The phone went silent. Emma stood in the middle of the kitchen, holding it to her chest with both hands. Auntie Gail had spoken for exactly four minutes — her voice dry, businesslike, not a single tear.
Daniel was on the sofa. The telly mumbled something in the background. He didn’t even turn around when Emma appeared in the doorway.
‘Daniel. Auntie Gail called. Mum died an hour ago.’
He nodded. Swiped his thumb across the phone screen — scrolling through something, anything.
‘Right. Shame.’
‘I need to go. Right now. Two hours’ drive. Give me the car keys.’
Daniel put the phone down. Not because he was moved — because he’d heard the word ‘car’. He looked up at her with mild annoyance, as if she’d asked him to move a wardrobe.
‘No. I need the car. Mum asked me to take her to Auntie Sue’s. I promised last week.’
Emma didn’t move. The kitchen light fell on her back, leaving her face in shadow.
‘Did you hear what I said?’
‘I heard. But she’s already dead. Why rush? Take the bus tomorrow. Mum’s alive. She’s waiting. I promised.’
One second. Two. Three.
‘Are you serious right now?’
‘Absolutely. I’m not letting Mum down.’
Emma walked into the room. Stood right in front of the telly, so Daniel couldn’t look past her. He had to lift his eyes.
‘I’m asking you once. Once. Think about what you just said. Then answer again.’
‘Emma, don’t make a scene. I explained. Mum’s waiting, I promised. Your funeral won’t disappear overnight.’
‘My funeral,’ she repeated slowly.
‘Well, the funeral. You know what I mean. Go tomorrow. They’ll manage without you — there’s your aunt, the neighbours.’
Emma leaned a little closer.
‘Do you understand this is the last time I ask you for anything? Not the second. Not the third. The last.’
‘God, Emma. You always make a mountain out of a molehill. One day! You can wait one day. Nothing will collapse. Mum asked — I’m going. Full stop.’
‘My mother just died, Daniel. Yours is going to visit and drink tea.’
‘Don’t twist it. She’s been planning this for ages, Sue’s expecting her. I gave my word. You want me to break it?’
‘I want you to remember who you live with. And what this day means to me.’
‘I remember. But priorities are priorities. The living matter more.’
Emma straightened up. Looked at him as if memorising his face. Not with hatred. With something final.
‘Fine,’ she said.
That ‘fine’ came out flat. No hurt. No crack. No tremor. Daniel didn’t notice — he was already reaching for the remote.
*
Emma went into the hallway. Opened the top drawer of the chest of drawers — the one Daniel hadn’t opened once in seven years. Took out a thick folder with a clasp: her passport, the flat ownership certificate, the car logbook, bank documents. Everything in her name. Put it in her bag.
Took both sets of car keys off the hook. Put on her jacket. Shoes.
‘Where are you going?’ Daniel called from the room.
‘To say goodbye to my mother.’
‘In what? I told you, I need the car!’
Emma opened the front door. Daniel was already in the hallway — barefoot, remote in hand, with the ridiculous expression of an offended master.
‘The car’s in my name. Always has been. The flat too. When I get back, the lock will be changed. Your stuff will be by the door. Pick it up or I’ll put it out.’
‘What are you on about?’
‘I’m not on about anything. I’m telling you. Clearly, once.’
‘Emma, stop. Stop! You can’t just…’
‘Daniel. My mother died. And you explained that you needed the car more — to drive yours to a tea party at your aunt’s. That’s all I needed to hear. There’s nothing left between us. Pack your things.’
The door closed. The lock clicked. The block door slammed downstairs. A minute later he saw from the window her getting into the driver’s seat — calmly, no fuss, no backward glance. She started the engine. Drove out of the courtyard. Didn’t even look up.
Daniel stood in the middle of the hallway. Dialled her number — long rings, no answer. Sent a text: ‘Bring the car back. Have you lost your mind?’ Read. Silence. Another: ‘Stop being ridiculous. Mum’s waiting, I need to go.’ Read. Silence.
Twenty minutes later his mum rang.
‘Daniel, when are you picking me up? Sue’s already laid the table.’
‘Bit of a situation, Mum. Emma took the car.’
‘What do you mean, took it? It’s your car!’
‘Technically… it’s in her name.’
‘So what? You’re the husband! Tell her to bring it back!’
‘She’s not answering. I’ll call you back.’
He sat on the sofa. Walked around the flat. Everything looked the same — furniture, curtains, shelves. But Emma had taken out of this home the documents, the keys, and herself. The three things that held it all together.
The phone rang. Emma. He grabbed it.
‘Emma! Finally. Listen, let’s not…’
‘Shut up,’ she said. Quiet and short, like a click. ‘I’ll say this once. The flat belongs to me. Grandmother left it, documents in my name, you know that perfectly well. The car I bought before the marriage. The money in the account is mine — you haven’t saved a pound in seven years. In your jacket pocket there’s twenty quid — enough for a taxi for your mother. Tight, but it’ll do.’
‘Emma, wait…’
‘I’m changing the lock today. I’ll ask neighbour Jenny to let the locksmith in. Your stuff will be by the door. Two days. Then I’m putting it out with the bins.’
‘You can’t…’
‘I can. Every piece of paper. Every signature. It’s all mine. And you in seven years never even bothered to put a bloody kettle in your name.’
‘That’s low!’
‘Low is telling your wife she doesn’t need to go bury her mother because you need the car to take yours for tea. That’s low. I’m just taking what’s mine.’
Silence on the line for four seconds.
‘Emma, I overstepped. Idiot, I blurted it out. Let’s talk properly when you’re back.’
‘I’m not coming back to you. We’re done. Don’t call again.’
Dial tone.
Daniel sat with the phone in his hand. Dialled again — subscriber unavailable. Again — same. She’d blocked his number.
He reached into his jacket pocket. Two crumpled notes. A tenner and a tenner. She’d worked that out too — exactly enough for a taxi to Auntie Sue’s and back. Not a penny more.
The card was empty — he checked. Other accounts — zero. He’d never bothered. He always had what Emma gave him. The flat — hers. The car — hers. The money — hers. He’d lived in someone else’s home for seven years and never once thought about it.
His mum was waiting at the block entrance. A small figure in a green coat, holding a bag of treats for her sister. The taxi stopped, she got in, looked around the cab.
‘Taxi? Seriously? Where’s the car?’
‘Emma’s got it.’
‘So take it back!’
‘She drove off. For good.’
His mum was quiet. Stared at the back of the front seat.
‘What do you mean, for good?’
‘Exactly that. She left. Said I’ve got two days to collect my stuff. She’s changing the lock today.’
‘Over what?’
‘Because I told her not to go to the funeral. Said I needed the car more.’
His mum turned to him. In her eyes — not remorse. Bewilderment. She couldn’t see how asking to be dropped at her sister’s could turn into a disaster.
‘Well, you really put your foot in it, Daniel.’
‘I didn’t think she’d just…’
‘You should have thought! A woman’s mother dies, and you say “you can wait”? Were you out of your mind?’
‘You’re the one who asked me to drive you!’
‘I asked you to drive me. I didn’t ask you to stop your wife from going to her mother’s funeral! That was all your own doing!’
The taxi drove through the city. The meter ticked. Daniel watched the numbers — they grew, each pound eating into his last cash. When the car stopped outside Auntie Sue’s, the meter showed eight pounds. Another eight back. The leftover — maybe enough for a meal. For a day.
His mum got out. Turned. The bag of treats crumpled in her hands.
‘And where are you going now?’
‘To yours. If you’ll have me.’
‘I’ve got a bedroom and a kitchen, Daniel. A camp bed in the box room.’
‘Then a camp bed.’
She shook her head. Walked to the block door. It closed behind her.
Daniel stood on the pavement. In his pocket — twelve pounds in change and crumpled notes. On his card — nothing. Behind him — a city where he no longer had a single square foot.
He took out his phone. Dialled Emma’s number. Long rings. Then a mechanical voice: ‘The subscriber is unavailable.’
He put the phone away. Looked at his hands — empty. Like everything else.
And Emma, meanwhile, stood in the middle of her mother’s living room. Auntie Gail on her right, neighbours behind. She was doing what she had to do. Saying goodbye. Because to her, the dead deserved no less respect than the living. And certainly more than a husband who, after seven years, still hadn’t worked out who he was living with.