“Man Up, Won’t You?”
“It’s those neighbours again, partying at three in the morning! I can’t take it anymore!” Laura shoved James awake. “Do you hear them shouting? Go sort them out!”
“Laur, I was sleeping. I’ve got a haul tomorrow,” James mumbled, rubbing his eyes. “They’ll quiet down soon. Go back to sleep.”
Just as he settled back into the pillow, Laura jabbed her elbow into his ribs. “Man up, won’t you?” she hissed. “Go and tell them to shut it! I’ve got brunch with the girls tomorrow. Bloody Emily’s coming—she’ll be bragging about her lip fillers and nose job again. And what’ll I look like? A zombie with eyebags? She’s pushing thirty and hasn’t got a single wrinkle!”
“Her husband’s a cosmetic surgeon, love, not a lorry driver,” James tried to soothe her. “You’re gorgeous without duck lips. Besides, you’re practically living at the beauty salon as it is.”
Laura only grew angrier. She sat bolt upright, glaring. “Are you taking the mick? A couple of facials a week is hardly luxury! I want lips like hers—and a new nose! And when are you buying me that mink coat, eh?”
“We just cleared the mortgage on your flat—the one you bought before we married. Still paying off your car. We agreed: car first, then coat. Why’re you kicking off now?”
“You bought your mum a down jacket!” Laura snapped.
“She spent all her savings on medicine, her pension’s tiny. That jacket barely cost anything.”
James reached for her, but she bristled with rage. “You can’t afford a coat, can’t pay for my procedures, at least make sure I can sleep! Go shut those kids up!”
James sighed. No chance of sleep now. Guilt weighed on him as he pulled on his tracksuit.
…Five years ago, none of James’s mates would’ve believed he’d marry Laura, the posh girl from school who’d never given him the time of day. He’d fancied her since Year 9, but she’d always gone for richer, better-looking blokes. Even after college, when he landed a decent job, she’d ignored him at the reunion, boasting about marrying into money. James swallowed the hurt.
Then, out of the blue, she called. “You look good—why didn’t I notice before? Fancy coffee?”
James was over the moon. That coffee led to breakfast at her flat. Two days later, she dumped her wealthy boyfriend for him.
“Something’s off here,” his mum, Margaret, warned. “After all those years of her snubbing you? Polly from downstairs still fancies you—sweet girl, hardworking. But no, you’re set on Laura.”
“Mum, the heart wants what it wants.”
“Suit yourself. But mark my words—Laura’ll show her true colours.”
Margaret was right. Two months after the wedding, Laura announced she was pregnant. But the dates didn’t add up. James found out when he peeked at her scan notes.
“You were already pregnant when we first met!” he roared.
“I didn’t know! It was early!” Laura lied.
“So your ex dumped you, and you needed a mug to raise his kid! Mum was right about you!”
“Oh, your mum always looks at me like I owe her a fortune!”
“She sees you for what you are! Leave her out of it!”
James stood there, humiliated. Laura panicked—she couldn’t face the shame of being left. An idea struck her.
“Ow! It hurts!” She clutched her stomach, shrieking. James forgot his anger, rushing her to hospital.
Later, she claimed she’d miscarried. In truth, she’d paid to terminate it.
“Forgive me,” James said, clasping a gold bracelet onto her wrist. “Let’s start fresh.”
“Fine,” Laura said, then added, “I’ll need a car. Can’t rely on taxis when I’m carrying your baby.”
James smiled at the thought. “Done.”
He quit his job, took up long-haul trucking for the money. Now, sleep-deprived, he trudged upstairs.
“Lads, turn it down, yeah? We’re trying to sleep,” James said to the teens loitering on the landing.
“Or what, grandad?” one sneered.
James held firm. “I’ll call the police.”
One kid kicked him in the gut. As James doubled over, they dragged him inside, shoved him off the third-floor balcony.
“Enjoy the flight, mate.”
The music stopped. Laura, smiling, drifted off.
The next day, she strolled past gossiping neighbours. “Nosey old bats,” she muttered.
Her friends moaned about her ignoring calls. “Had my phone on silent,” Laura laughed. She didn’t spare James a thought—he always left quietly for work.
Then Margaret called. “James is in ICU. Those yobs beat him. How could you sleep through that?”
Laura hung up, horrified. Her coat dreams were crumbling.
She visited three days later. James, barely conscious, smiled. “Will you come tomorrow?”
“Maybe,” Laura sniffed, avoiding Margaret’s glare. She never returned.
With his mum’s help and an op funded by mates, James relearned to walk. Polly, his childhood sweetheart—now a physio—stayed by his side.
“You’ll get there,” she urged.
Margaret wept. “I owe you everything.”
Polly smiled. “It’s my job.”
The divorce papers arrived mid-rehab. Laura’s note read: “Sorry, but I can’t live with a cripple. Found someone else. Sold the flat. Don’t contact me.”
James felt nothing. Just emptiness. He signed, handed them back.
“Any message for Laura?” her solicitor asked.
James glanced at Polly. “Tell her not to worry. I’ll heal by the wedding. Man up, won’t I?”
