiled. Lizzie, you know what I see? A woman who hasnt lived for herself in a long time. Always for othersfor your husband, your children, your home. But when did you last do something just because you wanted to?

Lizzie hesitated. She couldnt recall.

Thats the great trap of middle age, Tom went on. Suddenly, you realise youve given yourself completely awayand forgotten yourself. Feels like life slips through your fingers. But you know what? Its never too late to remember who you are.

His words soothed her soul. Lizzie was spellbound.

Tell you what, Tom stopped suddenly. Lets drive out of the city on Saturday. I know a lovely old estate, beautiful autumn light, perfect for photos. Come along? Promise, youll enjoy it.

Lizzie froze. SaturdayRob fishing again, shed be alone as always.

I dont know, she muttered. It seems

Wrong? Tom smiled gently. Lizzie, Im offering you a day in the country. Just good company, beautiful scenery. You do have a right to live, you know?

I do, Lizzie whispered.

Brilliant. Meet at the Piccadilly line at ten. Wrap up warm, its breezy out there.

He waved goodbye and walked away. Lizzie stood at the bus stop, heart pounding like a teenagers.

***

Friday night, Rob packed for fishing as usual.

Ill be gone till Sunday, he said, zipping his bag. Got my phone, ring me if you need me.

All right, Lizzie watched him check his rods. Rob, could I come? With you?

He looked up, genuinely puzzled.

Whatever for? You said last time you were bored stiff. You complained about the cold and midges.

I just thought we could spend time together, Lizzie murmured.

Lizzie, were together all the time, Rob shrugged. Enjoy some peace and quiet at home. Catch up on your shows.

He pecked her on the cheek, hoisted his pack, and left. Lizzie stood in the hall, eyes on the closed door.

Were together all the time, she repeated his words silently. Were they really together? In any sense that mattered?

The next morning she got up early, agonised over her outfit, pulled on jeans, a warm jumper and coat. She looked in the mirror: cheeks flushed, eyes bright. She looked youngermore alive.

Im just going for a walk in the country, she told herself. With a new friend. Thats all. Nothing wrong with that.

Tom met her with two takeaway coffees.

Morning, he handed her one. Ready for adventure?

They drove out in his battered old Vauxhall, music on, chattering. Tom regaled her with tales of his travels. Lizzie listened and actually laughedit felt like she hadnt in years.

The estate they visited was half-ruined, but beautiful: ancient columns, a crumbling park, a pond with dark, still water. Tom took photos; Lizzie wandered, picking up crimson leaves.

Stand there by the column, Tom called. Yes, just so. No, dont look at the cameragaze into the distance.

He snapped a few shots, then brought her over to see.

See that? Youre so photogenic. That hint of sadness in your eyes, it gives such depth.

Lizzie stared at her likeness on the screen. A woman with windswept hair and a faraway looka stranger. Was that really her?

They wandered till dusk. Then Tom suggested a cuppa at a nearby village cafe. Hot pies, strong tea, their talk growing ever more intimate.

Youve been married long? Tom asked gently.

Twenty-eight years, Lizzie replied.

And, are you happy?

She was silent. What was happiness? Habit? Stability?

Im not sure, she admitted quietly. Used to think so. Now I dont know how I feel. Its as if Im wide awake but sleepwalking. Everythings fine, but somethings missing.

Passion, Tom said. Thats whats missing. That sense youre really alivefeeling something. Being your own person, with your own wants.

He laid a hand on hers.

Lizzie, youre amazingclever, beautiful, deep. You deserve happiness. Your very own.

Lizzie gazed at his hand on hers. Her heart pounded; she should move away, stand up, leave. But she didnt. She didnt want to.

***

The next weeks passed in a feverish blur. Lizzie saw more and more of Tom. The club, galleries, stolen walks in the park. He gave her what she missed at home: attention, compliments, meaningful conversation.

With Rob, nothing changed. Work, fishing, the news. Lizzie cooked, cleaned, washed. Their exchanges were sparse.

Lizzie, did you buy sour cream?

Yes.

Good. And my socks?

In the drawer, same as always.

That was it. No questions about her, her feelings. But Tom asked. And she blossomed, unfolding to him like a flower.

Jane noticed it all, of course.

So, have you fallen in love? Jane smirked one day over lattes.

Dont be silly, Lizzie blushed. Were just friends.

Right, just friends, Jane rolled her eyes. Youre glowing, Liz. I havent seen you like this in fifteen years. Im gladhonestly. Youve earned some happiness.

But Im married, Lizzie whispered.

So? Jane shrugged. Rob hardly notices youre there. Hes living his own life; why shouldnt you have yours? Youre not a saintyoure a woman. And if Tom makes you happy, whats the difference?

Janes words took root. Lizzie told herself the same: Im just living. I deserve some joy.

The turning point came in November. Tom invited her for a weekend to a small city a hundred miles from Londonthere was a street photography festival.

Stay overnight, Tom said. Ive booked two rooms at the hotel. Promise, itll be fun.

Two rooms. Lizzie clung to that phrase.

She told Rob she was going shopping with Jane in another town.

Fine, he muttered, eyes glued to his tablet. Dont spend too much.

She lingered, hoping for him to say or ask something. He didnt even look up.

At the hotel, Tom really had booked two rooms. They spent the day at the festival, attended talks. In the evening, over wine in some bistro, Tom spoke of seizing the daylife was short, happiness couldnt wait.

Lizzie, you know, he said, looking into her eyes, Ive met lots of women. But you you stand out. Theres something untouched, pure in youand such a deep melancholy.

He took her hand.

I dont want to rush you. But you should know: you matter to mea lot.

As they retired upstairs, Tom escorted her to her door and kissed her on the cheek.

Goodnight, he whispered. If you want company, Im right next door.

Lizzie lay awake, staring at the ceiling. Married. Twenty-eight years. I cant.

When did he last kiss you for no reason? When did he say you mattered?

This is betrayal.

Its life. A last chance to feel alive.

At 2am, Lizzie got up, threw on her dressing gown, and knocked next door.

Tom opened the door straight away, as if hed been waiting.

Lizzie, he whispered.

She stepped inside.

***

Morning brought a crushing hangover, and not from wine. Lizzie lay in a strange bed, beside another man, numb. She dressed quietly and slipped back next door. Sat on the edge of the unfamiliar bed, head in her hands.

What have I done? God, what have I done?

On the drive back, Tom was kind and attentive; he complimented her, held her hand. Gradually, the shame gave ground to a fragile, almost painful happiness.

Im alive, Lizzie thought. For the first time in years, I feel truly alive.

Rob greeted her in his usual way.

So, did you buy much?

Not really, Lizzie couldnt meet his eye. Not much of interest.

Fair enough. Im starvingwhats for dinner?

Life returned to its old routine. By day Lizzie was Robs wife, running the home, shopping. But evenings were Toms: secret texts and meetings, new places, poetry and books.

She and Rob barely talkedexcept about chores.

The pipe at the cottage needs fixing, hed say.

Well do it in spring, shed reply.

Fine.

Silence. Heavy, endless silence.

Jane was triumphant.

Well, there you go, shed say. Youre living, not drowning in mediocrity.

Lizzie tried to justify herself. Its Robs fault. He withdrew first. He picked fishing over me. Im allowed some happiness.

But at night, beside a sleeping Rob, shed lie awake feeling herself break into pieces.

***

December brought frost and snow. Lizzie and Tom met nearly every week. Hed rented a small studio, and she came there, telling Rob she was on computer courses.

Rob nodded, never digging deeper.

Tom was kind, passionate, full of pretty words. But sometimes Lizzie felt the words were routine, maybe said to others too. Maybe she wasnt the firstor the last.

But, by now, she was in too deep.

Mid-December, the inevitable happened.

Lizzie popped into the chemist for cold medicine for Rob. At the checkout, her purse spilledout dropped a tiny box: perfume, a gift from Tom the previous week. Moon Sonataa delicate sweet scent.

She didnt notice; paid, left.

That evening, Rob arrived home early. As she cooked, he placed the box on the counter.

This yours? he asked quietly.

Lizzie turned, her heart plunging.

Its yes. I found it outside, she blurted.

Found it outside. Rob echoed. Perfume worth forty quid, just lying around.

He opened it, sniffed.

Lizzie, Im not an idiot, he said, still quietly. Did you think I hadnt noticed? Youve changed. Always out and about. Looking at me like Im a stranger.

Lizzie stood, pinned to the oven.

Rob, I

Who is he? Rob cut across her. Whos this bloke?

No-one, Lizzie whispered. Just a friend. We

Dont lie. Rob crushed the box in his hand. Dont you dare lie. Youve cheated, havent you?

The silence was deafening. Lizzie saw the change in his face. The old softness gone.

Yes, she whispered. Yes, Rob. Im so sorry. I didnt mean to

Didnt mean to, he laughed bitterly. But here we are.

He turned to go.

Rob, wait, Lizzie rushed after him. Let me explain

What? That you slept around because I was thoughtless? Because I didnt notice you? Maybe I was wrapped up in work and fishing. Maybe I forgot to ask about your day. But I never, ever cheated. Because I loved you. I still do. And now youve destroyed everything.

Please, Rob, Lizzie cried. Dont leave. Lets fix it.

I cant stay here, Rob said. I need space. Ill go stay with Dave for a bit.

He packed in fifteen minutes. Lizzie stood in the doorway, watching as he folded shirts and socks.

Rob, she whispered. Dont leave me.

Didnt you leave me first? he asked softly. When you went to him?

He leftnot slamming the door, just quietly gone. The silence he left behind was a chasm.

***

Lizzie paced the flat, frantic and lost. She phoned Robno answer. She texted: Im so sorry. Please come home. No reply.

She called Tom.

Tom, she stammered, Robs found out. Hes left. I dont know what to do.

Oh, Lizzie, Toms voice was full of pity. Im so sorry. Look, shall we meet? Well talk, Ill help you through this.

They met at his studio. Lizzie poured out her story, sobbing. Tom held her, stroked her hair.

Itll be all right, he said. It couldnt have gone on forever. You werent happy. Now youve got a chance at a whole new life.

A new life? Lizzies voice broke. What sort of new life?

Well, Tom hesitated, youre free now. You can do what you wanttravel, create, be yourself.

And you? Lizzie asked quietly. Are you with me? Will we be together?

Tom pulled back, scratched his head.

Lizzie, love, he said gently, I cant offer you a home, stability. Im a free spirit. Live for the moment. What we hadbeautiful as it waswell, thats as much as I have to give.

So I was just a distraction? she whispered.

No, nonothing like that, Tom tried to take her hand, but she pulled away. You meant a lot. You really did. But Im not made for relationships. I thought you wanted a taste of freedom as well.

Lizzie stood up.

You know what, Tom? she said, voice oddly calm. Youre right. I tasted life. And now its all shatteredto bits. Because of you. Because of me. Because I was a fool.

She left without looking back. Outside, snow mixed with tears on her cheeks.

***

At home, the flat felt cavernous and dark. Lizzie sat on the sofa in silence, staring at the walls. Then she called Jane.

Jane, she said when her friend answered, I need to talk.

They met in Maggies Café, where it all started. Jane listened as Lizzie poured out her story.

Well there you are, Jane said when shed finished. At least you had your thrills. You didnt wither, did you?

Lizzie stared in disbelief.

Jane, are you serious? My lifes ruined, and you

And what? Jane shrugged. You went along with it, Liz. I just introduced you. The rest was your choice. Youre a grown woman.

You egged me on, Lizzie felt anger simmer. Always telling me Rob didnt value me. Always telling me to live for myself.

Was I wrong? Jane smirked. He didnt value youand maybe now hell realise what hes lost. Or not. Thats life, love. Doesnt always go to plan.

Lizzie stood up.

You know, Jane, she said softly, I always thought you were my best friend. Now I wonder if you were just jealousof my family, my security. Maybe you wanted me to end up as lonely as you. Forever searching.

Oh, dont be so dramatic, Jane rolled her eyes.

Goodbye, Jane, Lizzie turned and walked out.

***

A week passed. Rob didnt return. Lizzie called and texted; he messaged only: I need time.

She was alone in their flat, now far too big and empty. Sleepless at night, she replayed everythingmeeting Tom, the affair, the lies to Rob.

What have I done? God, what have I done?

She remembered Rob fixing that dripping tap. The tea he brought when she was ill. Planting the apple tree at the allotmentsmall things, everyday things. The life shed dismissed as boring. Shed give anything to have it back.

New Years Eve, she couldnt take it any longer and took the bus to Davesthe friend Rob was staying with. She rang the bell. Dave opened.

Hi, Liz, he said awkwardly. You here for Rob?

I am, she whispered. Can I see him?

Dave hesitated.

He doesnt want to, Liz. Sorry.

Please, Dave, Lizzies throat stuck. Just five minutes.

With a sigh, Dave fetched Rob.

Rob looked tired, older. It hurt to see him like that.

What do you want? he asked quietly.

I I just wanted to say sorry, Lizzies words tumbled out in a rush. I was stupid. That manhe wasnt real. Youre real. Youre home. Please, can we try again?

Rob was silent, then shook his head.

I dont know, Lizzie. When I found out, it hurt so much I couldnt breathe. And now, seeing you, I still picture you with him. I cant get past it.

I understand, Lizzie wept. Maybe, with time

Maybe, Rob cut her off. But maybe not. I dont know if Ill ever forget. Or forgive.

And I Lizzie wiped her tears. I dont even know who I am anymore. Ive destroyed everythinghome, trust, myself.

A long pause. They stood in the corridor, two people whod shared almost thirty years, suddenly strangers.

I have to go, Rob said. Sorry.

He closed the door. Lizzie stood on the landing, listening to his fading footsteps.

Outside, it was snowing. Somewhere people were putting up fairy lights, laughing. Lizzie walked on alone, so hollow inside it seemed nothing could ever fill her again.

***

She spent New Years Eve alone. The TV on, a glass of prosecco in hand. As the clock struck midnight she raised her glass.

To a new life, she whispered, a wry smile. Whatever that means.

In January, Jane called.

Liz, why are you hiding away? Jane was all bright cheerfulness. Come out, Ive met someoneteaches yoga, very spiritual, will do you good. Shall we meet?

Lizzie just held the phone, silent.

Liz, are you listening? Jane pressed. Well? Shall we meet at our café?

Lizzie shut her eyes. She pictured it: the café, Jane and her endless next-best-thing, the same old cycle.

No, Jane, she said quietly. I cant.

What do you mean, you cant? Jane sounded baffled.

I just cant, Lizzie felt something snap at last. Sorry.

She put the phone down.

A few days later, Lizzie sat alone in Maggies Café. Sipping coffee, watching the world go by as snow drifted past the window.

Jane walked in, spotted her, came over.

Oh, Liz! Youre here, Jane flung off her scarf and sat down. Listen, that yoga chap I mentionedreally wonderful. I think you two would hit it off. Shall I introduce you?

Lizzie just looked at her. At Janes lipstick, bright eyes, the restless energy. And suddenly saw the emptiness behind itjust like hers had been. Only Jane didnt see it, or didnt want to.

Well? Jane leaned closer. You really need a shake-up. You cant mope at home forever. Life goes on, you know?

Lizzie opened her mouth to reply, but nothing came out. Her mind spun with fragments.

How many times will I make the same mistakes? How many times will I believe happiness comes from someone else? Maybe it was right here all along, and I just missed it.

Liz? Jane snapped her fingers. Are you even listening?

Lizzie looked back at hera long, hard look, full of pain, full of a bitter understanding. The realisation that shed been pulled along by others, searching for answers she already had, destroying what was precious for something that was only smoke.

I hear you, she whispered at last.

Jane waited. But Lizzie remained silent. The snow kept falling outside, and in that silence, in that pause, was everything: all the loss, the grief, the weight of a choice that cannot be undone.

So? Jane pressed. Shall I introduce you?

Lizzie looked at her, and said nothing. And in that silenceat lastwas her answer. An answer she was only just beginning to grasp herself.