On Wednesday morning, while we were having breakfast, Paul asked me for my bank card. His voice was just rightworried, but not frantic.
Kate, I’m in a bit of a fix with a company paymentmy cards been frozen, only for a couple of days, please help me out.
I wiped my hands on my apron, fetched my card from my purse. Paul took it swiftly, as if I might change my mind, and kissed the top of my head.
Thanks, love, youve saved me again.
Twenty years of marriage had taught me not to ask unnecessary questions. I trusted him. Or at least pretended to.
On Friday evening, as I was ironing bedsheets, I overheard Paul in the next room speaking on the phone. The door was ajar. His voice was cheerfulnothing like how he speaks to me.
Mum, dont stress, its all sorted. Reservations made, table for six, menus fantastic, cocktails and bubbly, just how you like. No, she doesnt know a thing. Why would I tell her? Told her were just doing something at home, just us lot.
My iron paused midair.
My daft wife wont suspect a thing. Shes still got that village air about her, Mum, you remember, from that little town. Been in London twenty years but shes still a country girl at heart. Yeah, yeah, Im paying with her card, obviously.
Mines blocked, but therell be a real splash at The Diamond Quay. She wouldnt dream of coming near. Let her stay at home, watch telly.
I switched off the iron. Walked to the kitchen, poured myself a glass of water, downed it in one. My hands didnt shake. It felt hollow and cold inside, as though someone had scooped everything out.
Naïve wife… Country woman… Using her card…
I set the glass in the sink and gazed out of the window. It was getting dark beyond the garden. Maybe hes right. Maybe I really am as simple and foolish as a mouse. But even a mouse will bite if you corner it.
In the morning on Saturday, I cancelled the card. Told the bank it was lost and I was frightened someone might use it.
From the bank, I travelled across town, back to the area Id grown up in.
David opened the door, feet snug in slippers, eyebrows raised in surprise.
Kate? Blimey, its been ages! Come in, dont hang around out there.
We sat in his kitchen, drinking tea. I told him everything. Briefly, no drama. He listened without interrupting.
I understand, he said. Remember when you brought us that sack of potatoes when Dad lost his job? Said it was spare, but we all knew youd given your last. My turn now. Theyre having their do on Monday, yeah?
Nine oclockbanquet starts. Ill ring you once theyve ordered and are ready to settle the bill. Come in then. Ill tip off the waiter.
On Monday evening, I wore a dress. Maroon, sewn for myself three years ago and never once wornno special occasion. I fixed my hair, put on makeup, looked in the mirror. Not a mouse
My phone rang at half ten. David.
Nows the time. Theyve just asked for the bill. Hell be paying with your card any minute.
A taxi took me there in twenty minutes. The restaurant glowed, all stained glass and gleaming gold. David greeted me in the lobby, nodded towards the dining room.
Third table from the window.
I walked in. Laughter, clinking glasses, a room full of people. I made my way between the tables, and then I saw them.
Paul at the head, next to his mum, Mrs. Thomas, in a brown suit. His sister Mary and her husband sat beside her. The table was littered with empty plates, glasses, the remains of dessert.
The waiter brought over the bill on a silver tray. Paul, not even looking at the sum, pulled my card from his pocket and set it down, as though he were paying with his own money.
Service is excellent, he announced loudly, surveying the table. Mum, told you Id give you a celebration worthy of you. Not some miserable little thingproper first class.
Mrs. Thomas nodded proudly, fixing her hair.
My lad, youve outdone yourself. Thats how it ought to be done. Not like some who just sit at home sewing and never make a fuss.
Mary snickered. Paul smiled, clearly pleased with himself.
Well, Mum, you know me. Only the best for you. Lucky I can manage these things.
The waiter took the card to the machine. Tried once. Again. Checked the screen, his brow furrowed. Returned to the table.
Sorry, sir. The cards been declined. Its blocked.
Paul paled.
How can it be blocked? Try again, please.
Ive tried three times, sir. The card is invalid.
I approached the table. Mrs. Thomas spotted me first, her face stretching in shock.
Catherine? Paul stammered, leaping up, What are you doing here?
I looked at him calmly.
Ive come to the party. The one you organised at my expense. Without me.
You could hear the neighbouring glasses tremble, the silence at their table was so complete.
Kate, listen, its all a misunderstanding, Paul began, reaching out, but I stepped back.
Its not a misunderstanding, Paul. Its a lie. I heard everything you said to your mother on Friday. Every word.
All about your country wife. About how Id never suspect a thing, would just stay home and watch TV while you and your family dined out with my money.
Mary stared at her plate. Mrs. Thomas clutched her napkin.
Youyou were eavesdropping? Paul looked furious. Are you spying on me?
I was ironing sheets while you bellowed about your clever little scheme. Bragging to your mum about how youd fooled your wife completely.
Thats not eavesdropping, Paul. Thats you not bothering to hide. You thought the mouse wouldnt bite.
Paul tried to regain his composure.
All right, I was wrong, fair enough. But lets not do this here, please? Lets talk at home.
No, Paul. Well talk here. I cancelled the card on Saturday. Told the bank it was stolen. Because you took it under false pretences and tried to splurge on things I knew nothing about. So now, darling husband, youll have to pay yourself. In cash.
David stepped up to the table, arms folded across his chest.
If there are problems with the bill, Im afraid Ill have to call the police. The account needs settling.
Pauls face went from pale to crimson, then purple.
Kate, do you know what youre doing? Youre humiliating me!
Me? I smiled. Youve only humiliated yourself, Paul. All on your own. When you thought your country wife didnt even deserve honesty.
Mrs. Thomas shot to her feet, pointing at me.
How dare you speak to him like this?! Youre nothing! Youre nobody without him!
I gazed at her, then replied quietly:
Maybe. But now I dont have to pretend. And thats far better than being anyones naïve wife.
The next twenty minutes they scrabbled for money. Paul emptied his wallet, Mrs. Thomas her handbag, Mary and her husband turned out their pockets.
They counted piles of coins on the table, whispering, hunting for every last pound. The waiter stood by, expression stone-cold. Other diners watched, curiosity on their faces.
I stood by, watching as their false grandeur, their pretensions, their liesall crumbled.
When theyd finally scraped together enough, I took an envelope from my handbag and placed it in front of Paul.
Divorce papers. Read them at home.
Then I turned and walked out, head high, footsteps strong. David held the door open and whispered,
Stay strong, Catherine.
The night air greeted me with a crisp breeze, yet something bright and warm unfurled in my chest. Freedom.
The divorce went through in three months. Paul called, begged for forgiveness, but I never answered. My share of the flat sold, and I got half.
He rang again, almost a year later.
Kate, I was wrong. Mums living with me, nags me every day, Ive lost my job. Lets give it another go?
No, Paul.
I hung up and didnt think of him again.
Sometimes, I remember that evening in the restaurant. Walking through the dining room, looking Paul in the eyes, sliding that envelope onto the table. And I realiseit wasnt the end. It was the beginning.
Just recently, I ran into Mary in the shop. She turned away. I didnt call after her. Why would I? We exist in different worlds now.
Yesterday, David popped by.
So, Catherine, any regrets?
I glanced out the window. Spring sunlight, life blooming.
Not a second, Dave.
He nodded.
Too right. Regret is for things left undone, not for things you did.We sipped our tea in companionable silence. After David left, I wandered into the garden, shoes in hand, feeling the grasscool and springybeneath my feet. The breeze toyed with my hair. I closed my eyes and listened: birdsong, the hum of city life softened by distance, the familiar comfort of my own heart beating steadily in my chest.
For the first time in years, I felt whole. No more waiting for laughter from the next room that never included me, no more watching my reflection fade against kitchen tiles. The world was wide again, and filled with possibilities.
I went inside and fished out the maroon dress from the wardrobe, running my fingers over the stitching. I had made it for someone elses celebration, but it turned out, the best occasion was my own freedom.
By dusk, I curled up with a book, legs tucked beneath me, lamp glowing gently. I read until the lines blurred, then drifted off into dreamless sleep. In the morning, I woke early, sunlight streaming across the floor like a promise.
There are people who mistake kindness for weakness, and trust for naivete. Let them. I know better now. I am not a mouse. I am not a fool. I am Catherine: persistent, scarred perhaps, but unbreakably my own.
Outside, the world beckons, bright and unafraid. As I step through the doorway, head held high, I knowthere are so many beginnings, every day, just waiting to be claimed. And this time, I walk out to meet them.
