“Where did you get my earrings?” asked Margaret, spotting them in her friend’s holiday photo.
“Margie, come look at these pictures Charlotte sent from her trip!” called Edward from the kitchen, stirring sugar into his tea. “Shes tanned as a chestnut!”
Margaret dried her hands on a tea towel and wandered into the kitchen, where her husband was sipping his tea and scrolling through his phone.
“Show me,” she said, straightening her dressing gown as she sat beside him. “Where did they go, Turkey?”
“Egypt, she said. Lookheres the beach, and this ones at a restaurant” Edward flicked through the photos, commenting on each. “Oh, this is lovelymustve been an excursion.”
Margaret studied them in silence, nodding. Charlotte had always known how to present herself welleven back in school, shed been the lively one, the heart of every gathering. Theyd lost touch after university, then bumped into each other at the doctors surgery years later, striking up the occasional chat since.
“Oh, this ones nice,” Edward paused on a shot of Charlotte at a café table, smiling at the camera.
Margaret glanced at the screenand felt her blood run cold. In her friends ears glinted familiar earrings: tiny golden roses with pearl centres. The very ones Edward had given her for their twentieth anniversary.
“Where did she get my earrings?” Margaret asked quietly, eyes fixed on the phone.
“What?” Edward looked up, confused.
“The earrings. The rose ones with pearls. You gave me a pair just like themremember?” Her voice trembled.
Edward squinted at the photo, frowning. “Dont be daft, Margie. Similar, maybe. Jewellers sell those by the dozen.”
“No, not similar. The exact same ones.” Margaret took the phone, zooming in. “Look, hereon the left rose, that tiny scratch. I caught it on the wardrobe door, remember?”
Edward sipped his tea in silence. Margarets pulse quickened.
“Eddie, where are my earrings?”
“How should I know? Youre the one who keeps track of your jewellery,” he muttered, avoiding her gaze.
Margaret stood and marched to the bedroom, to her vanity. She opened the jewellery box, sifting through its contents. The earrings were gone. She checked every drawer, peered under the table, even searched the bathroom. Nothing.
“Eddie!” she called.
“What now?” came his irritable reply.
“Theyre gone. Theyre not in the box.”
“Maybe you left them somewhere? Lost them on holiday?”
“What holiday? Last summer we visited your motherI didnt take them. This year we havent gone anywhere.”
Edward stalked out of the kitchen, turned on the telly in the sitting room.
“Dunno, Margie. Maybe you sent them for repairs?”
“Why would I? They were practically new.” Margaret leaned in the doorway, arms crossed. “Eddie, look at me.”
He reluctantly tore his eyes from the screen.
“What?”
“Do you know where my earrings are?”
“No, I dont.” His attention snapped back to the telly.
Margaret returned to the kitchen, sinking into a chair. Her thoughts raced. The earrings had vanishedand now Charlotte had them. Coincidence? But they were distinctiveshe remembered Edward spending ages picking them out at the jewellers.
She grabbed her phone, found Charlottes number. Her fingers shook as she typed:
*Charlotte, darling! Saw your holiday picslooks divine! Wherever did you find those gorgeous earrings? The rose-and-pearl ones are simply stunning.*
The reply came quickly: *Thanks, Margot! A gift from a dear friend. Ive wanted a pair like these forever.*
*Where from? Fancy some myself!*
*No ideadidnt choose them. But why? You always said your husbands tight with gifts.*
Margaret set the phone down. Her heart pounded so loudly she thought the neighbours might hear. She stood, paced to the window, trying to steady herself. Maybe she was wrongmaybe it really was a coincidence.
“Margie, what about supper?” Edward called from the sitting room.
“Make it yourself,” she said without turning.
“Whats got into you? Working yourself up over a pair of earrings.”
“Over a pair of earrings,” she echoed. “Our twentieth anniversary gift. Twenty years together.”
“So what? Lost is lost. Ill buy you new ones.”
“Thats not the point, Eddie.”
She turned to face him. He sat in his armchair, flicking channels.
“Then what is?”
“That Charlotte has them.”
“So what if she does? What difference does it make?”
“Edward, did you give them to her?”
A long pause. On the telly, some soap opera scene played out.
“Dont be ridiculous.”
“Then how did she get them?”
“How should I know? Maybe she bought her own.”
Margaret stepped closer, stood in front of him.
“Look me in the eye and tell me you didnt give Charlotte my earrings.”
Edward raised his gaze, met hersthen looked away.
“Margie, enough. Turning a trifle into a bloody inquisition.”
“So you did.”
“I didnt.” His voice turned sharp.
Margaret sat on the sofa opposite.
“Eddie, weve been married twenty years. Ive always trusted you. If theres something between you, just say it.”
“Theres nothing!” He shot up from the chair. “Youve lost the plot! Stumbling on some photo and winding yourself up.”
“Then why are you so rattled?”
“Because youre interrogating me over nonsense! I work all day, come home to this!”
He stormed into the kitchen, slamming the door. Margaret sat motionless, staring blankly. Twenty years. Their daughter Emily married and living in Manchester. Their son James at university, home on weekends.
She remembered, a year ago, when Edward started working late, preening in the mirror before leaving, buying himself a crisp new shirt. Shed thought it a midlife crisisa man wanting to feel young again.
Then hed grown distantfewer embraces, less talk of the future. Shed blamed work stresshis high-pressure role at the construction firm.
From the kitchen came the clatter of dishes. Edward was washing his cup, banging a spoon.
Margaret picked up her phone, reopened Charlottes photos. She studied each one: Charlotte on the beach in a swimsuit, at a restaurant, by the pyramidsalways wearing those earrings.
She zoomed in on one. Charlotte glowedtan skin, sleek hair, fresh manicure. A holiday well spent.
*Whod you go with? Just you and a friend?* she typed.
No reply for ages. Then: *Went with a mate. Listen, busychat later?*
Margaret knew that was a lie. Charlotte had no close friendsshed complained of loneliness since her divorce three years prior. Her ex had left her with a mortgage and debts. She worked as a receptionist at a private clinichardly Egypt money.
“Margie, Im popping to the shed,” Edward called from the hall.
“Fine,” she said.
The front door slammed. Margaret went to the window. Edward crossed the garden, digging cigarettes from his pocket. Hed quit five years agobut lately, shed caught whiffs of tobacco on his clothes.
She returned to her phone, opened Charlottes socials. Scrolled through: holiday snaps, café outings, theatre trips. One photo stopped hera familiar jacket. Navy, fur-lined hood. Just like Edwards. But the woman wearing it wasnt Charlottetall, slim, dark-haired.
Margaret peered closer. Not his jacket, just similar. She shut the phone, went to their wardrobe. His jacket hung there. But next to ithis light-blue shirt, the expensive one hed bought last year, was missing.
“Eddie back yet?” came a voice behind her.
She turned. Their son James stood in the doorway, bag in hand.
“Jamie! Love, youre home. Dads in the shed.”
He set his bag down, hugged her.
“Mum, whats wrong? Youre pale.”
“Just tired. Hows uni?”
“Fine. Butwhats going on here? Dads been acting odd. Yesterday, I overheard him on the phoneall soft, saying darling, miss you. Thought it was you, but you were at work.”
Margaret sat on the bed. James joined her, took her hand.
“Mum, is Dad seeing someone?”
“I dont know, Jamie. I dont know.”
“Had you suspected?”
“No. Welllately, hes been different. Distant.”
James squeezed her shoulder.
“Mum, maybe talk to him properly? Find out whats happening?”
“He denies everything.”
“What tipped you off?”
Margaret told him about the earrings, showed Charlottes photos. James
