It is a cold November evening, the streetlights have halo’s around them as the fog grows denser, not a night to be out. I thought of my cosy fire lit sitting room waiting to welcome me home and hasten my steps in anticipation. As I pass the row of houses before my own road I glance in at brightly lit rooms where folk are watching TV, talking or reading, oblivious to the fact that they have forgotten to close the curtains.

Just ahead of me a front door opens, a woman stands in the doorway silhouetted against the hall light. Her head turns to right and left, she gestures to someone out of my sight and a man slips past her, carrying a small parcel, and starts to walk briskly up the road ahead of me. The woman in the doorway had failed to see me approaching, my footsteps muffled by the gathering fog.

I could just make out the man; we are walking at roughly the same pace. He turns into my road. I wonder who it is; I know most of the folk in the avenue. I am beginning to feel the cold and damp penetrating through my coat. I shiver and quicken my pace. I am gaining on the man when I realise that he has turned into my drive. The sodden leaves deaden my footsteps on the gravel. I watch as he takes a key from his pocket and opens the door.

It is Eric, my husband, in the eerie light and swirling fog I hadn’t recognised him. I stood rooted to the spot. What was he doing coming out of that woman’s house so furtively? Was he having an affair? Surely not. We had always seems so happy with each other. Though lately I had been conscious that Eric was wearing so much better that I was. It wasn’t fair men always seemed to age slower than women, or at least they appeared too. I shook myself, telling myself not to be stupid. Eric would probably be waiting to tell me all about it over supper. I would say nothing and see what happened.

Eric was sitting reading the paper he looked up smiled and asked, “What’s for supper?” I told him and went into the kitchen to put the finishing touches to the casserole simmering in the oven. I looked around as I put supper on the table. I loved my kitchen. Eric had wanted to give me a new kitchen for my birthday but I had managed to talk him out of it. I drew comfort from all my familiar furniture and china, even the posters on the walls spelt home to me.

I called Eric and supper progressed without a single reference to the incident with the woman in the doorway. That’s how the whole evening passed, we watched the news, played scrabble, read and went to bed.

I lay in bed for hours turning over in my mind what had happened and what could it mean. Would he leave me for her? Would there be a divorce? I fell asleep at dawn exhausted.

I was woken by Eric switching on the light; I looked at him he was grinning from ear to ear. He was carrying a tray of tea. “Happy birthday, darling! Here take this for a minute.” As I took the tray he disappeared downstairs, I could hear a rustling of paper and he was back again holding out a beautifully wrapped parcel. I stared from the parcel to his face. He looked so happy, obviously anticipating my reaction to the contents of the parcel being so eagerly held out to me.

I put the tray on the floor and reached for the parcel. I carefully undid the wide ribbon and unfolded the beautiful floral paper. Inside, was the most extravagant dressing gown or, should I say, negligee I had ever seen. It was made of a delicate apricot coloured pure silk, styled perfectly. I look at him amazed. “ It’s so beautiful! Where did you get it? I’ve never seen anything like it in the shops round here. It must have cost a fortune!”

Eric took the gown out of my hands and bent and kissed me, “You deserve a little luxury, I’ve always wanted to give you something like this but I couldn’t bring myself to go into those grand shops. I know it’s silly but I would be so embarrassed. I did think of asking one of the chaps at the office if he would shop for me but I couldn’t pluck up courage to ask. Then Peter Godwin was sharing how his wife was starting up a cottage industry making garments to order. So, I asked if I could meet his wife and she made it. They only live around the corner; I collected it last night. Now have your tea then try it on.”

By Elizabeth Dowd