Charlotte arrived home three days earlier than planned, laden with treats from her parents. She intended to surprise her husband. Instead, Oliver greeted her by sending her straight out to the shops. What followed, truly, no one could have predicted.
The bag was so heavy it nearly wrenched Charlottes shoulder clean off. The dull ache in her lower back her little gift these past two months was becoming unbearable. She gently lowered her bags onto the cratered pavement at the bus stop.
Breathe in, breathe out. The little one inside her gave a petulant kick; six months along wasnt exactly a barrel of laughs. Especially when youve decided to come home early to surprise your husband and your parents have packed you off with pickled eggs, chutney, farmhouse bread, and all sorts of things that weighed as much as a small car.
The last hundred miles on the coach, shed been so excited shed counted passing lampposts. Whats Oliver doing right now? She bet a fiver he didnt have a clue she was barely ten minutes walk from home. The road to their flat seemed endless. Those parental goodies jam jars, a side of ham, apples the size of fists weighed enough to rival Sisyphus boulder.
Fifty metres in, Charlotte realised she was done for. Her back simply wouldnt have it.
She fished out her mobile and dialled her husband.
Oliver, hi, she whispered, when he finally picked up.
Charlotte? Whats wrong? Are you okay? His voice was more panic than poetry.
Nothings wrong. Im back! On the bus stop right outside our building. Could you come out and give me a hand? The bags are impossible you know what Mums like
A silence so loaded, Charlotte had to double-check she hadnt been cut off.
Youre at the bus stop? Olivers voice shot up an octave. Right now? But you didnt say! You werent due till Friday!
I wanted to surprise you. Charlotte scowled a little. Olly, are you not happy to see me? Im exhausted. Just come out, will you?
Wait! he suddenly squealed. Dont come up! I mean do, but hang on, love, the flats absolutely empty, I ate everything yesterday. Pop into the Tesco on the corner, yeah? Pick up some beef, something nice. Didnt go in to work today, took a day off was hoping to do a proper lunch to welcome you home.
Beef? Charlotte blinked in disbelief. Olly, love, Im six months pregnant, standing on the street with two tonne-weight bags!
My back is killing me! Weve got potatoes and eggs at home. Cant you just come get me? Im starving and just want to lie down.
No, hon, you dont get it, he barrelled on. I just want everything perfect. That shops next door! Get the beef, and get some fresh potatoes ours have turned to mush. Ask someone to help carry it or just go slowly. Please? Its for us. Im prepping everything here.
Charlotte examined her red fingers. Her heart began to fizz with a bitter heat.
Oliver, are you serious? Her voice shook. You want me, in this state, with these bags, to go shopping for beef because you decided its time for a roast? Cant you just come downstairs?
Im already halfway through err preparations! If I leave now, Ill ruin it. Please, love, just get around 800 grams, decent stuff. And the smallest bag of potatoes. Im counting on you!
The line went dead. Charlotte stared at her dead phone in disbelief. In that moment, it felt like crying, right there beneath the harsh glow of the Tesco sign. Instead of a hug and a cup of tea, she was heading to search for beef. Maybe he is up to something incredible? she thought, sighing, as she hoisted her bags once more and limped to the shop.
She pushed the trolley through crowded aisles while the night-shift cashier regarded her with a look half-asleep, half-sympathetic.
The beef weighed a ton and the potatoes even more. By the time she emerged from the shop, she couldnt feel her fingers theyd turned into frozen claws.
Her phone rang again.
Did you get it?! Oliver chirped.
Got it, Charlotte said through gritted teeth. Im at the front door. Open up.
No, wait! Oliver nearly squealed. Dont come up yet! Sit down outside for, like, ten minutes?
Are you having a laugh? Charlotte didnt care who overheard her shriek. Oliver, my feet are swollen, I cant even stand!
The surprise isnt ready! he insisted with the loyalty of a particularly stubborn Spaniel. If you come up now, itll all be wasted. Sit on the bench, get some air. Five minutes, I promise. Im hanging up, otherwise Ill never finish!
She slumped down on the hard wooden bench outside their block. Her bags crashed beside her. For a desperate moment, she pondered launching the meat parcel straight through the third-floor window.
Ten minutes passed. Then twenty. Charlotte sat, feeling everything boil inside. She pictured opening the door to a sea of petals, or a fancy breakfast but really, what could possibly excuse this? Not even a string quartet in the lounge would be worth thirty minutes freezing on a bench after hours on a coach.
On the thirty-fifth minute, the door finally creaked. Oliver burst out, looking distinctly mad T-shirt back to front, sweat glowing on his brow, hair like hed wrestled a raccoon.
Oh, youre still here! he grinned, grabbing the bags. Why so grumpy? Its a beautiful oh, never mind. Come on, then!
Youre absolutely drenched, Charlotte muttered, dragging herself up, clinging to the railing. And why do you reek of bleach and fake sea breeze?
Youll see! he bounded towards the lift, barely able to contain himself.
They went up. Oliver threw open the door, waiting for applause. Charlotte entered and was immediately struck by a pungent mix of bleach and what could only be Ocean Zest.
She checked the living room. Then the kitchen. Even poked her head in the bathroom. The entire flat was almost eerily spotless. Gone were the usual piles of clothes. The carpet was freshly vacuumed (still damp in spots), shelves dusted, her figurines corralled into a corner.
Well? Oliver beamed, fresh as a new pound coin. Ta-da! The surprise!
Charlotte turned to face him, slowly.
Thats it? she whispered.
What do you mean thats it? Oliver near collapsed with outrage. Char, look! I spent three hours! Mopped everywhere, even behind the sofa! Washed all the dishes, loos shining bright as a diamond. Wanted you to come home to a sparkling clean flat, nothing to do. I had to rush while you sorted the shopping.
A hard knot began to rise in Charlottes throat.
So, for the sake of polishing the floor, you made me traipse to the shop?
You couldnt meet me at the stop, though I begged, because what? Windex called?
Yes! I was trying to be considerate! Youre always on at me for not helping enough round here. So I wanted to prove it. You came early, I was running out of time! I had to distract you somehow. And here you are, looking at me as if I spat in your porridge instead of doing overtime for you.
Charlottes patience snapped.
Are you right in the head, Oliver? Her voice jumped an octave. I dont care about the state of the skirting boards! My backs shot, the bags were murder! Were having a baby, Olly! I just needed you to take me by the arm and bring me home not play Kim and Aggie with a mop!
Oliver turned bright scarlet. He hurled the dishcloth into the sink.
Oh, here we go, he bellowed. I bend over backwards from five this morning, for what? A thank you? Wrong! All I get is moaning. Look at my back, look at my feet Maybe Im tired too! I barely slept! I wanted to do something nice and you just burst in, shouting! Have you even noticed, its cleaner than on our wedding day!
Whats the point of all this cleanliness? Charlottes voice trembled with tears. You left me sat on a cold bench for half an hour! My legs are throbbing, Im frozen! You sent me to buy meat and potatoes when I could barely walk! Oliver, this isnt a surprise, its a punishment!
Oh, a punishment? Oliver flailed about the kitchen, gesturing furiously. Well, sorry Im not perfect enough for you! Anyone else would be thrilled spick and span flat, husband making lunch, but you? Its all me me me! And maybe Im tired! I waited up all night for you, thinking what would make you happy!
Charlotte buried her face in her hands.
You really dont get it, she sobbed. You chose clean skirting over my wellbeing.
Oh, now its all about the skirting! Olivers voice soared. You came back early! You ruined the big finish! If youd been back Friday, Id have been ready. Everything wouldve been perfect. Instead, you barge in and Im the bad guy! Youre so ungrateful, Charlotte, honestly.
He stomped out, slamming the bedroom door dramatically.
The baby stirred inside her, protesting. Charlotte slumped onto a chair, glaring at the slippery parcel of beef Oliver hadnt bothered to shove in the fridge. Nausea began its slow crawl up her throat.
Ten minutes later, the kitchen door opened a crack.
So, do I make the beef, or are you on hunger strike just to spite me?
Dont bother, Oliver, Charlotte murmured, not looking up. Just leave me be. I want to sleep.
Fine! he snapped, slamming the door again.
Charlotte dragged herself to the bathroom and stared at her sallow, tear-stained face in the mirror. She remembered the coach journey, imagining Olivers hug, those warm words: Thank God youre finally home. Some hope. If only.
She washed her face and emerged, only for another row to spark up about some half-baked trifle. Eventually, Charlotte left in her trainers and coat good thing she hadnt bothered to change and went straight back to her parents.
Everyone tried to talk her out of it the in-laws, the world and his wife. Even Oliver rang often, promising he understood everything now, asking her to come home. But Charlotte had made up her mind: she didnt need a husband who valued a sparkling toilet over their childs health.
And so ended the tale of how a surprise return became a battle with bleach, beef, and good intentions.
