Set his sights on another mans wife
When they moved in together, James Ashford quickly proved himself utterly spineless and unassertive.
Every single day for him rose or fell depending on the mood he woke up with. Now and then, hed be up early, chipper as you like, cracking jokes all through breakfast, laughing loudly over the smallest things.
But most days, if Im honest, James just wandered his own house in a cloud of gloom, mainlining cups of tea, as moody and difficult as youd expect from someone who fancied himself artistic. That was his claim, after allhe was an art teacher in a rural primary, dabbling in woodwork, painting, and sometimes even standing in for music when the regular teacher was off sick.
He desperately wanted to make something of himself in the arts. But seeing as school life kept his genius stifled, all that pent-up creative energy spilled out at homeand the house took a beating for it. He set up a full-on studio in the biggest, sunniest room, the very one Emily, his wife, had hoped would one day be a nursery.
But the house belonged to James, strictly speaking, so Emily said nothing.
He filled that room with easels and tripods, the floor was always splattered with clay and paint, you couldnt walk anywhere without catching your ankle on a tube of oil paint or stepping on a pile of pencils. Hed lose himself for hours making strange watercolours or clay knick-knacks, utterly engrossed.
Not that anyone actually wanted these “masterpieces.” He never sold a thinghe just kept them all at home, so every wall was crowded with his paintings, which Emily honestly found rather ugly, and every shelf heaving with crude clay animals and funny faces.
If theyd been any good, it mightve been different. Sadly, they werent.
The few mates in the artsy crowd whod known James from college would visit, and you could tell, they didnt know where to look. Theyd mumble something, avoid his eye, and then try and talk about anything else.
Not a single compliment.
Except for old Lawrence Peake, who was the eldest of the lot and only blurted it out after a generous helping of sloe gin:
My God, what an absolute pile of nonsense! What is any of this meant to be? I havent seen a single redeeming thing in this houseunless you count your lovely wife, that is.
James was stunghe yelled, stamped his feet, and demanded Emily see the rude guest off right this minute.
Get out! Get out, you snake! he hollered. If anyone here doesnt get art, its youwhat, jealous now your hands are too shaky from drink to hold a brush? Tearing me down because youre bitter, you are! Everyone can see it!
Lawrence narrowly escaped tumbling down the porch steps, collected himself at the gate, and Emily scurried after to apologise:
Please dont take what he said to heart. He cant stand criticism, really, and I should have warned you.
No need to cover for him, dear child, Lawrence shook his head. Ill ring for a cab and be off. Pity, thoughthe house is lovely, but all those dreadful paintings, and those ghastly figurineshe ought to store them away, not display them with pride Still, knowing James, Id hazard your life together is far from easy. For artists, you knowwhat we create is a reflection of our spirits, and James, well, his soul is as empty as all those blank canvases.
He kissed the back of her hand and left that uncomfortable house behind.
James carried on raging for weekshe smashed some of his clay models, tore paintings off the walls, stomped about for a full month before finally sulking back to earth.
***
Truth is, Emily never once argued with her husband.
She reckoned when the time came and there were children, surely hed tire of his clay blobs and watercolours, and maybe finally convert the studio into a nursery. Meanwhile, shed let him play at being an artist.
At first after the wedding, James put on a show of being a model husbandhe’d bring home fresh apples and his wages, tried to look after her.
Didnt last. He grew distant, stopped handing over a penny, and suddenly Emily was left to run the household, look after James, his mother, a veg patch, and keep the chickens.
News of a baby on the way thrilled Jamesfor all of a week, anyway. Then Emily fell ill, ended up in hospital, and lost the baby as quickly as shed learned about it.
As soon as James heard, he changed in front of her eyes. There were tears, tantrums, harsh words yelled at Emily before he locked himself inside.
She came home from the hospital a ghost of herself, pale and lost. No welcome, no warmthjust James barring her from her own house.
Open up, James!
Not a chance, he whimpered through the door. Whyd you even come back? You were meant to bring my child into this world, but you failed. My mother had a heart attack today, and thats down to you as well! Youre a curse! Leave! I want nothing more to do with you!
Emily slumped to the porch, sick with shock.
Honestly, James Im hurting too, Im not made of stone. Let me in, please.
But he ignored her. So Emily sat outside until nightfall.
Finally, he creaked open the door, thin as a rake with grief, locked up behind himself, and shuffled off, not even glancing at her.
After hed gone, she let herself in and collapsed into bed, waiting up all night. In the morning, a neighbour brought dreadful newsJames mother hadn’t recovered from her attack and had passed away.
The blow sent James into a tailspinhe quit teaching, took to bed, and confessed to Emily:
I never loved you. Never once. Married you solely for mums sakeshe wanted grandchildren. You ruined my life, and now mums, and Ill never forgive it.
The words gutted her, but Emily stubbornly refused to abandon him.
Time wandered on, things didnt improve. James stopped leaving bed, wouldnt eat but for the occasional glass of water, wasted away until he had no strength even to complain. Turned out his old stomach ulcer had flared up, but mostly it seemed hed just given up.
And then, wordlessly, he filed for divorce. And the Ashfords split.
Emily cried her heart out.
She tried to hug James, but he shrugged her off and muttered hed kick her out as soon as he was well enough, that shed ruined everything.
***
But Emily couldnt really leaveshe had nowhere to go.
Her mother, whod rushed to marry her off straight out of school, had set her sights on her own happiness as soon as Emily was gone, shacking up with a widower somewhere down in Devon. Quick as you like, her mother sold up Emilys childhood home and moved to the coast, leaving Emily with only a couple of kettle-warm memories and no roof to fall back on.
So she stayedtrapped, reallywith nowhere to run.
***
One morning, the kitchen was bare, not a crumb left. Emily scraped up the last bit of oatmeal, boiled the last egg laid by the scrawniest chicken, and fed James what amounted to gruel with mashed eggexactly the way youd feed a toddler. Only, she couldve been spooning it to her own baby by now, if she hadnt spent all summer lugging buckets up from the well and shifting logs around the garden. Instead, she was left trying to keep afloat and appease a man who barely cared she existed.
Ill be out for a bitthe village fairs in full swing. Ill try to sell the chicken, or swap for something useful, she said.
James just stared blankly at the ceiling and croaked, Why sell her? Cook her for broth, at least. Im sick of porridgewant a decent soup for once.
Emily fidgeted with the hem of her threadbare summer dressthe same one shed worn to her school prom, and then to her wedding, and now for everything else, since she had nothing left.
You know I cant shes too sweet, really. Maybe I could trade her, or sell to a neighbour, but shes too attached to me I cant bear the idea of her not coming back.
James rolled his eyes. Youve named the chickens now? God, is there anything you wont sentimentalise? Typical.
Emily bit her lip and stared at her feet.
Youll take my sculptures and paintings, too, then, to the market, will you? he piped up suddenly, more alert than usual.
Are you sure? Youre so proud of them
Take them! he snapped.
With a sigh, Emily grabbed two bird-shaped clay whistlesbad imitations of beautiful old English potteryand the fat piggy bank James had always boasted about. Then she ran for the door before he made her pile on half a dozen of his murky paintings as well. No one in their right mind would want those.
She was mortified to be dragging them anywhere in public.
***
It was a scorching day, heat shimmering from the pavement, her hair sticking to her forehead.
The village fair was bustling, people laughing, music and barbecues wafting over the crowds. Emily could hardly remember the last time shed taken a stroll just for herself; now she blinked at all the bright bunting, stalls of honey and scarves and sweeties for children. The sizzle of grilled sausages made her stomach ache.
She found her way to a quieter stall and nervously clutched the fabric bag with her chicken inside, stroking the hens soft feathers. It broke her heart to let the little thing go; shed nursed it back from a sprained leg, and it had followed her about ever since like a pet, even coming when called.
The old lady behind the jewellery counter glanced down. Fancy a necklace, love? Sturdy stuffsilver, good chains too.
Id rather sell thismy hen, shes a good egg layer, said Emily quietly, doing her best to sound upbeat.
The stallholder gave her a look. What am I supposed to do with a chicken?
But a young man at the next tabletall, broad-shouldered, laughing with the butchersperked up. Lets see your chicken, then.
Emily handed her pet over as gently as if she were passing a baby.
How much you asking? Thats cheapwhats the catch?
She limps a bit but lays lovely big eggs.
Ill have her, he grinned. Whatve you got there?
Ohjust some little clay bits. Whistles. A piggy bank.
He examined them, lopsided smile. Handmade, are they? Ill take the lotalways had a thing for peculiar bits and bobs.
The jewellery lady snorted. That you, Danny? Youre worse than a childshouldnt you be helping at the food stall with your brother?
Emily, blushing, tried to pull the chicken back. Youre selling at the food stall?! You cant have her for meatshes not meant for it.
But Danny just laughed and dodged her hand. No, no, shell live in the garden, I promisemy mum keeps hens, shell be spoilt rotten.
Youre not lying?
I swear, he said, warmly. Come visit anytimesee for yourself. I didnt even know hens had names!
***
Emily was almost home when a car rolled up beside her. Out of the window popped Dannys head.
ErEmily, wasnt it? Have you got more of those clay animals? Theyd make cracking gifts.
Blinded by the sun, Emily smiled back. Youre in luckhouse is full of them!
***
The moment she got back, James, lying in bed, croaked, Whos there, Em? Bring me some water, will you?
Danny stood in the doorway, glancing at the sad paintings on the wall.
Incredible, he whispered. You paint these? You?
James sat bolt upright. Not paint, write. Children make pictures, I make art!
He staggered from the bed, glaring suspiciously.
Whats it to you? he grunted.
Theyre I like them. Ill buy them. And these clay thingswho made them?
Mine too! said James, thrusting Emily aside. All mine!
Danny raised an eyebrow. Unusual, Ill say that.
While James tried to pitch his work, Dannys eyes lingered quietly on Emily.
Epilogue
Emily was stunned by her ex-husbands miraculous recovery. Turns out James wasnt sick at all!
The moment someone showed even fake interest in his crafts, he perked right up. Danny, the so-called art lover, kept comingbuying a painting here, a clay animal there. When hed cleared the house, hed just start the charade again. James was giddy with self-importance, churning out art at a fever pitch.
It never dawned on him that what really caught Dannys eye wasnt the dreadful artit was Emily.
Each time Danny bought something, he lingered at the garden gate, talking softly with Emily. Bit by bit, affection blossomed.
And you know how these things goa sparks all it takes.
In the end, Danny took from James what he truly wantedhis former wife. That was what hed been coming for all along.
Afterwards, whenever Danny visited his mum, hed toss Jamess paintings on the bonfire, sack the ugliest clay monsters into a shed, not sure why hed bothered at all except that it meant hed met Emily.
From the moment he first set eyes on her at the fair, hair shining in the sun, bag slung over her shoulder, Danny knew she was the one. A bit of nosing about told him her marriage was miserable, trapped with a pompous fool.
He just kept coming roundbuying sketch after sketchto see her, until in the end, Emily finally understood. And she went with him.
***
James never saw it coming.
One day, Danny just stopped coming, after leaving with Emily. News came through the grapevinetheyd married, and James was left all alone, sour and bitter.
It dawned on him, too latethat a good wife is the greatest treasure a man can have.
After all, Emily had quietly looked after him, forgiven him, tended to him like a mother, put up with every moody tantrum. And clever, kind, patient as she was, hed let her slip through his fingers.
James might have sulked, but then he realisedthere was no one left to bring him tea and eggs, no one to listen to his woes, no tender soul to keep life ticking along.
Hed lost the one thing worth having, and he knew it.
