Came Home Early
“Are you at the bus stop?” Simon’s voice shot up an octave. “Right now? Why didnt you say anything? We said Thursday!”
“I wanted to surprise you,” Emily frowned. “Si, why arent you happy? Im absolutely shattered. Come and get me!”
“Hang on!” he suddenly yelped. “Dont come here I mean, do, but Listen, the place is bare. I finished all the food last night. Best do this: pop into the 24-hour Tesco just round the corner, get some nice beef.”
Emilys shoulder was nearly yanked out of its socket by her bag, which was so heavy she almost yelped aloud.
That familiar, stabbing pain in her backher loyal companion these last two monthsshot right down to her tailbone.
Gently, she eased her bags onto the chipped pavement at the bus stop.
Emily exhaled heavily, putting her hand on the curve of her belly.
The little one inside gave a protest thump. Six months along was no laughing matter, especially when you try to surprise your husband and come back from your mums three days early.
She missed Simon so much, she’d counted every lamp post for the last fifty miles.
Whats Si up to now? Bet he has no clue shes ten minutes away from home.
The road to the flat felt endless.
The bags were bursting with all the goodies from mum and dadproper English jam, home-cured bacon, apples the size of her headthey weighed a ton.
After fifty yards, Emily admitted defeat: there was no way she was getting them home. Her back was giving up.
She called Simon.
“Si, hi love,” she whispered when he finally picked up.
“Em? Whats wrong? Whats happened?” he sounded panicked.
“Nothings wrong, silly. Im back! Im at the stop outside our building. Could you come down and help? These bags are monstrous. Mums packed the whole county in here”
There was an odd silence. Emily glanced at the screen. Had he hung up?
“Are you at the bus stop?” Simon squawked. “Seriously? Why didnt you tell me? We agreed on Thursday!”
“I wanted to surprise you,” she frowned. “Si, you dont sound thrilled. Im exhausted. Please, just come down!”
“Wait!” he shouted. “Dont come upwell, come, but Look, theres nothing to eat in. I finished everything. Please, just nip to Tesco, get some good beef.”
“I took the day off work, Em. Wanted to make you a proper meal for your big return, like a real grown-up.”
“Beef, Si? Are you hearing yourself? Im six months pregnant, lugging two elephant-sized bags, standing in the cold!”
“My backs about to snap! Weve got potatoes and eggs at home. Just come get meIm starving and need to flop!”
“No, Em, you dont get it,” he interrupted, words tumbling out at speed. “I want it perfect. Just get some beef, maybe some fresh potatoes? Ours have gone a bit tragic.”
“Ask someone to help you, or take your time, bit by bit Please! Its for us. Ill get everything sorted here!”
Emily eyed the red stripes on her hands where the bags had bitten in. Something hot and bitter simmered in her chest.
“Simon, are you serious?” her voice shook. “Youre suggesting your pregnant wife staggers to the shop for beef because you fancy showing off your cooking skills?”
“Cant you just come down and fetch me yourself?”
“Im already prepping! If I leave now, Ill ruin the whole thing. Em, please. Ive been dying for you to get back.”
“Just get 800g of beef, and a little bag of new potatoes. Ill be ready!”
He hung up. Emily stared at her blank phone in disbelief.
She wanted to burst into tears right there, under the glow of the worlds most unflattering streetlight.
Instead of a hug and a warm bed: a forced trek to the supermarket meat counter.
“Maybe hes really got something marvellous up his sleeve?” she thought, trying for optimism.
With a sigh, she shouldered her bags and hobbled off toward Tesco.
***
She trundled up and down the aisles, catching the pitying glances of the half-asleep cashier.
The beef felt like bricks; the little mesh bag of potatoes dragged her arm out of its socket.
When she got outside, her fingers were so stiff she worried theyd never straighten again.
Her phone rang.
“Did you get it?” Simon askedcheery as a lark.
“Yes,” Emily ground out. “Im at the front door. Open up.”
“Wait! Dont come up yet! Just wait on the bench. Ten minutes, tops!”
“Are you joking?” Emily let rip, uncaring of the few late stragglers on the street. “Simon, Ill pop with rage! Ten more minutes? My feet are sausages, I can barely stand up!”
“Surprise isnt ready!” he insisted. “Come on, just sit, breathe in some fresh air. Five minutes, Em, promise! Ive got to gowont be ready if I dont!”
She crashed onto a knobbly wooden bench. Her bags toppled beside her with a clatter.
She had half a mind to lob the sodding beef straight at their third-floor window.
Ten minutes crawled by. Then twenty. Emily clutched her swollen belly, a rolling boil bubbling within her.
She pictured what hed arranged. Flowers galore? Breakfast in bed? A violinist behind the curtains?
Nothing could justify leaving her perched outside, shattered after an all-nighter on the coach.
Thirty-five minutes later, the door creaked.
Simon shot out, looking wild and slightly insanet-shirt inside out, sweat stuck to his forehead, hair standing up every which way.
“There you are!” he grinned, grabbing the bags. “Why so moody? Lovely evening, isnt itwell, alright, in theory. Up we go!”
“Why are you so sweaty?” Emily squinted, hauling herself up, clutching the railing. “And why do you reek of bleach from a mile off?”
“Youll see!” he bounced into the lift, fidgeting with excitement.
They reached the flat. Simon flung open the door, beaming like an Olympic torch.
Emily inhaled the sharp pong of bleach layered with a cheap spray called “sea breeze” (about as authentic as a three-pound note).
She peeked round the roomslounge, kitchen, bathroom.
The flat was dazzlingly empty. Eerily neat.
All the usual clutterhis socks on chairs, mugs with mysterious stainshad vanished. The rug was just-vacuumed (still wet in places), the dust gone.
Her trinkets cowered together on a forgotten shelf.
“Well?” Simon radiated, grinning. “What do you think? Surprise!”
Emily turned to him, deadpan.
“Is that it?” she asked softly.
“What dyou mean it?” Simon staggered in disbelief. “Em, have a look! I scrubbed for three hours! I even hoovered under the sofawho does that?”
“I washed everythinglook, the loo shines! I wanted you to come home to a sparkling place, no chores, just you relaxing. I legged it round here while you were, well, shopping”
A lump rose in Emilys throat.
“Youyou made me drag myself, six months pregnant, to the shop for a clean floor?”
“You didnt meet me at the stop, because you what, scrubbed the bog?”
“Exactly!” Simon threw up his hands. “I was trying to do something nice. You always moan I dont help round the house. So I thoughtprove you wrong!”
“You showed up three days quick, I barely kept up! Had to stall you so I could finish. And now youre pulling that face, like I spat in your porridge!”
“Si, you daft sod!” Emily snapped, her voice wobbling on hysteria. “Who gives a toss about shiny floors?”
“My backs killing, those bags were enormous! Im pregnant, Simon! Can you spell it? PRE-GNANT. All I wanted was for you to come down, hold my hand, and walk me homenot go on a mop rampage!”
Simon flushed crimson. He hurled the dishcloth hed been strangling into the sink.
“Its always like this!” he barked. “Never satisfied! Ive been on my knees since five a.m., cleaning like a madman so youd be pleased. And all you do is yell!”
“Have you seen how clean it is? Cleaner than our wedding day, Ill bet!”
“Who wanted this at that cost?” Emily choked back tears. “You left me freezing, perched on a bench, feet swollenand sent me for beef and potatoes, barely able to walk! Not a surprise, just cruel!”
“Cruel?!” Simon spun round the kitchen, waving his arms. “Sorry Im not Husband of the Year, alright? Some women would be thrilleda clean flat, dinner on the go! But you”
“Its always my back, my belly with you! You know whatI havent slept all night wondering how to make you happy!”
Emily covered her face and sobbed.
“You just dont get it,” she sniffed. “You swapped my health for a shiny skirting board.”
“Whats the skirting board got to do with it?” Simon boomed, banging the table. “You showed up wrong! Thursday, not Monday! Id have managed otherwiseclean flat, happy you, everything perfect. But no, you rocked up at night and made it my fault!”
“Youre just ungrateful, Emily. Absolutely ungrateful.”
He stormed out, slamming the bedroom door.
The bump inside squirmed again. Emily flopped onto a chair, staring at the slab of beef hed left sweating on the counter, unloved.
She felt utterly rotten, waves of nausea making her head spin.
Ten minutes later, the kitchen door cracked open.
“Shall I cook the beef?” he grunted. “Or are you boycotting dinner to punish me?”
“Dont bother, Simon,” Emily said, not raising her head. “Just leave me alone. I need to sleep.”
“Fine, then!” the door banged again.
Emily staggered to the bathroom.
She caught sight of herself: pale, panda-eyed, hair a disaster.
She remembered the coach ride, imagining Simon wrapping her up and saying, “Thank heavens youre home.”
As if. Hugs were off the menu.
When Emily returned to the kitchen, the row flared up againSimon shouting, then, for the grand finale, lobbing a lump of beef at her.
She left in exactly what she was wearinggood thing she never managed to change.
Back to mum and dads.
***
The whole family, even Simons lot, and every aunt with a landline, tried to talk her out of divorce.
Simon rang every few days, pleading for her to come back.
But for Emily, the matter was finished: she was done. Divorce was a certainty.
Who needs a husband who rates a gleaming toilet higher than the health of their own child?
