The cracks between them hadn’t appeared overnight. After the Maple Gold commercials ended, Jim’s career had motored along, with voiceovers, a small regular part in a soap, and several commercials, whereas Greta’s roles had petered out. She was pleased for his success, but it also gnawed at her.
At home, tensions had simmered beneath the surface. The repairs and bills for their drafty Victorian house had piled up, leading to unspoken frustrations that boiled over into arguments. Being actors meant they could both slip into drama, with raised voices, slammed doors, and the occasional theatrical exit. When their boiler had broken down last winter, the house had grown as chilly as the atmosphere between them.
Jim had worked on a show in Turkey for a couple of months, insisting the hair transplant he’d got there was a ‘career move.’ Greta held on to clutter, such as Lottie’s baby things, her mum’s old rocking chair, and old scripts she couldn’t let go.
There had never been any infidelity or trust issues, just a slow, gradual disconnect. Greta needed someone who was present and understanding, especially after her mum died. Jim had always been content to amble through life, facing problems with practicality rather than emotional engagement. The more Greta needed from him, the further out of reach he seemed.
Sitting in her parked car, she thought back to the night of her mum’s funeral.
Greta had curled up on the sofa, still wearing her black dress, staring blankly at the untouched cup of tea Jim had made her. She’d needed more than just a brew—his arms around her, or a few words to take away even an ounce of the pain that gripped her heart.
Instead, Jim had gently placed a blanket on her knee, set down the brew and murmured something about giving her space. Then he’d slipped away, leaving her alone, consumed by her grief.
She could think of many more times their needs hadn’t been in sync, but her mum’s passing was the one thing that really tipped the balance.
The trial separation had been Jim’s idea, something he’d thrown out there during another fraught discussion. Greta wasn’t sure if he’d suggested it because it was easier than confronting the deeper issues between them. She’d agreed, hoping that time and space apart would help them confront their problems and rediscover what they once had. Instead, they now seemed on the verge of losing each other for good.
After they’d decided to sell the house and live apart, Greta had found a small flat to rent for herself and Lottie. Meanwhile, Jim had landed on his feet, housesitting his friend Martin’s penthouse while Martin was away, filming overseas in Chicago.
Whenever Greta drove past their old family home, she choked up. She could still hear the floorboards creaking and laughter echoing through the rooms. She imagined an alternate, still-happy version of her family living inside, as if in a parallel universe.
Pushing these thoughts aside, she started her car and screeched out of the car park. She was determined to speak to Jim about Nora, face to face.
His lack of invitation to visit the penthouse played on her mind. Was there a Jacuzzi? Were there walk-in wardrobes? Crisp white Egyptian cotton sheets? Did he still use the World’s Greatest Husband mug she’d bought him? Was he enjoying his new life a bit too much?
Greta pulled up outside Jim’s building, parked, and stepped out of her car. She pressed the buzzer and stared into the cavernous chrome-and-marble foyer.
‘Hey.’ Jim’s voice crackled through the intercom.
‘It’s me,’ she said. ‘We need to talk.’
A few beats of silence followed. ‘Whatnow?’
She stared up at sleek building. ‘Yes, I’m outside.’
‘Oh, right.’ Jim paused. ‘Sure. I’ll buzz you in.’
The door unlocked with a click. Greta rode the glass lift up to the seventeenth floor, watching the street, trees and houses fall away, making her feel like she was floating.
When the doors slid open, Jim stood barefoot in the hallway, leaning against the wall. He wore frayed jeans and an ancient Led Zeppelin T-shirt, somehow making the clothes look cool. His sandy brown hair was flat on one side as if he’d just rolled out of bed, and his blue eyes twinkled with a weathered handsomeness that still appealed to casting directors. Advertisers seemed to think men aged like leather jackets, growing more classic with time, while treating women like they were coming apart at the seams.
‘Hey,’ he said with a smile that stirred up her emotions. ‘Want to come in?’
Greta hung back, unsure if they should greet each other with a hug and a kiss, or act like they were apart. As she followed him into the apartment, her annoyance about the Nora situation clashed with a flicker of attraction toward him.
The view from the floor-to-ceiling windows took Greta’s breath away, offering far-reaching views of the town below. From up here, industrial Longmill looked picturesque with green rolling hills in the distance.
Three pristine white leather sofas in the living room screamed of success, and colourful abstract canvases lined the walls. Iron sculptures that Greta was sure must meansomethingwere placed artfully around the cavernous space. Martin was obviously doing very well for himself. The sleek, modern space felt a world away from the cluttered warmth of their old Victorian house. ‘Very swish,’ she said, trying not to feel envious.
Jim looked around him. ‘The sofas aren’t as comfy as they look. I don’t know when Martin will return from America and want his place back. I’m honestly doing him a favour looking after it. It’s more like living in a showplace than a real home,’ he said. ‘How’s the flat working out for you and Lottie?’
‘Oh, it’s charming.’ Greta forced a smile. ‘Wonky kitchen doors, woodchip wallpaper, avocado bathroom suite. Very retro.’
‘It sounds . . . cosy. Like the first place we had together,’ Jim said. ‘I read that seventies stuff is coming back into fashion.’
Greta stared at him. ‘I guess I’m ahead of the curve. I didn’t realise my flat wastrendierthan Martin’s place.’
Jim didn’t pick up on her sharp tone. Instead, he gestured to a large smoked-glass wall that housed a recording studio. ‘Martin uses this set-up for his voiceovers and radio appearances. I’ve been recording a commercial but can’t quite nail it. Will you take a listen? See what you think?’
