I Too Have Struggled to Breathe

I felt suffocated too

Simon announced it on Sunday evening, as Amanda was folding a neat stack of ironed shirts. He walked into the bedroom, sat on the edge of the bed, and said it as if talking about a dripping tap.

Mandy, I cant breathe. I feel suffocated.

She didnt look up. She set one shirt down and picked up another.

What do you mean?

All of this. The routine. Every day the same. Get up, breakfast, commute, work, come home, dinner, go to bed. Over and over.

Amanda precisely folded the sleeves, smoothed the collar. She was fifty-one; Simon was fifty-three. Theyd lived in this flat on Willow Road for twenty-six years and raised their son, Adam, whod moved to Manchester five years ago and called only on holidays.

So what are you suggesting? she asked, her voice even.

I want to leave.

She paused now. But she wasnt scaredjust looked at him closely, the way you look at someone whos finally said what you always knew they would.

Leave for where?

Rent a place. Be on my own. Breathe.

All right, Amanda said, reaching for another shirt.

This threw Simon. Hed clearly been expecting a different reaction. He leaned in a little.

Arent you going to say anything?

What is there to say? Youre an adult, Simon. If you want to go, then go.

Youre not going to kick off?

She folded another shirt, set it down carefully, and then finally looked him straight in the eye.

No. But I have one condition.

What?

Dont phone me with questions about the flat. Wheres this, how does that work, where did I put something If youre leaving, then manage on your own.

He was quiet.

Thats all?

Thats all.

Simon didnt know what to do with this. Hed prepared answers for tears and accusations, a plea about years shared, about Adam, about how you didnt just walk away like this. Hed even rehearsed his responses in his head. But Amanda stood there, just folding shirts.

All right, he said at last. Ill pack my things.

Go ahead.

He went to the wardrobe. He stood there for ages, staring at the shelves. Then he started packing jeans, t-shirts, socks. He took his razor, his phone charger, and a book he hadnt touched in six months. He finally stepped into the hallway. Amanda was now in the kitchen, clattering something.

Im off, he called in her direction.

Good luck, she replied.

The door closed quietly behind him. He lingered outside, waiting for footsteps, for some sound, anything. But nothing. Just silence.

He pressed the lift call button.

***

He found a flat in two days through a mate. A little one-bed in the next neighbourhood, on the fourth floor, windows overlooking the back garden. The owner, an elderly fellow with a moustache, gave a quick tour, took two months rent upfront£2,400and handed over the keys. The flat had a sofa, a table, two chairs, an ancient fridge, and a gas cooker. The curtains were a tired mustard colour.

Simon set his bag down and sat on the sofa, looking round.

It was totally silent. No one walking in the next room, no TV on, no one calling him for dinner. He lay back, arms behind his head, and thought: This is it. This is freedom.

The first couple of days were almost pleasant. He woke up when he wanted, ate whatever he grabbed from the Tesco Express downstairs, wandered about in socks, answered to no one. In the evenings he rang his old mate Dave. They chatted for ages. Dave would laugh and say, Spot on, Si, shouldve done it years ago!

On day three, Simon discovered hed run out of clean socks.

He eyed the washing machine in the bathroom. Small, round, confusing. He opened the door, then shut it, then opened it again. The owner had said something about detergent under the sink. He found an unlabelled box, read: Colour & White Wash. Eyeballed a scoop into the drawer he thought was right. Chose a cycle. Pressed start.

The machine rumbled.

An hour later, he fished out his socksthey were damp, almost wet, and strangely pinkish. It took him a moment to realise: hed chucked a new red t-shirt in with the load.

He hung the socks over a radiator; they dried by the next evening.

On day four, he tried to cook himself a proper meal. He bought a chicken breast, some potatoes, onions. Found a battered frying pan in a cupboard. Heated oilit spat and sizzled much too loudchucked in the chicken whole, which promptly glued itself to the pan. Peeling potatoes took forever; by the time he was done, half were peel. Chopping onions brought tears to his eyes.

The finished plate was an odd brown-white mess with a hard outside and raw middle.

He ate half, binned the rest, and ordered takeaway from the Italian café down the road.

A week in, he did sums: hed spent almost as much on deliveries as he and Amanda normally did on a months groceries. He figured it was time to pull himself together. Bought some basics, made porridge. The porridge was fine. That calmed him a bit.

But everyday life pressed in on him from all directions, slow and unstoppable, like the tide.

***

The breakthrough happened on day ten.

Simon was showering when he noticed the water wasnt draining. Looking down, he saw a cloudy puddle spreading. He waitednothing budged. He prodded the plughole. Still water.

He vaguely remembered Amanda mentioning something called a trap. Needs a clean, or water stands, shed once said, and hed just nodded and left the room.

Simon crouched down, peered under the bath. Some pipes, another pipe, a plastic connector. He twisted it. It came loose way too easily, and suddenly, out poured a torrentice cold, dark water everywhere.

He leapt up, skidded, grabbed a towel, which instantly got soaked. He jammed the joint back inno luck. Water ran all over the floor, reaching the mat, which absorbed it in seconds.

He dashed to the kitchen, wet footprints following, grabbed his phone, panic-googled how to turn off water. Then rememberedthe owner had said something about a valve under the kitchen sink. He found, twisted, and the water stopped at last.

He returned to the bathroommini-flood aftermath. Wet mat, wet towels, drenched floor. The trap was still dripping.

Simon sat on the floor in the corridor, in wet boxers, staring at the wall.

His first thought was of Amanda. Actually, not even a thoughta reflex: ring Amanda, shell know. His finger hovered over her name in his contacts before he remembered her voice: Dont call me about flat stuff.

He set his phone down.

But then he called Dave.

Dave, mate, you know how to fix a pipe trap?

What? Dave sounded distracted; he was somewhere noisy.

Pipe trap, under the bath. Its leaking.

No idea, mate. I always get a plumber. Ill give you the number. Good bloke.

The plumber came the next day. He fiddled with the trap, replaced a washer in fifteen minutes. Charged so much Simon stared at him speechless.

That the going rate? he managed to ask.

Its the rate, murmured the plumber, then left.

Simon shut the door and thought, Amanda never called a plumber for things like this. Shed just get on with it, buy a new washer, fix it herself. He never even knew when, it just all happened somehowlike the weather.

***

All this set off an idea in Simons mind, one that seemed right.

He rang Laura, whom, twenty years ago, hed had a bit of a thing with before meeting Amanda. Laura had been single for years; hed heard that from mutual friends. Theyd bumped into each other at birthdays, exchanged small talk, smiled.

Hi, Laura. Simon Brooks.

Simon? She sounded surprised but pleasantly so. Well, thats a blast from the past.

ImIm living on my own now. Thought maybe we could have dinner?

She was silent for a moment.

Living on your ownmeaning what?

Split from Amanda.

Youve split up?

Well, its happening.

I see, she said; her tone changed, became a touch cautious. Lets meet, why not.

They met at a gastropub in town. Laura wore a smart coat, stylish haircut, looked well. They had wine, chatted about old friends, then she asked:

So, whats new? What do you do with yourself?

Still at the construction firm. Supply chain manager.

And living where?

Rented a place on Forest Avenue.

Nice there?

He wanted to say yes, but instead admitted, Its all right, but the washing machine wont spin properly and the cookers a bit temperamental.

Laura gave him a look he couldnt read at firstthen realised it was pity, not romantic, but the kind given to someone who honestly cant get their act together.

I see, she said again.

The chat didnt really take off after that. She asked about Adam, he told her; she talked about her daughter, now married. Another glass of wine, then, Early start tomorrow. They parted at the pub door.

Simon went back to the rented flat. There was nothing in the fridge, the shops were closing. He found a packet of instant noodles in the cupboard and made do.

Laura didnt ring again, and neither did he.

***

About then he tried to catch up with the lads. Called DaveFridays good, but only till eight, got to be home, parents evening at Zacks school. Called AndyCan do, but youll need to drive me home, Im off the drink, Heather and I are off to her mums Saturday, got to be up early.

They met up, three of them, in a little pub near the station. Had a couple of pints, chatted about football, moaned about work. Then Dave said:

So, hows the single life treating you?

Fine, Simon replied.

Amanda not been on the phone?

No.

Dave and Andy exchanged glances.

Not at all? Andy pressed.

Not once.

They exchanged another look. Dave rolled his pint glass between his hands.

You know, thats strange. If it were mine, shed ring three times a day.

Amanda doesnt call, Simon repeated.

Thats either good or bad, mused Andy.

How dyou mean, bad?

Well, maybe shes just fine without you.

Simon finished his pint. He didnt want to think about it. Or rather, he thought about it every day, but didnt want to admit that he did.

At half seven, Dave checked his watch, stood and got his coat. Andy did the same. They shook Simons hand, patted his shoulder and left, each to their wives, their meetings, their in-laws.

Simon stayed alone at the table, ordered another pint, and lingered until closing time.

***

Meanwhile, Amanda actually felt a kind of confusion those first days, but not the kind she expected. Not emptiness from his absence, but instead an odd sense of extra space, like rearranging furniture and not knowing yet if its for better or worse.

On the second day she called her friend Harriet.

Hes gone, Amanda said.

Gone? Where to?

Rented a place. Says he felt suffocated.

Harriet was quiet, then sighed.

How are you, Mandy?

Im all right, oddly. Bit surprised at myself, actually.

Have you cried?

No. Odd, isnt it?

Maybe the tears will come later?

Maybe. Wait and see.

Another friend rang, Rachel, who shed met at antenatal class twenty-five years agobest friends ever since. Rachel was less diplomatic.

Well, thank God, Mandy, honestly. Ive told you for ten years

Told me what?

That youre just the unpaid housekeeper.

Rach, thats not fair.

Isnt it? When did you last do something just for you?

Amanda thought. Took a while.

Last yearI got my hair cut.

Exactly.

Next week, Rachel invited her to a yoga class. Amanda said no at first, then changed her mind. She wore an old tracksuit that had never been used and discovered she couldnt bend much.

Everyone starts out stiff, said the instructor, a young woman with a ponytail.

Two weeks later Amanda was a bit more flexible. She started going three times a week. Afterwards she and Rachel sometimes went for coffee, sat for an hour just chatting. Amanda realised she hadnt done this for yearssimply sat and chatted, not worrying about getting home to make dinner before Simon returned.

In the evenings, Amanda read. Books now lasted much longershe no longer fell asleep at page twenty.

One night Adam called.

Mum, Dad says hes living by himself now.

Thats right.

So, how are you two?

Its different, Amanda said. But honestly, Im well.

There was a pause.

Mum are you two divorcing?

I dont know yet. Not really thought about it.

Youre not upset?

Im surprised more than sad.

Another pause. Adam was always slow to process news.

All right, he finally said. Ring if you want.

You ring too. Not only at Christmas.

***

There was this moment when Amanda stood still in the kitchen for five minutes, just looking out the window.

Shed just rinsed her usual morning mug and suddenly thought: twenty-six years. Thats a lot. More than half a life. It had been everythinggood too. The first flat theyd done up together, knuckles scraped raw. Adam, little, knees always covered in plasters. That trip to Cornwall about fifteen years agotheyd laughed all weekend, though she couldnt remember what at, just remembered the happiness.

None of that would happen again. Well, it would just sit in the past now, like photos in an album.

She waited until the feeling passed. It did. Not immediately, but it passed.

Then she set the mug on the rack and got ready for yoga.

***

John appeared by chance.

It was Mrs. Henderson downstairseighty, sharp as ever, talkative on the stairwell. She asked Amanda to change a bulb (My son cant come for a week, its so dark!). Amanda changed it, then had tea with her. Thats when her son turned upthough not the one expected, but another.

His name was John. He lived locally, had a beard, a good coat, the tired eyes of a hard worker.

Mum, exploiting people again? he joked when he saw Amanda with a bulb.

She offered, Mrs. Henderson replied, dignified.

He turned to Amanda. Thank you. Id have come myself but didnt realise Mum was sitting in the dark.

No trouble, Amanda said.

They chatted for ten minutes in the doorway. He worked in construction, different firm from Simon. She said she was an accountant. He said goodbye and left.

Three days later, he knocked on her door to bring groceries to his mum and handed Amanda some chocolates as a thank you.

Oh, thats really not necessary, Amanda said, but took the box.

Do you mind if I pop in? Actually, I wanted to ask about your SimonMum said he managed procurement? Ive got a question about suppliers.

Amanda paused.

Simons living elsewhere at the moment. I can give you his number, if you like.

Oh, right, John said, face unreadable. Well, I wont trouble you then.

He left. A week later, he called againfound another way round the supplier issuethen casually asked if Amanda fancied meeting for a coffee, just as neighbours.

She thought for a moment, then said yes.

They went to a café on the next street. Talked about work, his mum, how the area had changed over the years. He was easy to talk to, genuine, listened, sometimes laughing at his own jokes before finishing them.

Were you married long? he asked at one point, without malice, just curious.

Twenty-six years, Amanda replied. Well, or I was. Nowwho knows.

It happens, he said simply, no prying.

She appreciated that.

They met again, then again. He never rushed, never demanded, just called now and then to ask how she was. Amanda liked the lack of commitment. After twenty-six years of obligations, non-commitment felt like opening a window in a stuffy room.

***

Meanwhile, Simon started noticing things about himself.

For example, hed never learned to wait. Everything in his old life just happenedfood appeared, clothes magically clean, things that broke seemed to fix themselves. Now he had to wait: for laundry to dry, water to boil, a plumber to turn up. For a cold to passhe caught one in the second week, lying feverish and alone, sweating in stale sheets and swallowing paracetamol with lukewarm tap water.

Or this: he couldnt eat in silence. For twenty-six years, someone sat at the tablefirst Adam, then just Amanda, who always said something, or just sat, but it was a living silence, a presence. Here, the silence was empty.

He started turning the telly on for meals. It helped, a bit.

During the third week, Simon rang Adam.

All right, son.

Hey, Dad. Hows things?

Fine. Still on Forest Avenue.

I knowMum told me.

How is she?

There was a longer pause than usual.

Shes fine. Says shes started yoga, out with friends.

Simon let that sink in.

Shes not missing me, then?

Dadis that why you called? To check if Mums missing you?

No, just curious.

Shes all right, Dad. So are you. Thats good.

Simon hung up, sitting on the sofa with an unfamiliar feeling. Not quite hurtsomething else. A bit like walking into a room and forgetting why.

***

On the twenty-third day, he met a neighbour in the lifta thirty-five-year-old woman hed seen a few times before. Her name was Katie; she introduced herself first.

Are you new here?

Temporarily.

Oh, split up with the wife?

He was taken aback by the bluntness.

Er, yes.

Happens, she said without fuss. You from number three? Old Mr. Mills used to live there. Sang all night.

No, number four. Mustard curtains.

Oh, Mr. Daniels owns that flat. Always rents to single men. Says he cant be bothered with families.

They left the lift; Katie lived on the ground floor. She worked at a veterinary clinic, had a cat, and a windowsill of plants.

Once, he helped her carry heavy shopping. She made him tea in a kitchen scented with cinnamon, clean and homely. She was bright and sharp. But he noticed himself thinking: her place is spotless; at mine, the dishes havent been done since Wednesday.

They continued to chat in the lift, by the post-boxes; nothing came of it nor could, for Simon felt unfinished, like an incomplete thought, begun and abandoned mid-sentence.

One day she asked:

You here for long?

Im not sure, honestly.

You look like a man who hasnt decided which way hes going yet.

Probably true.

Its OKjust dont get stuck there too long. I did after my divorce, wasted two years wondering what now.

That stuck with him.

***

On the thirty-first day, Simon went to the market and bought flowers. No reason, no occasionhe just saw the chrysanthemums, big and white, thought how Amanda had always loved them: not roses, too flashy, but chrysanthemums. She said roses were too demanding.

He bought a huge bunch, paid the florist£20and took the Tube to Willow Road.

All the way, he clutched the flowers, wondering what to say. Imagined Amanda opening the door, surprised but pleased. Twenty-six years, after allit was still him.

He rang the bell. New button, he noticed. The old one was gone.

Steps inside, then voicesa womans, Amandas, and a mans, not his own.

He stood, shocked.

The door opened a crack, secured by a new chain. Amandas face appeared. She looked at him, looked at the flowers. Her face was calm.

Simon.

Mandy, I came.

I can see that.

I, er brought these. He held the flowers higher.

She looked at him: not angry, not teary, just steady, unmoved.

Simon, Im not opening the door.

Why? he asked, lost for words.

Because I changed the locks.

I can see that. Butwhy?

Behind her, a shadow movedanother man. Simon saw.

Whos that?

Not your business, she said, not unkindly, just stating a fact.

Mandy, hang on. I Ive realised a lot.

What have you realised?

His mouth opened and shut again.

That I was happy with you. That I never valued it. That leaving was a mistake.

She was quiet, looking at him through the chain.

Simon, she finally said softly, not unkindly, Youve realised you were happy. But you never wondered _why_. You think you miss me. But you just miss having someone iron your shirts.

Thats unfair, he said.

Maybe. But its true.

Twenty-six years, Mandy.

I know. She gripped the door. There were good years, yes. But I dont want another twenty-six like that.

Will you not give me another chance?

She considered himsilent, long. At last she said:

You know the funny part? Ive started breathing too. Turns out I was suffocating. I just never spoke about it.

He stood, flowers in hand.

Mandy

Go, Simon. Ring Adam. Not about me. Just call him. For no reason.

The door closedquiet, without a bang. The lock clicked.

He stood in the corridor. The flowers drooped a little. They were fresh and strongthey couldnt know what was happening.

It was silent on the landing. From behind another door, he could hear a TV.

Simon turned and walked to the lift.

***

He pressed the button. The lift arrived quickly. In the mirror, he saw himself: a man with flowers, good coat, a little crumpled, the expression of someone whose life had just finishedor maybe started. Or maybe both.

He stepped out onto the street. It was already dark; streetlights burned, few passers-by marched past. He made his way to the Tube, still holding the flowers.

Then he stopped.

On a bench sat an old lady, feeding pigeons from a paper bag. Dozens crowded about.

Simon approached and placed the bouquets beside her.

Take them, if you like, he offered.

She looked at him, eyed the flowers.

Lovely flowers. Not taken, then?

No, not taken.

Happens, she nodded, going back to the pigeons.

Simon walked on. The street was the same as always; houses stood as before; life carried on. Somewhere in this city Amanda closed her door behind him and returned to her evening, her new life, which seemed to suit her just fine.

Somewhere, Adam was on his way homea son he needed to ring, just because.

Somewhere, in a flat with mustard curtains, dirty dishes still waited in the sink.

He pulled out his phone.

***

Later, on the Tube, Simon gazed into the black window. His own reflection stared back, blurred and indistinct.

Funny thing, he thought, but not about anything in particular. Justfunny.

The train sped on. Station after station. In the carriage, people of all kinds: old, young, worn out, cheerful, with bags, with books, lost in their phones. No one cared about him, his chrysanthemums left on a bench, his twenty-six years, his closed door.

He left at his stop and climbed to the street.

The air was sharp, smelling of the first snow, not yet fallen, but you could sense it.

Simon looked up at the sky.

It was darkand perfectly ordinary.

Then he headed home.

***

That night, about two, Simon lay awake, staring at the ceiling. The flat was as alwaysthe mustard curtains shut out the lights, fridge humming now and then. The normal routine of his thirty-one days here.

He remembered something.

Eight, maybe ten years ago, he and Amanda had gone to her parents cottage. That evening they sat on the porch with tea, woods dark beyond the garden, both silenteasy silence, that live, comfortable kind. Hed thought then: this is good.

But said nothing. Just thought it. Then forgot.

He lay now on the sofa in his rented flat, trying to remember the last time hed thought that. Couldnt.

Outside, something like snow startedsparse, hesitant. The first of the year.

The flat was quiet.

***

In the morning, he got up, put the kettle on, and thought he ought to buy some proper mugs. The ones here were chipped, awkward to drink from.

Then he thought he should ring Adam.

Then about work deadlinesquarterly report due, hed fallen behind.

Then he remembered Amandas words: shed started breathing. Shed been suffocating too.

Hed never known. Or perhaps hed known, but never thought it important. She was always there, always doing what needed to be donehed never asked if she wanted to, if she liked it. Shed been part of the very routine he thought was a cagenever realising it was for her too, only shed sat there quietly, ironing his shirts.

The kettle whistled.

He poured water into a chipped mug, made tea, and sat at the table.

Outside, the snow was coming down properly, white and steady, settling on the sill, not melting.

Simon took out his phone, searched for Adams name.

Then put it away.

Then picked it up again.

Adam. Its Dad. Just calling for no reason. You busy?

No, Adam replied, surprised. Hi, Dad. Not busy.

How are you?

All right. Working. You got snow?

Just started.

Here too.

A pause. Comfortable, easy silence.

Dad? Adam asked. You all right?

Simon looked out at the snow. Still coming downwhite and even, everything still so unclear.

Im getting there, he said.

All right, Adam said. Ring if you need.

I will, said Simon. You do too. Not just at Christmas.

Its a deal, said Adam.

They hung up. Simon finished his tea. The tea was good.

The snow fell outside.

***

At that same time, elsewhere in London, Amanda stood at her own window. Coffee in hand, warm, quiet flat. John had already gone; he never stayed the nighta silent understanding between them: no hurry, no need.

She thought about Simonnot with anger or joy, just the way you think of someone after youve shared your life. Simon, at the door, flowers, large, a little lostlike someone life had given a nudge, but maybe hadnt truly taught anything.

She wasnt angry anymore. The anger had passedthough at first, in the early days, shed been surprised at her own silent rageat things unsaid and all those years of familiar routine. At how Simon got bored by the routine, never realising she made it with her own hands. At how his restlessness came from a routine she alone built, never asking her if she minded, if it suited her.

But the anger left, replaced by something quieter, more solid.

She picked up her phone, messaged Harriet: Yoga tomorrow?

The reply came instantly: I was waiting for you to ask.

Amanda smiled and set down her mug.

Snow fell outside her window too.

***

That evening, Simon rang his landlord to ask if he could extend the rental two more months.

Of course, said Mr. Daniels. Just pay in advance.

Simon headed round to the hardware shop, bought two decent mugs, then paused and picked up a third. Why not.

Then to the supermarketstocked up on real food: chicken stock, carrots, onions, potatoes. He found a soup recipe on his phonefour steps. Step four: Add salt to taste.

He stood, spoon in hand, wondering, what _does_ that mean? He tasted, added salt, tried againtoo much, but the soup was still edible.

He poured it into a bowlmugs not right for soupsat down to eat.

It was quiet.

In the quiet, the soup seemed fine.

***

Life went on, as it always did: without explanations. Amanda attended yoga, now and then saw John, who was a good bloke and didnt push her for more. Simon, on Forest Avenue, made soup, sometimes rang Adam, met Dave and Andy every weekAndy now coming without Heather and staying a bit longer.

They never filed for divorce. Not from decision or indecisionit was just effort neither wanted right now.

One day they met by chance in Sainsburysthe same one on Willow Road, the one theyd always shopped in. Simon was reading the label on a bottle of kefir like it held some secret.

She walked up behind him.

Simon.

He turned. They sized each other up. He looked well, a bit leaner, a more attentive look in his eye.

Hi, Mandy.

Hi. You look good.

So do you.

A pause.

Getting kefir? she asked.

Yeah, cant decide.

This ones best, she pointed.

Cheers.

He took it. She grabbed hers and moved along. He went the other way.

At the tills, they ended up in the next queuestheir baskets nearly touching on the conveyor. She paid; he paid. They walked out at almost the same moment.

Well, he said, cheerio then.

Bye, Simon, she replied.

She turned right, he left.