It took me fifteen years to realise that my marriage was a bit like those gym memberships you sign up for in January full of grand intentions at first, but after that, the place just echoes with emptiness.
It all began on a perfectly mundane Tuesday. I walked in after work to find him sprawled across the sofa, hand stuffed into an open bag of crisps, glued to his third run-through of the same zombie series.
Whats for dinner? he asked, not even glancing away from the telly.
Something inside me snapped. Like rebooting a computer, where everything returns to factory settings in a flash.
I dont know, darling. What is for dinner? I replied, setting down my handbag.
He blinked at me in confusion, as though Id suddenly started speaking Welsh.
What do you mean you dont know? You always cook.
Oh, do I? Fascinating observation. Well, Im off out for supper with some friends. See you later.
His face was a work of poetry, but more haiku than sonnet brief, yet brimming with meaning.
That night, I feasted on grilled fish, sipped crisp white wine and laughed until my cheeks ached. I came home just after eleven. Hed ordered pizza and the kids were utterly delighted.
Mum, why cant we always have dinner like this? piped up the younger one, sporting a dab of ketchup on his nose.
The following week, I decided to go a step further. Literally.
Im heading to Greece this Friday, I announced over breakfast.
He nearly choked on his coffee.
Greece? But what about the kids?
Theyll be here with you. Youre their father, arent you? I have complete faith in you.
But Ive got meetings! Important work!
I looked him full in the face.
What a coincidence. Ive had important work for the past fifteen years, and somehow it always got done. Im sure you, with your brilliant mind youre always going on about, will manage just fine.
And off I went. Alone. Well, technically with one of my cousins details, details.
By midday the first day Id received seventeen texts:
Wheres the PE kit?
How do I run the washing machine?
Does pasta cook in hot water or cold?
Can the kids have cereal for dinner?
I answered just one:
Google is your best friend.
By day three, the tone shifted:
The children want chicken nuggets again.
Do they always have this much homework?
Why are there so many school meetings?
I ignored them. I was busy sipping an iced coffee by the sea and reading a novel uninterrupted for the first time in ages.
When I returned, the house looked post-apocalyptic. There were socks stuck to the ceiling to this day, I have no idea how they got there the dog was wearing one on his head like a hat, and my daughter had redecorated her room in purple with my lipstick.
He was curled on the sofa, practically in the foetal position.
Youre back, he croaked, voice rough. Thank God.
How did it go? I asked, tanned and blissfully calm.
I dont how do you do all of this, every day? Its inhuman.
Almost like a full-time job, isnt it?
He fell silent. The zombies on the TV groaned. So did he.
Im sorry, he whispered at last. I really am.
Things changed after that. He learnt to cook three reasonably edible meals. Well, two and a half, seeing as his spaghetti is still suspiciously crunchy. He now knows where the washing machine lives, how school meetings actually happen, and that the question, Whats for dinner? doesnt count unless hes the one making it.
I take a trip by myself every three months now sometimes with friends, sometimes solo never with a pang of guilt.
Last week, the neighbour eyed me, round as saucers.
Do you really just leave the kids with your husband and go away?
Just like that, I confirmed. Hes their father, not a babysitter.
But what if something goes wrong?
Then hell learn. Just like I did, when he used to leave me to cope with everything while he was off at important meetings that always seemed to end at the pub.
She went quiet. A month later, I spied her at the airport, passport in hand. Off to Italy, apparently.
Turns out, karma isnt always vengeful sometimes its a patient teacher, giving you lessons you should have learned years ago. And if you wont learn them the easy way, youll get an intensive crash course in reality.
Now, he even boasts to his mates that he knows how to plait our daughters hair though truthfully, his plaits look more like nautical knots. Still, its the effort that counts.
Last night, he asked me:
Are you off anywhere soon? Just so I can brace myself.
I was thinking about Portugal for my birthday, I said.
He let out a resigned sigh.
How many days?
Ten.
All right. At least now I know where the first-aid kit is.
I kissed him on the forehead, like you do a brave child heading for a jab.
Is it just me, or should Home Survival 101 be a compulsory subject before marriage? Or maybe youre one of us too.
