Emily, were famished! Stop lying on the sofa! a disgruntled voice echoed from above the kitchen door.
Her head throbbed, her throat felt raw, her nose was stuffed. When she tried to rise, her limbs were as if made of cotton. No wonder she felt ill.
The week had been sweltering, and yesterday, as dusk fell, a sudden mix of snow and rain drummed on the windows. Spring, they called it. Hailing a cab in that weather was as futile as trying to catch moonlight in a net, so she had to trudge home from work on the city bus. She waited thirty minutes for a coach that arrived bursting at the seams; she squeezed herself in like a drafty ghost, then shuffled the remaining distance on foot.
She had asked her husband to pick her up on his way.
Emily, were heading to my mums with Harry. Well be late, James said, his tone as flat as a London fog.
As always.
So Emily finally shuffled back to the flat, drenched and shivering, the clock blinking 8a.m. on Saturday.
James, fetch the thermometer, please! she whispered to the empty kitchen.
Whats wrong? Youre coming down with something? James replied, bewildered. And breakfast?
Do it yourself? Emily asked, halflaughing, halfcrying.
What do you mean, yourself? He frowned. And Harry?
The lads ten now! Youre an adult, James. Whip up some eggs; let the boy give you a hand. I taught him to cook, and hes practically a chef.
You taught the boy to cook? James exclaimed, eyes wide.
Yes. Whats the problem? He spends all day glued to his phone, does nothing else. Emily shrugged.
Are you out of your mind? Hes a man! Men arent meant to be cooking; thats a womans job! James roared, his face turning the colour of a traffic light. Fine, well go to my parents house; you can stay here. Well be back tomorrow night.
And, like a flock of startled pigeons, James and his motherinlaw vanished to the countryside.
Emily dragged herself to the bathroom, found the thermometer, turned on the kettle and let her thoughts drift.
Why did it happen now? When had the moment slipped away when James could have calmly prepared a simple breakfast for both of them, when during sickness they used to look after each other? When did the domestic duties suddenly become her sole burden?
The thermometer beeped: 39.2°C.
She swallowed a dose of pills and crawled back into bed.
A few minutes later the phone buzzed. Her mothers voice cut through the haze.
Emily, why arent you answering? Im used to your morning call I thought youd disappeared. Margaret, her motherinlaw, complained.
Mum, Im a bit under the weather. Took the tablets and fell back asleep, Emily croaked.
Ah, a little! And wheres James? Off with Harry at his mothers again? Margaret grumbled.
We went away with Harry so we wouldnt catch anything, Emily replied weakly.
Do you really believe that? So we dont catch anything Just dont overwork yourself, or youll have to wash the dishes yourself! Margaret snapped.
Mum! Emily tried to protest, but the words vanished like smoke. She knew the accusation was coming.
Stop whining! I have the right to be angry. I gave you away in marriage, not into slavery! Did you check your temperature?
Yes. It was high this morning. Its a bit better now, but I feel drained, Emily admitted.
Stay lying down! Father will fetch you. Ill get you on your feet! Dont suffer alone. Margaret hung up.
Emily slipped out of bed, washed her face, gathered her laptop and a few essentials, and waited for her father.
When he arrived, his hand clutched his chest as if shocked by the sight of his daughter.
Whats wrong, Dad? Emily whispered, startled.
Ah, its you! He took the bag from her, eyes wide. I thought Id finally found death, but its just you, pale as a winter sky!
Dad, why scare me like that? Emily smiled faintly. Shall we go?
Lets go. Hold onto me, or the wind will sweep you away! You look so thin, so exhausted. No, dear, the mothers right its as if youve been handed into servitude. Forgive me, but you look not very well.
Emily didnt argue; she was simply tired.
Her parents home was warm, fragrant with stew, and oddly comforting. Margaret tended to her with a seriousness that made the afternoon fever dip a little.
Later, Emily called James to let him know she wouldnt be home. He answered with a lazy drawl.
What do you want? I cant bring you medicine. Had a few pints with Dad. Its Saturday! Were watching football. He passed the line to his mother.
Emily! Youre a woman! You cant just relax and leave a man hungry! What matters in a family? Men need to be fed, warm, and out of the way! And you? Shes ill a tablet and thats it! shouted Ksenia, a neighbour who loved to meddle.
A passing mother, hearing the tirade, snatched the phone from Emily.
Dear, what sort of man? Weak? Ill? Or what must a husband be warm, fed, never touching? Margaret fumed.
Why weak? Its a family thing! All men are like that, the motherinlaw muttered, surprised at her own outburst. Victor, how are you?
How? Its a mess! Im lifting my daughter. A real man cant look after his wife! He cant even buy medicine hes been drinking Look at that! The wife is sick and hes thrilled. The inlaws voice cracked, but she still feared Margarets wrath.
Nonsense. The boys went away so Emily wouldnt be bothered. Ksenia huffed. Heres a potion! Shes healthy, just lazy. She forgot about her men! And theyre family, after all. Ill look after my boys! Your daughters a cuckoo!
Margaret stared at the silent phone, the words hanging like cobwebs.
Daughter, do you really need this? Youre still young! This is over the line. she muttered, frustration curling in her throat.
A text arrived from James:
Emily, can you send me some cash? Im short until payday. I splurged on Harry. Had to cover his clubs and buy his gear!
Emily stared, the audacity swelling like a tide.
Ive been paying the rent and groceries all month. Is that alright? she typed, stunned.
Of course. The flats yours! Send it now, Im heading to the shop! James demanded, impatient.
No money left. I spent it on medicine, Emily replied, a lie slipping out.
What do you mean no? Your illness is costing us! Ask your parents. came the sharp reply.
Ask your own mum, Emily shot back.
She wont understand where I spent my wages, James snarled.
I dont understand either, Emily replied.
Im a grown man. I have my own wants and expenses. I dont have to report them to you or your mother! Im at the shop. Send it now! he wrote, venomous.
I wont, Emily answered briefly.
His next message labeled her greedy, ungrateful, a bad mother, a terrible wife, and a litany of insults. Finally, she responded to Margaret:
No, Mum. I dont need this any more.
All evening and night, James and Margaret volleyed angry texts at her. She simply muted the chatter.
On Sunday morning, as the family gathered for breakfast, James called.
Emily, Harry and I will stay at my mums. She loves and cares for us, unlike you. She once said, I dont know what kind of mother Ill be, and I ignored that. Youre no mother! Cuckoo! James ended the call.
Wonderful! Excellent! What do you say, dear? Igor, Emilys father, asked, eyes fixed on her.
I only see divorce, Emily said, her gaze fixed on a fluffy omelette dotted with herbs. Ive decided.
But how heavy the decision felt!
Great! Im off. Ill be back for lunch, might be late, her father shouted as he left the flat.
Emily, take your medicine, mute the phone, go to sleep. You need to recover, her motherinlaw cooed.
And Emily did. It was Sunday; she had work on Monday. A little more rest wouldnt hurt.
She awakened around noon; her father had just arrived.
Here, these are yours. Toss the rest if you like, he handed her a new bunch of keys.
What? Emily blinked, confused.
I changed the locks on your flat, gathered Victors and Harrys things, and took them to the inlaws. You can stay with us for now, okay? And dont answer the phone. Itll be safer. Her father explained.
In the kitchen, her mother bustled, a smile of triumph on her face. They had long dreamed of this, but never interfered the daughter had to arrive at the conclusion herself.
Emily filed for divorce.
Shed heard a torrent of criticism: fool, youve broken the family, cuckoo, mother, neither here nor there, ungrateful, and that was just the mildest.
Despite it all, she felt a strange, newfound happiness, the first in many years.
The divorce was swift. There were no children, no joint assets.
A year after the wedding, Victor decided it was cheaper to take his son back than to pay maintenance. His exwife didnt mind. He simply forgot to ask Emily for advice, never warned her. It didnt matter that Emily and Harry never got along and that Harry had been making Emilys life miserable. Victor forgot that a child needs clothes, school fees, a roof the flat Victor moved his son into was Emilys. He forgot everything, even about his wife. Why? It was easier He was a man! A father!
And Emily? Ungrateful, they said. That was all.
But the court, which Victor had tried to manipulate, finally set things straight.
Victor now lives with his mum, who controls his spending and teaches him chores. Three men cant be one, after all.
Emily, at twentyseven, bought a car so bad weather would never trap her again.
What now? After a hardwon divorce? She chose the only sensible path: love herself.
