The Carer for the Wife — “What do you mean?” Lidia was sure she’d misheard. “I’m supposed to move out? Why? For what reason?” — “Oh, let’s not have a scene,” Edward grimaced. “What’s not clear? You’ve nothing left to care for here. Where you go is no concern of mine.” — “Ed, what is wrong with you? We were meant to get married, weren’t we?..” — “That was your idea, not mine. I never promised you anything like that.” At thirty-two, Lidia decided it was time to change her life dramatically and leave her little home village behind. What else was there for her here? Endure her mother’s constant nagging? Her mum never let up, always blaming Lidia’s divorce. “How could you lose your husband?” That Vaska wasn’t worth a kind word anyway—always drunk, always chasing after other women! She didn’t even understand how she’d managed to marry him, eight years ago. Divorce hadn’t upset Lidia in the slightest—if anything, it felt like a breath of fresh air. But her and her mum’s rows continued, now about money too, which was always in short supply. So she decided to head to the city and make her own way! Her school friend, Sophie, had done well—married to a widower for five years now. So what if he was sixteen years older, and not a looker? He had a flat, and money. And for heaven’s sake, Lidia was just as good as Sophie! — “At last! You’ve come to your senses!” Sophie cheered. “Pack up, you can stay with us at first and we’ll sort a job.” — “Your Vadim won’t mind?” Lidia questioned. — “As if! He does everything I ask anyway! Don’t worry, we’ll manage!” But Lidia didn’t stay with her friend for long. After a couple of weeks and her first paycheck, she rented a room of her own. Within two months, she got incredibly lucky. — “A lady like you working in the market?” said her regular customer, Mr. Edwards, full of sympathy. Lidia knew all her regulars by name by now. — “It’s cold and miserable—hardly fitting.” — “Needs must,” she sighed. “Money doesn’t grow on trees.” She added, half-joking: — “Or do you have a better offer?” Mr. Edwards hardly seemed a dream man in her eyes: twenty years older, soft from good living, balding and sharp-eyed. He picked over vegetables fussily and paid every penny exactly, but was always well dressed and drove a nice car—not some vagrant or drunk. He wore a wedding band, so as a husband he wasn’t a contender. — “You seem dependable, decent, and tidy,” he switched to an informal tone, “ever cared for an ill person?” — “As a matter of fact, yes. Nursed my neighbour after a stroke, her children were far away and couldn’t be bothered. They asked me to step in.” — “Perfect!” he said enthusiastically, then put on a grave face. “My wife, Tamara, has had a stroke too. Doctors say she’s unlikely to recover. I’ve brought her home but I can’t care for her. Will you help? I’ll pay well.” Lidia didn’t hesitate. Better to be warm—even if it meant cleaning bedpans—than freezing ten hours a day, dealing with picky market shoppers! Edwards even offered her accommodation in their home, so no rent to pay. — “They’ve three separate rooms! You could play five-a-side in there!” Lidia told her friend happily. “And they’ve got no children.” Tamara’s mother—quite the character, only 68 and recently remarried—was preoccupied with her new husband, so no one else could care for the invalid. — “Is she that unwell?” — “Oh yes… The poor woman’s flat on her back, can’t do a thing but mumble. No hope of getting better.” — “You sound almost glad?” Sophie gave her a sharp look. — “Of course I’m not glad,” Lidia said, eyes averted, “but when she’s… gone, Mr. Edwards will be single…” — “Are you serious, Lidia? Wishing someone gone over a flat?” — “I’m wishing nothing, just not missing my chance! Easy for you to say, you’re living in luxury!” They had a fierce argument and didn’t speak for half a year. When they next caught up, Lidia revealed her secret romance with Mr. Edwards. They couldn’t live without each other—or so it seemed—but he’d never leave his wife, he said, so for now, they’d carry on as lovers in secret. — “So you two are carrying on while his wife is bedridden in the next room?” Sophie disapproved. “You realise that’s vile? Or is it all about his supposed fortune?” — “I should’ve known you’d never have a kind word for me!” Lidia was hurt. They stopped talking again, but Lidia didn’t feel guilty (well, maybe only a little). Everyone acts so saintly! The comfortable never understand the desperate, as they say. No worries—she’d cope without her friend. She threw herself into caring for Tamara with devotion and energy. After her affair began with Ed, she took over every household task as well. A man needs more than bedroom pleasures—he needs good food, ironed shirts, clean floors, all that. Lidia thought Ed was perfectly happy, and she was too. She almost didn’t notice when Ed stopped paying her for caring for his wife—it didn’t occur to her, now they were as good as married. He gave her money for groceries and bits and pieces, and she managed the household budget, barely scraping by—but thought nothing of it. Ed was a factory manager, after all—his salary was good. No matter—when they married, it would all sort out. Their passion faded, Ed was less keen to come home, but Lidia blamed his constant fatigue—dealing with a sick wife. What was so tiring, though, since he barely spent a minute a day with Tamara, she couldn’t say, but she felt sorry for him. Even so, when Tamara passed away, Lidia cried. She’d devoted a year and a half to that woman—nothing could change that. She organised the funeral, too—Ed was overcome with grief. He gave her just enough money for the burial, but she made sure everything was done respectfully. No one could reproach her. Even the neighbours—who’d long gossiped about the affair—nodded approvingly at the funeral. The mother-in-law was happy too. Lidia never expected what came next. — “You understand you’re no longer needed here, so you’ve a week to leave,” Ed said coldly, ten days after the funeral. — “What do you mean?” Lidia was sure she’d misheard. “Where am I supposed to go? Why?” — “Oh, spare me the drama!” Ed grimaced. “It’s simple. There’s no one here for you to care for. Where you go isn’t my concern.” — “Ed, wait! Weren’t we getting married?..” — “That was your idea. I never agreed to anything.” The next morning, after a sleepless night, Lidia tried to talk to Ed again, but he repeated exactly what he’d said yesterday, adding, “Please move out quickly.” — “My fiancée wants to redo the place before the wedding,” he added. — “Fiancée? Who?” — “None of your business.” — “Oh, is that so? Fine. I’ll go, but you’ll pay me what I’m owed for my work first. Don’t look at me like that! You promised to pay me £400 a week. I only got that twice. You owe me £6,400.” — “Fast at arithmetic, aren’t you?” Ed sneered. “Don’t get your hopes up…” — “And there’s the housekeeping—pay up! Let’s call it £10,000 to keep it simple, and I’ll disappear without a fuss.” — “Or else what? Off to the courts? You’ve not got a contract.” — “I’ll tell Mrs. Anderson—I know she bought you this flat.” Trust me, once she hears, you’ll be jobless too. You know your mother-in-law better than I do. Edwards’ face changed, but he recovered quickly. — “Who’ll believe you? Stop threatening me. Just get out—I don’t want to see you again.” — “Three days, darling. No money, no peace,” Lidia packed up and went to a hostel. She’d put aside a bit from the housekeeping. On the fourth day, having heard nothing, she returned to the flat—and, perfectly, Mrs. Anderson was there. Lidia saw straight away Ed wasn’t going to pay, so she told everything to his mother-in-law. — “She’s talking nonsense! Making up stories!” Ed spluttered. — “I’d heard things at the funeral, but didn’t believe them,” the mother-in-law shot him a look. “Now it’s all clear. And to you, son-in-law, too—I trust you haven’t forgotten this flat is in my name?” Ed froze. — “So I don’t want to see you here in a week. No, in three days.” Mrs. Anderson made for the door, but paused by Lidia. — “And you, Lidia—still here? Waiting for a medal? Off you go!” Lidia fled that flat like she’d been stung. There was no chance she’d see any money now. Back to the market it would have to be—there’s always work there…

A Carer for the Wife

What do you mean? Lydia thought shed misheard. Where do you want me to move? Why? What for?

Oh, do we really have to go through this melodrama? Edward grimaced. Is there anything unclear? You havent got anyone left here to look after. Where you go is none of my concern.

Ed, whats wrong with you? Werent we planning to marry?

That was something you dreamt up on your own. I never agreed to any such thing.

Its strange to think about it now, but at thirty-two, Lydia decided to completely change the course of her life. She left her small village with nothing but certainty she had to get away.

What was there for her? Enduring her mothers constant nagging?

Her mother couldnt let go of blaming Lydia for the divorce. How could you let your husband slip away? shed sigh.

Billy wasnt worth a kind wordalways down the pub and never at home. How had she managed to marry the man eight years ago? Lydia hadnt shed a single tear over the splitif anything, breathing was suddenly easier.

Still, the rows with her mother didnt stop; nor did the arguments about money, which was, to say the least, forever in short supply.

So, to Brighton she would go. Shed make a fresh start!

Her old school friend Susan had married a widower years ago.

Never mind that he was sixteen years her senior and not the most handsome gentbut he had a flat and a decent pension.

And Lydia? She was every bit as good as Susan!

Well, thank heavens! Finally come to your senses! Susan cheered her on. Pack your bagsyou can stay with us a bit till you get work.

Are you sure your Dave wont mind? Lydia hesitated.

Dont be daft! He does whatever I ask. Dont worry, well manage!

But in the end, Lydia didnt stay long at Susans. A few weeks, just enough to earn her first wages and rent a room.

Fortune smiled on her not long after.

What brings a woman like you to market stalls? came the sympathetic question from one of her regular customers, Edward Brown.

Lydia had come to know all her regulars by name.

Its cold, its miserablenot fit for anyone, he added.

And what would you have me do? she shrugged. Money wont earn itself.

She added with a playful smile, Or do you have another offer for me?

Edward wasnt anyones idea of Prince Charming. Twenty years her senior, slightly overweight with thinning hair and piercing, calculating eyes. He chose his carrots with the same scrutiny as a jeweller, paid in exact change, yet was always well-dressed and drove a decent car. Clearly not homeless, or a drunk.

He wore a wedding band, too, so Lydia had never considered him eligible husband material.

You seem sensible, Lydia, capable and clean, Edward switched easily to a familiar tone. Ever looked after someone ill?

I have, actually. I looked after Mrs Green down my street. She had a stroke, her children lived far off, couldnt be bothered. They entrusted her to me.

Splendid! he exclaimed, then lowered his voice gravely. My own wife, Margaret, has just had a stroke as well. The outlook isnt good, they say. Ive brought her home but havent time to look after her. Would you help? Id pay as much as youre owed.

Lydia barely hesitated. Far better to stay warm in a flateven if it meant chamber potsthan stand in the biting wind for ten hours facing difficult customers.

Besides, Edward offered her lodging, no rent required.

Theyve three bedrooms! she reported excitedly to Susan. Plenty of room for a football match! No children.

Margarets motherwell, she fancied herself as quite the lady even at sixty-eight. Just remarried and busy with her husband. There was no one else for the sick woman.

How ill is she? Susan asked.

Quite bad poor thing, she cant move or speak. Unlikely to recover.

And you dont sound too sad about that, Susan gave her a piercing look.

Of course Im not happy about it, Lydia averted her eyes, but once well, Edward would be free.

Lydia! Have you lost your mind? Wishing someone dead for a flat?

I wish no one harm, but Ill not miss my chance. Easy for you to judgeyouve got it all!

That argument ended their friendship for months. Only half a year later did Lydia confess to Susan she had developed feelings for Edward.

They couldnt live apart, she declared, but of course, he would never leave his wifehe wasnt the sortso they kept things quiet.

So youre romancing him here, with his wife dying in the next room? Susan still couldnt approve. Are you listening to yourself? Or are you blinded by his wealthif he really has any?

I knew youd never say a kind word! Lydia snapped.

Their friendship broke off once more. Yet Lydia didnt really feel to blamewell, perhaps a tiny bit.

People always seem so righteous. The well-fed never understand the hungry, as the saying goes. Well, shed do without Susan, then.

Lydia cared for Margaret with all the diligence she had and, after getting close with Edward, took on every chorecooking, laundry, cleaningmaking sure everything was spotless.

A man needs more than a warm bedhe needs good meals, crisp shirts, clean floors to walk on.

It seemed to Lydia that her lover was pleased, and she genuinely enjoyed the arrangement.

She forgot, after a while, Edward stopped paying for her care of his wife. But why bother about money when they were practically husband and wife already?

He handed her cash for shopping, and she managed their budget herselfnot noticing she was always just scraping by.

Edwards salary as a factory foreman was decent. No matteronce they married, she would sort it all out for good.

Their passion faded in time; Edward came home less promptly, but Lydia blamed it on his exhaustion from tending his wife.

She could hardly explain what tired himhe only saw the sick woman once a day, perhaps, for a minute, yet she pitied him.

Resigned to the expected, Lydia still wept the day Margaret passed away.

She had spent eighteen months caring for Margarettime one never gets back. Lydia arranged the funeral; Edward, too broken with grief, only gave her just enough to cover costs. Still, she managed everything respectably.

Even the neighbours, whod always eyed her askance for the affair with Edward, nodded approvingly at the funeral. Margarets mother seemed satisfied as well.

Lydia couldnt have predicted what Edward would say next.

I trust you realise your services are no longer needed. So, you have a week to move out, he said curtly, ten days after the funeral.

What do you mean? Lydia thought shed misheard. Where am I to go? Why?

Oh, not this drama again? Edward rolled his eyes. What dont you understand? Theres no one left needing your care. Where you go is no concern of mine.

Ed, whats this? Werent we meant to get married?

Thats what you imagined. I never agreed to anything.

The following morning, after a sleepless night, Lydia tried again to talk to Edward, but he simply repeated his words, urging her to hurry with her move.

My fiancée wants to renovate before our wedding, he told her flatly.

Your fiancée? Who is she?

None of your business.

Oh, none of my business, is it? Well, Ill go, but first youll pay me what you owe. Dont glare at me!

You promised to pay me £800 a month; you only paid me twice. You owe me £12,800.

How quick you are with figures, he scoffed. Dont get your hopes up

And thats with no bill for housekeepers duties! Ill be kindnot count every penny. Just give me twenty grand, and well part ways like ships in the night!

Or what? Take me to court? You dont even have a contract.

Ill tell Mrs Andrews, Lydia said quietly. She bought you this flat.

Believe me, once she hears from me, youll be not just out of home but work as well. You know your mother-in-law better than I do.

Edwards expression changed, but he recovered quickly.

Whos going to believe you? Dont threaten me. In fact, I dont want to see youleave right now.

You have three days, darling. No moneytherell be a scene, Lydia gathered her things and went to a hostel. Shed managed to save a little from the household funds.

On the fourth day, she, having received no reply, returned to confront Edward at the flatand, fortune again, Mrs Andrews was there.

From Edwards face, Lydia saw he had no intention of paying, so she told his mother-in-law everything.

Shes making it up! Shes not right in the head! Dont listen to her! the widower blustered.

Yes, I heard talk at the funeral, didnt want to believe it, Mrs Andrews pinned him with a look. But now its plain. And I hope its plain to you, too. Or have you forgotten this flat is in my name?

Edward was speechless.

So, I dont want to see you here in a week. No. Three days, in fact.

Mrs Andrews moved to leave, but paused beside Lydia.

And you, Lydia, what are you waiting for? A medal? Out you go!

Lydia fled as if stung. There would be no money now. Shed have to return to the marketthere was always work to be had thereFor a moment outside, Lydia stood blinking in the sunlight, unsure if she should laugh or weep.

She walked all the way to the sea. A chill wind came in from across the Channel, whipping her hair and making her eyes sting. She sat on the shingle, not caring who looked, and let the cold, salty air dry her tears.

She’d been foolish, yesbut at least now her foolishness was finished. Lydia dug her hand in her coat pocket, found a pound coin and a lint-covered toffee. She popped the toffee in her mouth, savoring its sticky sweetness, and closed her eyes.

It struck her with startling clarity, sudden and bright as the sun breaking through clouds: she was free. No husband, no scolding mother, no one to nag or blame her. No duties but those she chose for herself.

A seagull strutted near, eyeing her, and Lydia tossed her last coin toward it with a crooked smile. Let someone else fight over scraps.

She stood, brushed off her skirt, and started walking again, this time with her head up. There was a job to find, some cornershop or café that needed steady hands, streets to explore, and perhapssomedaynew friends.

All she could promise herself, as pebble crunched underfoot, was this: she would never mistake being needed for being loved. The sea would forgive her her mistakes, and the future was wide as the horizon ahead.