One morning Simon, my husband, woke up and snuggled up to me. He whispered in my ear, Good morning, Molly, and then drifted off back to sleep, still halfgrinning. I opened my eyes, too scared to move, a cold shiver crawling through me. What on earth had just happened? Everything had seemed fine yesterday or had it?
Simon rolled over, yawned and said, Ursula, youre so chilly Im losing my sleep. You alright? Its summer outside, yet youre shivering under the duvet. Ill brew us a cuppa. He trundled off to the kitchen, whistling a jaunty tune like nothing was wrong.
I stayed in bed a bit longer, then sluggishly pushed myself up, my legs feeling leadweight, my head buzzing with static. Maybe a tea would help. Simon asked for a pancake, and I glared at him, You called me Molly this morning.
What? he asked, amused. Ursula, love, you mustve heard wrong. Its just the halfasleep brain playing tricks. Dont be so sour. He chuckled, Women, always making a drama out of nothing. Im heading to work on an empty stomach.
I wandered around the house, trying to shake the fog. I watered the plants, tossed a pancake on the pan, threw on some clothes and drove to Simons clinic. Maybe Id really misheard. Molly Ursula I muttered to myself.
When I got to the reception, a new secretary was there a freshfaced girl with a wild tumble of ginger curls, a smile that could melt butter. DrSimon is booked up today, can I put you in for next week? she asked.
Better book me in now, Ill need the slot, I blurted, surprising even myself. She stared at me, eyes widening. Excuse me?
Ursula Whitfield, Simons wife, I said, trying to sound firm. Step aside, will you? Im not here to chat with the office gossip.
Just then the intercom crackled with Simons cheery voice, Molly, could you bring me my coffee? Molly?
I snorted. Fine, Ill get it, I muttered, heading back.
He called me Molly? as I set the tray down. Heres your coffee and a pancake. Your divorce papers will be in the post. Enjoy. He looked like hed had a bad night, eyes darting.
Ursula, what the hell is happening? he snapped, frustration flaring. Its like youve turned into a witch on a broom.
I shot back, Your witch is sitting in the waiting room. Whys her hair a mess? Youre a respectable dentist and youve got a vulgar secretary. Its cheap, Simon Whitaker.
He held up his hands. Ursula, stop. I cant take these fits. Im taking a week off at the cottage. Cool off, then call me.
Its too late, I said, voice shaking. I wont put up with cheating. Just tell me why, so I know what Im dealing with.
Simon sighed, took a sip of his coffee and grimaced. Vera quit. I hired Molly on her recommendation.
When? I asked.
About a month ago, he replied, eyes avoiding mine. Why didnt you tell me? You always share the news.
I didnt expect her to stick around. Shes doing a great job.
I see, I said, my tone icy. And not just at work.
It was accidental! I didnt mean any of it! he protested. Im packing my things now, Ill move out.
Where? I snapped. I said Id stay at the cottage for a week. I dont want a divorce, Simon!
Too late. I cant hear my own name from your mouth. Ursula, Molly. Your redhaired secretary will keep haunting my mind. My jobs stressful enough; Im already dealing with the kids.
Where are you going? Stay in the flat.
My own house, in the country.
In the sticks? The old stone cottage?
My house. End of story.
***
The old family cottage, inherited from my parents, felt heavy with memories. I wanted to cry, the scent of damp wood filling the air. My friend Nelly, whod stopped by, tried to cheer me up:
You cant live here forever, Ursula. Go back to the flat, sort something out. Sell the place, get a mortgage and you know what I mean.
Im not going back, I replied, and you? Could you handle it?
She shrugged, I dont know how Id cope if I were in your shoes.
I flung open every window, letting the fresh country air in. Honestly, this could be a nice place to live eventually. Its a solid house, fifteen minutes drive to town, and the village has been sprucing up. All the utilities are finally in. Ive never even been here in five years.
Nelly groaned, But thats a lot of work! I need a place to crash now. Maybe I could stay in the spare room until autumn?
The teenagers room is offlimits, Nelly. Im not a motherfigure here.
She waved her hand dismissively. Fine, whatever.
Then I smelled the grass. Can you smell that? Its like the old garden, the childhood summers.
Its overgrown, youll have to mow it, she said. You cant do it alone.
Ill get a crew to dig up the plot. Ive saved a bit over the years. Since Simon opened his private clinic, Ive been living on his money, and he kept saying I should stash my pay for fun.
Nelly sighed, He sounds like a good bloke.
I thought so too. But now its all crushing.
She tried to sympathise, Twenty years together, youre not heartless.
Dont be ridiculous, I snapped. Im done crying.
She laughed, Youll see, stress does that to you.
I told her Id tackle the garden, the well, the whole lot. Im not tearing the house down. Its my parents legacy.
She suggested hiring designers, but I wasnt keen. Its our shared flat, after all.
I imagined Simon leaving the cottage to us, and my daughter Polina deciding what to do with it. Its basically her flat now, I dont need it.
Nelly mused, Simon could have a proper estate, with a toilet and water.
Everythings here, I muttered. Stop whining, I need a bucket, water from the tap, and a mop.
She suggested a hotel, but I was set on keeping the house.
Later, the old water column was gone, replaced by a modern pump behind a tall fence.
Nelly raised an eyebrow, After all these years, your houses are practically neighbours now. Expansion, huh?
I walked around, noticing the new fence, three sides solid, the fourth just stakes. Maybe they havent finished the fence yet.
She laughed, Look, a cars pulling up. No ones answering.
I told her to stop dreaming, Life can be stranger than fairytales.
A bloke in a tracksuit stepped out of his car, looking none too friendly.
Hey, love, whats up? I asked, clutching a tray.
He stared at me, Whats happening?
I handed him his coffee and a pancake. Divorce papers are on the way.
He sniffed, Whats going on, Ursula?
I said, Your witch is in the waiting room. Whys her hair a mess? Youre a respectable dentist with a cheaplooking secretary, Simon Whitaker.
He muttered, Enough, Ursula. Im dealing with a split and betrayal, not men.
I stared back, Why are you standing here like a lamppost?
He asked, Wheres the water column? I need water.
I shrugged, I dont like wells.
He whispered, You have drinking water?
I replied, Ive got it. Go home, stop being nervous.
The next morning, a piglets squeal jolted me awake like a childhood memory, only there was no smell of fresh pastries. Tears welled up again.
Suddenly, more squealing. Whered that pig come from? Then footsteps. I heard someone moving outside, brushing grass.
Hey, whos there? Ill call the police! I shouted.
Dont worry, Im a neighbour. I need to collect my pig, Hector.
In my pajamas I shuffled to the front step.
What pig? I asked, irritated.
Hector! the man shouted, disappearing into the overgrown garden. A small black piglet waddled out, snuffling around my boots.
Is he a pedigree? I asked.
He shrugged, Im no pig expert.
Why do you have a pig?
Its not mine. He wandered onto my plot and set up in the shed. Ive been checking the whole village, nobodys looking for a pig. Hes my friend now.
He tried to explain why he was in this rural lane, but I cut him off, Listen, Im about to get a divorce, Im stressed, I could break something. I grew up here, everyone had piglets. Stop staring at my hands.
He backed off, Alright, lets get Hector out of here. I havent put up a fence yet; the pig loves your grass.
He left, and I was left with a piglet, a puppy that soon appeared barking at my door, and a head full of memories.
The neighbour finally opened his gate, still in his sleepshirt, a puppy wagging its tail beside the pig.
Is that your puppy? I asked.
He grinned, Got no fence, the animals just wander in. I was actually heading to the animal shelter this week.
Ive never owned a dog, I said, but Ill name him Arlo.
He laughed, Dont call him Arlo; Im Arlo. Bad idea to name your dog after yourself.
So what about the pig? I asked.
Hell be Gek, right? He already squeaks like that.
Gek and Arlo? Brilliant! he said. Whats your name?
Ursula, I replied.
He nodded, Nice name.
I lingered, not wanting to leave. The pig, the puppy, my own thoughts.
Dont worry, well sort the puppy. Ill teach you a thing or two about dogs, then you can get a proper guard dog for the house.
He wasnt the kind of bloke Nelly would ever call a liar. Shed warned me never to marry a Whitaker, or youd end up with grief. The surname seemed funny to me now, stuck in a house with no water and an outdoor loo. I scratched my knee, hoping for a shower.
Suddenly I heard Simons voice from somewhere, Is this a pajama party?
I introduced them, Simon, this is Arlo. Arlo, this is Simon my husband, soon to be exhusband. Why are you here? Did you hear about the divorce?
Arlo replied, What are you looking for? Your gates open, the doors ajar. I just wanted to ask if youre still going through with the split. We could get married on the day you file, love.
I hiccupped, trying to stay neutral.
Simon, ever the opportunist, shouted, My daughter dropped by earlier, thought the cottage was empty. Shes with her boyfriend. Talk to her, she might be calling you. He waved and left the gate. I stared at the neighbour, And why are you doing this?
He shrugged, Your house is old, no water, no gas, toilet out back. Youll be knocking on my door a lot, dragging your animals here. Ill rebuild it, give you a proper home. No kids, just us and the animals. My house is ready, we could be mates.
Are you out of your mind? I snapped. I might be a victim of a stalker.
He smirked, Stress makes you see things.
A year later we actually got married and adopted a cat. And that, love, is where the story ends.