No other woman

A short story by Diane Jeffrey

- Diane Jeffrey

At night, I keep my mobile next to me on the bedside table, just in case.

It’s on vibrate mode so it won’t wake my husband. When it goes at 2am, it jolts me out of a deep sleep and instantly erases my dream.

I leap out of bed, grab the phone in one hand, my dressing gown from the hook on the door with the other, and race downstairs without making a sound. The tiled floor in the hallway is cold beneath my bare feet.

I swipe to take the call, flicking on the light in the living room as I do so. ‘Hi, are you OK?’ I know full well if he’s ringing me at this unearthly hour that he’s not. Wearily, I sink into the sofa, fold my legs underneath me and wrap my dressing gown around me like a blanket.

‘Emily, thank goodness you’re up,’ he whispers. ‘I’m locked in. Locked up, in fact. I’m being kept prisoner. In my own home!’

‘Dad, no one is keeping you prisoner.’

‘It’s that other woman. I told you about her, didn’t I? She has locked the doors and she won’t let me out,’ he says. ‘You have to come round and rescue me. How soon can you get here? We need to get rid of her, once and for all!’

It used to be the other way round. I used to turn to my father for help when I had a problem. I would ask him for advice. Gradually, over the past few years, our roles have reversed. It all feels upside down.

‘She’s even sleeping in my bed,’ my dad continues. ‘The cheek of her! Her name’s Margaret, apparently. Same as your mum. She’s pretending to be my wife but she looks nothing like her. A lot older, for a start. I want you to know something, Emily: I know it looks bad with her being in my bed and all, but nothing happened between this other Margaret and me. You have to believe me. I waited until she fell asleep so I could creep downstairs and call you.’