You need a housekeeper, not a wife
Mum, Daisys chewed my pencil again!
Rebecca charged into the kitchen, clutching the stub of a coloured pencil. Close behind galumphed Daisy, their guilty but ever-cheerful golden retriever, tail a blur. Margaret, halfway between stirring the bubbling stew and flipping sausages on the pan, let out a sigh. That made three pencils chewed today.
Toss it in the bin and grab another from the drawer. Harry, have you done your maths homework yet?
Nearly! came the shout from the lounge.
Nearly for her twelve-year-old son actually meant he was on his phone while his exercise book lay abandoned nearby. Margaret knew this perfectly well. But now wasnt the moment: she had to flip sausages, stir the stew, grab Alexher four-year-oldwho was speed-crawling toward the dogs water bowl, and try not to forget the laundry spinning upstairs.
Thirty-two years old. Three kids. One husband. One mother-in-law. One golden retriever. And herselfthe only moving cog in this clanking contraption.
Margaret rarely got sick. Not because she was blessed with iron health, but because she simply couldnt afford to. Whod feed the family? Get the kids ready for school? Walk Daisy? The answer was always: no one.
Maggie love, is supper nearly ready?
Barbara appeared in the kitchen doorway, gripping her walking stick. Eighty-five, sharp as a tack, keen for her next meal.
Over five shared years under one roof, Margaret could count on her fingers the times Barbara had been helpful around the house.
Ten minutes, Barbara.
Content, the old woman nodded and shuffled off to the sitting room. Occasionally, very occasionally, shed read Alex a bedtime storyThe Gingerbread Man or The Little Red Hen on repeat, but Alex hung on every word. More often, Barbara would keep to her room, watching soaps with endless mugs of tea, awaiting the next meal.
The clock chimed half-five as the key turned in the door. David crossed the threshold, shoulders slumping like a man finishing the London Marathon.
Supper ready?
Not even a hello. Margaret just gestured to the table. David headed to the loo, washed his hands, then collapsed into his chair. The telly flickered onremote glued to his hand by some invisible force.
Rebecca got top marks in reading today, Margaret tried.
Mmm.
And Harry needs a hand with his science project.
Mmm.
Mmm was about as much as she could expect. Soon as he finished eating, David would shift to the sofa; his day was done. Hed brought home the moneythe rest wasnt his concern.
Later, once the children slept, Margaret opened her laptop. Online retail adminsorting orders, replying to emails, booking couriers. Not a kings ransom, but enough to call her own. Also the rent from the flat shed been letting for four years now.
We should move, the thought flickered as always. Except: Harrys at a good school, Rebeccas settled in her nursery, cant lose the rental income Margaret closed the screen. Tomorrow. Tomorrow again.
December arrived with swirling Christmas madnessand flu. Her temperature soared to thirty-nine in hours; aches, burning throat, throbbing head. Margaret barely managed to crawl into bed.
Mum, youre properly ill, Harry observed from the doorway.
David came in after, an uneasy flicker across his face. But Margaret could tell: his anxiety was not for his wife.
Just dont give it to my mum, yeah? At her age, flus no joke.
Margaret shut her eyes. Of courseBarbara. How could she forget the most important one?
Three days blurred past, feverish and unreal. No onehusband, mother-in-law, childrenbrought her so much as a glass of water. The kettle was ten paces from the bedroom, but Margaret dragged herself there alone, steadying herself by the walls.
Everyones concern was for Barbara. Dont go near Mum, shes ill. Wear a mask past the bedroom. Should we move her to another room?
Her: Margaret. The contamination in their home, a threat to the truly important.
A week on, the virus made its rounds. Alex firsta snotty, boiling, wailing mess. Rebecca next. Then David, who flopped dramatically into bed with 37.2 on the thermometer. Barbara succumbed last but with the most fuss.
Margaret, still not quite better, got up. Chicken soup, paracetamol run, thermometer, hoovering, laundry. The familiar route, just this time on jelly legs.
David, take Alex for an hour. I need the pharmacy.
Her husband sighed as if the world were ending, but agreed. Exactly sixty minutes latershe timed ithe plonked Alex back on the pillow.
Im shattered. Still running a fever.
Thirty-six point eight, Margaret confirmed.
Spring brought no mercy. Another virus, more sick children, more sleepless nights. Alex cried, Rebecca refused medicine, Barbara demanded special meals. In the eye of this stormDavid, entirely healthy.
David, help me with the kids.
Maggie, I helped last time, but that was the weekend. Im at workcompletely drained by the end of the day.
He shrugged. The simplest gesture, but it said everything. Evening routine: sit, wait for supper, ignore the chaos, not his concern if the flats a tip or children are ill.
One night, after Alex finally nodded off and the older two did their homework, Margaret approached David. The football mumbled on the telly.
Why dont you help me? Why is it you never, ever help?
David didnt look up or replyjust turned the volume higher.
Margaret stared at his head. In that silence, it all crystallised.
Next morning, she pulled the big bags off the shelf. Kids clothes, toys, paperwork. Harry paused in the hallway:
Mum, are we going somewhere?
To Granny Irenes.
For long?
Well see.
Rebecca bouncedGranny Irene always baked her favourite fairy cakes. Alex had no idea, but clung on tight to his threadbare rabbit.
At the last second, Margaret remembered another family memberDaisy. Shed come too.
David was sprawled on the sofa. The packed bags, bundled coats, excitable childrennone of it made him shift his gaze from the telly. By the time the front door clicked behind Margaret, hed probably just changed the channel.
Irene took her daughter and grandchildren in without a question. She cooked, hugged, understoodfifty-eight years old, a veteran teachershed seen it all.
Stay as long as you need.
The phone rang on the third day. David.
Maggie, come home. The place is filthy. Theres nothing to eat. Mums at me all the time.
No I miss you. No the kids need their dad. Just household woes. Practical grievances.
David, you need a housekeeper, not a wife.
What? Dont be ridiculous
Have you even once said you missed the children?
A hush. Long, and telling.
I earn the money, he mumbled at last, What more do you want?
Margaret set the phone down. It was overand with that, a peculiar lightness.
Two weeks later, the tenants moved out of her flat. Packing took a day. New school for Harry, new nursery for Rebecca. Turns out, these things are far simpler than shed feared.
Their next conversation was the final one. All unsaid hurts, all swallowed words, those lonely sleepless nights nursing the childrens feverseverything poured out, unstoppable.
Ive been your skivvy for twelve years! Not onceNOT ONCEdid you ask if I was all right! How I felt! Im Ive had enough!
She blocked his number. She filed for divorce.
The hearing lasted all of twenty minutes. David didnt protest. He signed the child support agreement and left. Perhaps something dawned on him. Perhaps he simply couldnt be bothered to keep trying.
That evening, Margaret sat in her old-new kitchen. Harry read a book in his room. Rebecca drew at the table, tongue poked in concentration. Alex built towers on the carpet.
Quiet. Calm. Daisy lay at her feet, chin on paws.
There were still meals to cook, messes to tidy, and late-night work to be done. But nowshe did it for those who truly were her family. And shed work harder at raising her children so theyd never take a wife for granted.
Mum, Rebecca looked up from her picture. You smile much more now.
Margaret smiled again. Rebecca was right.
