After Dropping His Mistress Off, Butchin Gave Her a Tender Farewell Before Heading Home

After dropping his mistress off, Michael Buchanan says a fond, tender goodbye and drives home. Outside his flat, he pauses a moment, weighing up in his mind exactly how to break the news to his wife. He climbs the stairs and unlocks the door.

Hello, says Michael quietly. Alice, are you in?

Im here, his wife replies calmly from the living room. Hello. Shall I go put the chops on?

Michael silently promises himself to be directdetermined, firm, like a proper man. Put an end to this double life once and for all, while his lovers kisses are still warm on his lips, before hes swallowed again by the mundane routines of home.

Alice, Michael clears his throat, Ive come to tell you we need to split up.

Alice takes the announcement in her stride. Its hard to knock Alice Buchanan off balance. At one time, Michael used to call her Alice Frost as a joke about how little she showed her feelings.

Is that so? Alice asks, appearing in the kitchen doorway. Do you want me not to bother with the chops, then?

Up to you, Michael says. Make them if you like, dont if you dont. Im leaving you. Im seeing another woman.

Most wives, after a declaration like that, would fly at their husbands with the frying panor at least throw a spectacular tantrum. But Alice is not most wives.

Oh, listen to Mr. High-and-Mighty, she shrugs. Did you pick up my boots from the cobbler?

No, Michael falters, but if its important, Ill go to the shop right now and fetch them for you!

Typical, grumbles Alice. Youre hopeless, Michael. Send you for new boots, youd return with the old ones.

Michael feels wounded. This isnt at all how he imagined breaking up his marriagewhere is the drama, the anger, the tears? He wanted more than this cool, unflappable woman known as Alice Frost.

Youre not listening to me, Alice! protests Michael. Im telling you, officially, Im leaving you for another woman, and all you care about is your boots!

Thats because, unlike me, your shoes arent at the cobblers. Nothing stopping you from walking off, eh?

Theyd lived together for years, but Michael could never fathom whether Alice was being sarcastic or serious. Her calm, her endless patience, and her tidy efficiency were exactly what attracted him at first. Plus, she kept a good house, and hed been drawn to her warm, rounded figure.

Alice was steadfast and cool-headed, like a thirty-tonne ships anchor. But now Michael loves someone elseloves her with passion and abandon. Time to put the cards on the table and make a dash for a new future.

So, Alice, says Michael with as much solemnity and regret as he can muster, thank you for everything, but Im leaving. I love another and I dont love you.

Blimey, says Alice. Doesnt love me, eh? My mother, for example, loved the man next door. Dad loved dominoes and whisky. So what? Just look how marvellously I turned out.

Michael knows not to argue with Alice. Every word of hers is weighted. All his initial bravado evaporates. He no longer feels like rowing.

You really are marvellous, Alice, he says feebly, but I love anotherwildly, hopelessly, and I cant stay. I mean it.

Another? Who, then? asks Alice. Is it that Linda Chapman?

Michael staggers. A year ago, he did have an affair with Chapman, but he never guessed Alice knew her.

How do you? He begins, but cuts himself off. Doesnt matter. No, its not Chapman.

Alice stifles a yawn.

Perhaps its Fiona Hawkins then? Off to her, are you?

A chill runs down Michaels back. Fiona too was a former lover, but thats historyhow could Alice know? Oh, right. Shes unshakeablenothing but solid.

Wrong again, he says. Not Hawkins, not Chapman. Its someone else, someone extraordinary. Shes the woman Ive dreamed about, and I cant live without her. Dont try to talk me out of it.

Well, then it must be that Maya Foster, sighs Alice. Honestly, Michaelyoure so predictable. The woman of your dreams: Maya Foster, thirty-five, one kid, two pregnancy terminations, am I right?

Michael clutches his head. Alice has hit the nail on the headMaya Foster, exactly.

How do you know? Michael stammers. Who told you? Have you been following me?

Its really quite simple, Michael, says Alice. Im a GP and have had just about every woman in this town in my surgery, whereas youve had, well, a handful. One glance is all I need to figure out where youve been making a fool of yourself.

Michael attempts composure.

Suppose youve guessed right! he says stiffly. Even so, Im still leaving. Foster or not, Im off.

Youre a daft old thing, Michael, says Alice. You might have asked my opinion first. And by the way, theres nothing at all extraordinary about Foster, same as any other woman, trust meI speak as a doctor. Did you ever look at the medical records of your dream girl?

N-no admits Michael, shamefaced.

Exactly. Now, firstly, straight in the shower for you. Tomorrow, Ill ring Dr. Simmons at the clinic and hell see you without an appointment. After that, well talk. Honestly, a GPs husband and you cant even find a healthy girlfriend!

So what should I do? Michael asks, thoroughly deflated.

Im off to fry those chops, says Alice. You go wash up and do whatever you want. If its a dream woman with no problems youre after, just let me knowI can point you in the right direction.Michael stands blinking in the hallway, holding his keys like a child clutching a pebble from the playground. In the kitchen, Alice hums softly, laying out potatoes and onions, the quiet thud of her knife as measured as her sentences.

He listens to her, the sound of someone who hasnt been surprised by him in years, someone who has already moved him from centre stage to the background of her calm, ordered life. His heart aches not for lost love, but for the strange comfort in her knowingness. He wondersas the hot water from the shower pours over him, washing away the perfume and promise of Maya Fosterif perhaps the cleanest break is not in grand declarations, but silent, gradual absences.

When Michael pads back into the kitchen, she hands him a plate, the lamb chops sizzling between neat rows of roast potatoes, as if nothing has happened. For a moment, he is flooded by the certainty that she will be fine without him, perhaps even better. She reaches out and brushes a strand of hair from his forehead in that old, brisk waythen, almost as an afterthought, she gestures toward the empty chair across the table.

So? Sit, eat. Or are you hoping the dream woman cooks for you too? she asks without a smile, but not unkind.

He sits, hunger and heartache and relief mingling together. For the first time, Michael realizes hes been searching, not for passion, but for permission to go.

He takes a chop, chews thoughtfully, and manages a small, true smile. Across the table, Alice pours herself a glass of wine, and the silence between them is not cold, but oddly companionable.

Outside, somewhere in the city lights, all his wild dreams flicker; but here, on this ordinary night, Alice Frost-Buchanan gives him his freedom, and in return, he lets her keep her peace.

They eat together, quietly, for what will be the last timeas simply as two people who have nothing left to prove, and everything still, in their own way, to forgive.