Ethel Thomson wipes down the dust in her husbands study when her cloth brushes against a stack of papers on the edge of the desk. The sheets flutter to the floor and, cursing under her breath, she bends to gather them. Something glints under the chair a small black object. She reaches in and pulls out a smartphone in a scuffed case.
Odd, she murmurs, turning the phone over in her hands.
James Carters brandnew iPhone is always either in his jacket pocket or on the nightstand. This one looks cheaper, simpler and, above all, unfamiliar. She presses the power button the screen lights up, showing the time and date, no password required. Ethels heart tightens, a lump forming in her throat.
She slides down into the chair, eyes fixed on the device. In their twentythree years of marriage theyve weathered arguments, hurts and moments of mistrust. But a second phone? Ethel never thought of herself as a jealous wife. She trusts James, shes proud of their life together. Now the black box threatens to spill secrets she hoped never existed.
Twentythree years, two daughters could it all have been for nothing? she thinks, scrolling through the menu. No photos, just a handful of contacts numbers labeled only with initials. And a conversation with a contact marked S.C.
19:00 tonight, as usual? James wrote three days ago.
Yes, Ill be waiting, she replied.
Two days later:
Thanks for yesterday. As always, you were brilliant. a message from James.
Glad you liked it. Can you make it tomorrow? she answered.
Ill try, but I cant promise. James replied.
Ethels eyes darken. Shes suspecting? She never even allowed such a thought before. A sick mix of betrayal, anger and disappointment burns in her chest. Twentythree years of trust, and this?
The front door slams shut. James returns from work earlier than usual. In a panic, Ethel slips the phone into the pocket of her housecoat and, clutching the cloth, pretends to continue cleaning.
Ethel, where are you? Jamess voice echoes from the hallway.
In the study, tidying up, she answers, trying to sound normal.
James appears in the doorway tall, fit, in a crisp suit. At fifty he looks younger than his peers and still catches the eye of other women. Ethel used to be proud of that, but now a chill of fear runs through her.
How was your day? she asks, polishing the bookcase.
Fine, he loosens his tie, stretching. Just a tough client three hours of hassle.
What client? S.C.? she wants to ask, but holds back.
Why are you up so early? she says, turning to look for any sign of deceit in his familiar face.
Missed you, he says, slipping his arms around her from behind, his nose nudging her neck. He smells his usual aftershave with a hint of old cigarettes, even though he quit five years ago. The scent pricks her.
Going for a shower, James kisses her cheek and heads out.
Alone, Ethel drops onto the sofa. What now? Throw a tantrum? Follow him? Or just ask straight out? The hidden phone presses against her coat pocket. She pulls it out and reopens the messages. Nothing explicit, no love notes or intimate photos. Yet the very existence of the second phone says enough.
Evening passes in tense anticipation. They eat dinner together, watch a series, chat about their daughters. The elder, Olivia, lives in Bristol with her husband and twoyearold son. The younger, Grace, is finishing university. James behaves as usual jokes about work, asks about her day. Nothing suspicious, if you ignore the secret phone.
At ten oclock he disappears for a shower, and Ethel decides to act. She pulls his formal jacket from the wardrobe and checks the pockets empty. She opens his briefcase also empty. Shes about to give up when she spots a tiny card in the jackets side pocket. A business card reads Sophie Clarke 02079461234. S.C. from the messages?
The water in the bathroom stops. Ethel hurriedly puts everything back, slips into bed, and pretends to be asleep. Her heart pounds so loudly she thinks James will hear it.
Morning finds her awake before James, staring at his sleeping face. Familiar, beloved, now strangely foreign. How could he do this? What had he been missing all these years?
At breakfast she cant hold back any longer.
James, are you happy with me? she asks, stirring sugar into her tea.
He lifts his eyebrows in surprise.
Why such a question first thing?
Just answer, she presses.
Of course I am, he says, covering her hand with his. Twentythree years together, after all.
His touch, once warm, now feels like a burn.
Dont you ever want something someone else?
James frowns.
Ethel, whats going on? Youve been odd since last night.
Just answer.
I need nothing else. Youre my wife, the mother of my children, my rock. What nonsense are you dreaming up?
His words sound sincere, but Ethel no longer knows what to trust. The second phone still burns a hole in her coat pocket, the card from Sophie Clarke staring back at her.
Dont be late, she says, forcing a smile that comes out crooked.
When James leaves, she pulls the foreign phone again and opens the messages. She logs onto her laptop, types in the name from the card. Sophie Clarke turns out to be a private guitar teacher. Her social profile shows a friendly woman in her forties with bright red hair and a slender figure.
So thats who she is, Ethel mutters, bitterness rising in her throat.
At lunch she calls her longtime friend Nina.
Can you believe it? I found Jamess second phone, she says, her voice shaking as Nina picks up.
What? Seriously? Whats on it?
Ethel recounts the texts, the card, the gingerhaired guitarist.
Darling Im sorry, Nina sighs. What are you going to do?
I dont know, Ethel whispers. Twentythree years I thought we were fine.
Maybe it isnt that simple, Nina suggests gently. Talk to him.
And say what? Ive been spying and found a secret phone?
Better than stewing in doubt.
The conversation leaves Ethel even more tangled. Part of her wants to explode, the other fears destroying the life they built. Could there be a reasonable explanation? What could a secret phone possibly hide?
That evening James returns with a bouquet of her favourite lilies.
Whats this for? Ethel asks, feeling the flowers press against her chest like an accusation.
Just wanted to make you smile, he says, smiling, kissing her cheek. Youve seemed a bit down lately.
Really? she forces a grin that doesnt reach her eyes.
During dinner they chat about trivial things, while the hidden phone in her coat pocket seems to pulse, reminding her of its presence. Finally she cant hold back.
James, what would you say if I got a second phone and hid it from you?
James chokes on his wine.
In what sense?
Literally. A secret phone for secret conversations.
He furrows his brow.
Id ask why you need it and who youre talking to.
Ethel swallows.
And if I said its none of your business?
Then Id suspect somethings wrong, he says, setting down his fork. Why the questions, Ethel?
She stands, walks to the bedroom, returns with the black phone.
I found this in your study, under the chair, she says, placing it on the table. And I read messages from someone called S.C. I also found Sophie Clarkes card in your jacket.
Jamess face stretches. He looks at the phone, then at her, his eyes widening in surprise.
So thats where it was! he exclaims, slapping his forehead. Ive been looking everywhere!
Thats all you have to say? Ethels voice trembles. Twentythree years, James! How could you?
What? he asks, bewildered. Wait, you think
I dont think, I know! she snaps, thrusting the card at him. Evening meetings, secret messages, Ethel suspects something! That redhaired guitar teacher How long has this been going on?
James bursts into loud, unexpected laughter, tears streaming down his face. Ethel freezes, stunned by the reaction she never imagined.
Sorry, he wipes his eyes, still chuckling. Love, its not what you think.
What then? she asks, arms crossed.
Sit down, Ill explain, he says, pulling out a chair. Just promise not to interrupt.
Reluctantly she sits.
Remember last year when I turned fifty? James begins. You kept asking what I wanted as a gift and I kept saying nothing.
She nods.
Ive had a silly, boyish dream for ages, he continues. Ive always wanted to learn the guitar.
The guitar? Ethel repeats, doubtful.
Yes. Since I was a lad, but never got the chance. So I finally signed up for lessons with a private tutor. Thats Sophie Clarke. Shes a guitar teacher, not a masseuse massage is just a hobby of hers.
But why the secret phone? Ethel asks, still unconvinced.
Because I wanted to surprise you for our anniversary next month, he says, sheepish. I took lessons twice a week, bought a cheap phone so you wouldnt see the messages or class schedule. I wanted to learn your favourite song and play it on the day.
And you wrote Ethel suspects something?
That was because you kept asking why I was staying late. I was scared youd discover the surprise early. Everything as always on the upandup was me talking about the lessons. Sophie said Im doing well for a beginner.
Ethel looks at James, unsure what to believe. The story sounds absurd, yet the guitar rests in his hands.
Prove it, she demands.
James sighs, stands, and returns to the study with a guitar case.
I kept it in the wardrobe behind the winter coats, he explains, pulling out an acoustic guitar. He sits, strums a few shaky chords, and then sings, in a hoarse but earnest voice, her favourite song, All That Concerns You. He fumbles, misses chords, but its clear hes been practising.
Ethel covers her face, tears streaming down her cheeks half from embarrassment, half from relief.
Im sorry, she whispers as he finishes. I let my imagination run away.
James sets the guitar down, kneels before her.
Its you who should apologise. I never meant to hurt you. I thought it would be a fun surprise, a bit of romance and it turned into a mess.
Why didnt you tell me you wanted to learn the guitar? she asks.
Embarrassed, he shrugs. At my age, taking up something childish feels foolish. I thought youd laugh.
Fool, she says, smiling through tears. I would have loved it.
Now I know, he kisses her hand. Should I keep lessons, or is my grey head too embarrassed?
Keep them, she says, smiling. Just no more secret phones.
They stay at the kitchen table into the late hours, James showing off his modest progress, recounting his nervousness about being caught. Ethel laughs and cries, apologising repeatedly for her suspicions.
You know, she says as they finally lie in bed, its amazing that after all these years you can still surprise me.
I hope it stays that way, he murmurs, pulling her close.
The next morning Ethel calls Nina.
Guess what? It turned out nothing like I feared, she says, relief bright in her voice.
No way! Theres an explanation?
You wouldnt believe it hes learning guitar.
Nina bursts out laughing. A guitar teacher? At his age? Thats adorable!
Exactly! And I realized we barely ever talk about our dreams, hidden wishes. Its all work, kids, the daily grind
Sounds like you both need more surprises, Nina replies.
That evening James arrives home to find a candlelit dinner on the table and a small box beside his plate.
Whats this? he asks, puzzled.
Open it, Ethel says, a mysterious smile playing on her lips.
Inside sits a guitar pick engraved with For My Personal Musician and two notes. One is a voucher for piano lessons for herself; the other is a reservation for a weekend stay at a countryside inn.
Lets dream together, she says simply.
James embraces her, and they stand like two people rediscovering each other after a long pause. Ahead lies many more years, and now Ethel knows theres still plenty of room for new discoveries and surprises.
