Mrs. Whitfield asked, Emily, has Mark told you yet? The motherinlaws voice floated like a windchime. Listen, well have up to twenty guests, so well start the prep in the evening. Ill be there early, around six oclock.
Emily frowned. In the evening? I never signed up for that.
Mrs. Whitfield raised a hand. Hold on, Im not done. Ive already sent Mark a shopping list; he swore hed buy everything.
Mark had always been the good brother to his older sister, Helen. By thirty shed married twice and divorced twice, each time blaming the wrong man the one who wasnt the right fit. Their mother, Marge Turner, had drilled into her son since childhood: A sister needs help. So Mark helped. He lent money when Helen was temporarily out of work, patched up her rented flat, and hauled boxes after each split.
Then Mark married. Emily had endured his generosity at first. But when Helen, for the fifth time that year, begged to borrow their car for a few days because it had broken down again, Emily said gently but firmly, Mark, enough is enough. We need that car this weekend. I thought we had plans
Mark shrugged. Whats the problem? Cant you walk?
Emilys eyes hardened. No. I cant walk to my parents cottage in the Cotswolds. Theyve stacked two buckets of cucumbers for us. I thought youd heard me when I mentioned it.
Mark muttered, I heard something, but Helens got an emergency.
Emily snapped, What kind of emergency?
Mark hesitated, Im not sure, but she needs more.
Emilys voice rose, No, Mark. This time youll either say no to your sister or buy me a car. Im tired of the bus when your car could ferry me wherever I need to go.
Mark opened his mouth to call Helen and refuse, but Marges voice cut through the dream, Are you going to abandon your sister for your wife? Shes alone! Who will help her if not you?
So Mark obliged again, despite the arguments with Emily. Days passed without a word between them, and Mark finally snapped, Why are you silent? Did I offend you?
Emily snapped back, It took you three days to notice?
Mark replied, I just cant see the point of what exactly?
Emily laughed at his confusion, Really? You dont get it? Your sister hijacked the whole weekend because she needed to get to a friends cottage. I thought youd just give her a lift, but you stayed there for two days. Does that bother you?
Mark shrugged, Whats there to worry about? I had a few drinks, ran into her ex, chatted normally. I thought I should mark the occasion. Why would I, a fool, have to go?
Emily retorted, You could have called.
Mark shot back, You could have called too.
Emily snapped, I already called! Your phone was off. Imagine what I thought! I was on edge, not knowing where my husband was. He simply decided to take a break from me.
Mark waved his hand, Dont make up stories, and gestured at the ringing phone.
Mark stepped onto the balcony and finally answered. He knew his wife wouldnt tolerate another chat with his sister.
Hey, brother! Helen chirped on the line. My anniversary is in two weeks! Thirty years! You get it, right?
Mark glanced at Emily, who was ladling soup.
So what do you want? he asked.
Helen giggled, You always understand me! I want to celebrate at your place. Your living room is huge. Mine is cramped, the landlord will yell, and a restaurant is pricey.
Emily interjected, Maybe a café? Ill chip in whatever you need.
Helens tone sharpened, Are you out of your mind? This is an anniversary! You expect me to rent a hall when you have a flat? Im not a millionaires daughter.
Mark tried to defuse, Ill talk to Emily first. Its her flat too. Maybe she has plans.
Helen cut him off, Its too late! Ive told everyone the partys at yours. Clear the flat for the whole day, okay? Mum will handle the food.
Mark sighed, covering his face with his hand, as the phone buzzed again. This time a message from his mother: Helen said to sort the menu. Heres the list of dishes. We need to buy the ingredients. Tell Emily to help. She can also help with the cooking.
Emily, oblivious to Helens impending fête, was settled in her armchair, phone in hand, ready to watch her favourite series. When Mark entered the room, eyes downcast, she understood instantly.
What now? she asked calmly, pausing the show.
Emily, listen Helens anniversary, you know. Thirty years. She wants to mark the date.
Emily lifted her head. Let her celebrate then. Are we to forbid it?
Mark scratched his scalp. Its not that. She wants to celebrate at our place.
Emilys eyes widened, What? In our flat?
Yes, but just for one evening. She says a restaurant is too expensive and her home is too tight
Emily stood, And you agreed?
Mark confessed, I said Id talk to you first! But Helens already invited everyone, and Mum is planning the menu.
Emily closed her eyes, breathing deeply. Mark, are you an adult or just a messenger for Helens wishes?
Mark stammered, What are you starting?
Emily, with a hint of irony, held up his phone, And nobody even called me? This is my flat, not a transit hub for your relatives. Helen wants to party in my house, Im supposed to help, and even assist your mother, without a single question asked of me?
At that moment her phone rang.
Oh, the cherry on the cake, she whispered, waving the device. Your mother, she announced to Mark.
Mrs. Whitfields voice floated again, Emily, has Mark told you? Look, there will be up to twenty people. Well start prepping in the evening. Ill be there around six tomorrow.
Emily scoffed, In the evening? I never signed up for that.
Mrs. Whitfield continued, Hold on, Im not finished. Mark already has a grocery list; he promised to buy everything.
Emily threw a question, And the money? Where will we get it?
Mrs. Whitfield replied curtly, Mark promised to help.
Emily burst, So you want to turn my flat into a restaurant and we foot the bill?
Mrs. Whitfield urged, Helen isnt a stranger! Just a days help, some chopping, salads, sandwiches Youre the lady of the house!
Emily cut in, Mrs. Whitfield, I just learned about the party. I never gave permission for Helens birthday in my flat.
Mrs. Whitfield snapped, You keep saying my flat. You and Mark are married. Everything is shared!
Emily countered, If it were Marks flat, youd say something else. Then Id just be a kept woman.
Mrs. Whitfield dismissed, Enough. The shopping must be done by Friday.
Emily asked Mark, What was that?
Mark, finally losing patience, said, Stop playing the victim! Youve been told youre wrong. Admit it and stop digging your heels in.
Emily, shocked, rose, opened the wardrobe, and silently hauled out a large sports bag. She then went to the bedroom, opened the chest of drawers, and methodically folded Marks shirts and jeans.
Meanwhile Mark, feeling triumphant, flung open the fridge, grabbed a bottle of ale, slammed the door, and plonked himself in front of the TV as if nothing had shifted. He imagined Emily would cool off, grumble a bit, then settle down. He even turned on the footie, expecting her to call him for dinner. He was wrong.
Half an hour later Emily stood in the hallway, a bag in one hand, the overstuffed sports bag in the other, packed with Marks belongings. Mark left the lounge to fetch another drink, only to see his wife.
Whats this now? he muttered. What kind of drama is this?
Emily stared coldly, This isnt drama, Mark. Its the end. I wont be a shadow in my own life, a servant in my flat, a prop for your mothers and sisters whims. If you want to be the good son and brother, go back to your mother and help her plan the party. Im sure shell gladly give you a corner in her living room.
Mark took a step forward, Youre serious? I wont go back.
Emily nodded, Absolutely serious. I dont want you returning. Ive endured enough to question my own existence. Thats enough. If you cant learn to respect me in three years, nothing will improve.
Mark pleaded, Emily you cant tear everything apart in one moment!
She replied, You cant destroy whats already broken.
Mark sputtered, still not grasping that Emily had made up her mind.
Emily added, All your shirts and jeans are right here. No thanks needed. Get out now.
He tried to speak, but Emily opened the front door. Mark stood, cheeks flushed, lips clenched. He still hoped Emily might relent, but her calm only fueled his fury.
Fine then! he shouted. Think youll find someone better? There are plenty of mes out there!
Emily huffed, stepping back, Finding someone like you thank heavens.
Mark roared, Youll regret this! Youll crawl on your knees when you realise no one wants to talk to you! Without me youre nothing!
Emily retorted, If nothing means a person who lives in his own flat, works, doesnt serve a husbands relatives, and wont tolerate abuse, then Im perfectly happy being nothing.
Mark left, and Emily remained alone. She breathed deeply, walked to the window, drew back the curtain, and watched as her former husband shoved the bag into a taxi boot with his foot.
Months slipped by. The divorce was bitter. Mark tried to paint Emily as mercenary and greedy. The main battle was over the car bought during the marriage. He claimed hed paid for it alone; Emily argued shed only used it.
Your Honour, I paid every penny; the car is in my name! he insisted. My wife contributed nothing!
Emily calmly spread a folder of bank statements, receipts, a signed advance agreement. Im not claiming his share, but I wont give up mine, she said. Justice sided with her.
Mark fumed; the car, now his, had to be sold and the proceeds split. He stormed out of the courtroom, his face twisted with rage.
At home, his mother shouted, You absolute fool! You gave her everything! The car! The flat! You shouldve hired a decent solicitor!
On top of that, Mark had taken a loan to fund Helens anniversary dinner at a restaurant, because hed arranged her flat. Now he lingered in a tiny corner of his mothers guestroom.
Emily finally slept peacefully for the first time in ages. She decided she was still young enough to walk away from men like Mark. Good men were plentiful; the trick was to recognise who was who in time.
