As Katherine paid for the groceries, Stanley lingered at a distance. When she began packing the bags, he slipped out of the shop entirely. Stepping into the brisk London air, she found him leaning against the brick wall, cigarette in hand.
“Stan, take the bags, please,” she said, holding out two heavy sacks.
He stared as if shed asked him to commit a crime. “And what about you?”
The question baffled her. What did he mean? A man ought to helpit was only natural. It seemed absurd for a woman to struggle with heavy bags while her husband strolled empty-handed.
“Stan, theyre too heavy,” she replied.
“So?” he shot back, unmoving.
He saw her temper rising but stood his ground on principle. Carrying bags was beneath him. Quickening his stride, he marched ahead, knowing she couldnt keep up. *”Hold the bags? What am I, a packhorse? Some sort of servant? Im a manI decide what I carry. Let her manage, she wont collapse!”* Today, he fancied putting her in her place.
“Stan, where are you going? Take them!” Katherine called, her voice trembling.
The bags *were* heavyhed loaded the trolley himself. The flat was only five minutes away, but burdened like this, the walk felt endless.
Katherine trudged home, fighting tears. She half-expected him to turn back in jest, but he only grew smaller in the distance. Part of her wanted to drop everything, yet habit drove her onward. Reaching their building, she collapsed onto the bench outside, exhausted. Anger and weariness clawed at her, but she refused to cry in public. Swallow this indignity? Never. He hadnt just slighted herhed humiliated her deliberately. The man whod once been so attentive He knew exactly what he was doing.
“Hello, dear!” A neighbours voice snapped her from her thoughts.
“Mrs. Wilkins,” she forced a smile.
Mrs. WilkinsMartha to friendslived one floor down and had been close to Katherines late grandmother. Since then, shed become Katherines only family; her mother lived miles away with a new husband and children, her father long absent. Without hesitation, Katherine handed her the shopping. At least the effort hadnt been wasted. Marthas pension was meagre, and Katherine loved treating her to little luxuries.
“Come on, Mrs. Wilkins, Ill help you upstairs,” she said, hoisting the bags again.
In the old womans kitchen, she unpacked tinned salmon, pâté, peaches in syrupdelicacies Martha adored but couldnt afford. Tears welled in the widows eyes, and guilt pricked Katherine for not visiting more often. They parted with a kiss, and Katherine climbed the stairs to her own flat.
Stan emerged from the kitchen, chewing lazily.
“Wheres the shopping?” he asked, as if nothing had happened.
“What shopping?” Her voice was cool. “The bags you helped carry?”
“Oh, dont be dramatic!” He forced a laugh. “Still cross?”
“No,” she said evenly. “Just enlightened.”
He stiffened. Hed expected shouting, tears, a rowthis calm unnerved him.
“Enlightened how?”
“I havent got a husband,” she sighed. “Thought Id married a manturns out I wed a selfish child.”
“Now, thats unfair,” he blustered.
“Unfair?” She met his gaze. “I want a husband who acts like one. And youyou seem to want a wife who acts like a man.” A pause. “So what you really need is a husband.”
Stans face flushed scarlet, fists clenching. But Katherine didnt seeshe was already in the bedroom, packing his things.
He protested to the last. Leaving wasnt part of his plan. How could something so trivial wreck a marriage?
“All this over a few bags? Whats the harm in carrying them yourself?” he demanded as she tossed shirts into his suitcase.
“Your suitcaseI trust youll manage it alone,” she said, deaf to his whining.
She knew this was only the beginning. If she tolerated disrespect now, worse would follow. So she ended it, shutting the door firmly behind him.
