Page 104 of When We Are Old

“And… you’re killing me here.”

“He asked me to marry him.”

A dead silence met my words.

“Ange?”

“Oh, right. Well, that’s good news. How did the kids all get on?”

“Fine. Is that all you’ve got to say?”

“What do you want me to say? Shall I hang out the bunting because Ronnie is getting married again?”

“I didn’t say yes,” I whispered.

“Why the hell not? Isn’t that your lifelong dream to finally belong to Matthew Carling?” Her words cut me with tiny slashes of dismay. Because, yes. So much bloody yes. As pathetic as it sounded, it was true.

I sighed and shut my eyes. “Because I already let Paul down by being in love with someone else. How can I let Matthew, the man of my dreams down, by saying my daughter will always come first? I can’t marry him and move there. It wouldn’t be fair on Hannah.”

“Have you even asked Hannah?”

“No.” I sat up a little straighter. “I don’t want her to have that on her shoulders. She’s been through enough.”

Ange’s silence hung in the air. “Then I guess you have your answer already.”

We said our goodbyes and I hung up, looking around at the mess I sat in the midst of. Sounded a bit like my life really. A chaotic mess.

Making a mental 'to do' list, I put things in order. Sort Paul’s stuff. Speak to Matthew about the pregnancy test. Find a new home.

There, it seemed quite easy.

I pulled another box of belongings towards me. The dust on this one settled thick like a layer of snow. A white rectangular label in my handwriting announced the contents were ‘Paul’s Filing Cabinet’.

What the hell had I been holding onto this stuff for? Lifting the lid, I peered inside. Everything jumbled together. I’d clearly taken scoops of stuff from his filing cabinet and launched it with little ceremony into the box.

With a deep bone echoing sigh, I reached for a black plastic bag and started shredding old credit card bills and letters from a bank to a person who no longer needed them.

Only when my hand hit something hard, my fingers curling around a small figurine did I stop. The keyring lay in my hand, staring back up at me. Really staring, skull and crossbones with the head round and heavy, a pearly almost iridescent finish.

I frowned at it, weighing it in my palm. I didn’t recognise it, but at the same time it jangled a memory in the back of my mind. Attached to the skull hung a simple brass Yale key.

Putting it to one side, I thought I’d take it downstairs and offer it to Hannah. She liked pretty things with cheap price tags, maybe she’d like this of her father's.

I dove back down bringing up a bundle of printed off emails. I barely glanced at them, thrusting them into the black bag when a word caught my attention. Florence.

Who the hell was Florence I wondered, pulling them back out again.

I skimmed the first one. Then the other. Emails between Paul and a Florence. Emails about weekends away, dinners.

My fingers shook with an unrelenting tremble as my long-seated fears came true before my eyes.

Paul had been having an affair.

Funny the knowledge brought me no comfort.

Plain facts were, I knew why. I’d pushed him away. My deep and impossible to ignore first love for Matthew had never been vanquished.

My marriage had been a lie.