Came Home Early
Are you at the bus stop? her husbands voice squeaked up an octave. Right now? Why on earth didnt you say? We agreed on Thursday!
I fancied a surprise, Grace frowned, gripping the phone. Tom, arent you happy? Im absolutely knackered. Come out!
Wait! he suddenly shouted, panic spreading through the wire. Dont come here! I mean, come, but just Listen, the place is bare. I finished off everything yesterday.
Lets do this: nip round to the Tesco Express, you know, the one on the corner. Get some proper beef, yeah?
The bag on Graces shoulder yanked so hard she almost swore out loud.
An uncomfortable, nagging pain in her lower backever faithful these past two monthsshot straight to her tailbone.
She carefully set her bulging bags down on the battered tarmac of the bus stop.
Grace exhaled, pressing a palm gently against the top of her belly.
The little one within gave an indignant wriggle. Six months alongnot exactly a walk in Hyde Park, especially if you decide to pop home from your mums three days early to surprise your husband.
Shed missed him so much, she practically counted every lamppost the last fifty miles back on the coach.
I wonder what Toms up to? He probably hasnt got the faintest clue shes just around the corner, only ten minutes from their flat.
The walk to the building felt like an up-hill marathon.
The bags, stuffed with her parents treatsjars of jam, homemade pies, apples that could sink a battleshipweighed more than a suitcase full of bricks.
After a mere fifty yards, Grace accepted defeat: shed never make it. Her spine was packing it in.
She pulled out her phone and dialed Toms number.
Hello, dearest, she whispered as he answered at last.
Grace? Whats wrong? he sounded terrified.
Nothings wrong, you muppet. Im home! Im literally outside our flat. Please come meet me.
These bagsmy mums packed enough to provision an army
A strange silence clung to the line. Grace checked the screenhad it cut out?
Youre at the stop? Right this second? We said Thursday! Tom sounded almost shrill.
I wanted it to be a surprise, Grace frowned, growing tired. Arent you pleased? Im shattered. Please come out!
Hang on! he blurted. Dont come up. Or, come up, but Listen, the flats miserable. I finished everything off. Could you just nip to the shopand pick up some good beef?
I decided not to go into work todaythought Id take the day off. Wanted to make a proper lunch, welcome you back properly.
What are you talking about, Tom? Grace balked. Can you hear me? Im six months pregnant, standing in the street, loaded down with bags! My back is killing me! Weve got potatoes and eggs at home, havent we?
Grace, you dont understand! he chattered, talking over her. I want everything just right! Its literally two minutes away, the shop. Grab some beef, get some fresh potatoes too, ours are looking more like prunes. Ask someone to help carry if you must, or take your time
Please! Its for us. Ill get everything ready here.
Grace stared at her red, sore hands, the bag handles having left their mark. Something hot and bitter bristled inside her.
Are you alright in the head? her voice wobbled. You want your pregnant wife to drag herself to the shop for beef just because you fancy it? You cant pop down instead?
Ive already startedgetting ready! If I leave now, Ill ruin everything. Please, Gracie! Ive been waiting for you. Some beefabout 800 gramsand a little bag of spuds.
He ended the call. Grace stared at her now-dark phone.
It was baffling. She wanted to cry there and then, lit by a dull streetlamp and her mounting exasperation. Instead of a warm hug and soft bedshe was off to the bloody meat aisle.
Maybe hes actually up to something sweet? she wondered.
She sighed, hoisted her bags, and hobbled to the shop.
***
Grace wheeled her trolley up and down the aisles, drawing sympathetic looks from the yawning cashier.
The beef weighed a ton. The bag of potatoes was basically a deadlift challenge.
By the time she staggered out of Tesco, her fingers had fused into useless claws.
Her phone rang again.
You got it? Tom chirped.
Yeah, Grace groused through gritted teeth. Im at the door. Buzz me in.
Stop! Dont come up yet. Just wait on the bench for, like, ten minutes.
You must be joking! Grace lost it, not caring about the odd dog-walker going by. Tom, Im about to give birth out of rage! I cant stand any longermy feet feel like balloons!
The surprise isnt ready! he insisted. If you come up now, its all wasted. Sit outside, get a bit of fresh airfive minutes, promise! I swear!
Fine. Grace slumped onto the wooden bench outside their building. The bags thudded to the ground. She actually fantasised about launching the beef through their third-floor window.
Ten minutes passed. Then twenty. Grace sat, clutching her belly, her patience simmering.
She wonderedwould she walk in to a mountain of flowers? Breakfast in bed? A string quartet?
Nothing, she reckoned, could make up for keeping her, in her condition, sitting out here after a sleepless night.
By minute thirty-five, the buildings door creaked.
Tom raced out. He looked utterly dafthis t-shirt inside out, sweat beads on his forehead, hair sticking up like hed licked a plug socket.
There you are! he said with a strained grin, grabbing her bags. Why the sour face? Look at the weatheroh, right. Come on, lets get you in!
Why are you drenched? And why do you smell like bleach? Grace squinted, hauling herself up with the rails.
Youll see! he chirped, skipping toward the lift.
They went up. Tom theatrically flung the door wide, waiting for fanfare.
Grace entered the hallway. The reek of bleach and ocean breeze air freshener nearly knocked her flat.
She poked her head in every roomthe living room, the kitchen, the loo.
It was spotless. Startlingly, unsettlingly empty.
The usual piles of clothes gone; the carpet vacuumed to perfection (a few damp patches remained); the shelves wiped; her ornaments now huddled forlornly in one corner.
Well?! Tom grinned like a shiny shilling. How about that? Surprise!
Grace turned to him slowly.
Thats it? she asked quietly.
What do you mean, thats it?! Tom all but toppled over. Gracie, look! Ive been flat out for three hours scrubbing this place! Even did under the sofa! Washed every dish! The loo seats sparkling! I wanted you to come home and not lift a finger. I ran around here like a lunatic while you wereat the shop.
A lump rose in Graces throat.
So you made me schlep to the shopsheavily pregnantjust so you could mop the floors?
You werent at the stop because you were cleaning?
Well, yeah! Tom gestured wildly. You always say I never help out. I wanted to prove I can! You came home early, I wasnt ready! I had to stall you so I could finish. Now youre acting like Ive slapped you with a kipper instead of mopped your floor.
Tom, are you daft? Grace snapped, her voice finally boiling over. I dont care about your floors! My back hurts, the bags were heavy, Im pregnant for heavens sake! Preg-nant!
What I needed was you, holding my hand, walking me homenot waving around a mop!
Tom turned beetroot red. He hurled the cleaning cloth into the sink.
Oh, here we go! he bellowed. Nothings good enough for you! I was down on my knees from five this morning, trying to make everything lovely for YOUa surprise. And you come in here shouting!
Have you seen how spotless it is? We didnt manage this even on our wedding day!
Whats the point if it costs me this much? Grace gasped, near tears. You left me freezing on that bench, made me lug meat and potatoeswhen I could barely walk! This isnt a surprise, Tomits an ordeal!
Oh, an ordeal, is it? Tom started pacing the kitchen, arms flailing. Well, sorry Im not perfect! Anyone else would be thrilled their husband tidied up and planned a meal. But youoh my back, oh my tummy!
What about me? I was up all night too! Wanted everything to be nice. You dont care, do you? Only think of yourself!
Grace put her head in her hands.
You just dont get it, she sobbed. You chose scrubbing baseboards over looking after us.
Oh, for crying out loud! Tom thundered, whacking the table. You came back early, ruined the surprise! If youd shown up Thursday like you said, Id have finished in time and it would have been perfect. But no, you couldnt wait. And then blame me!
Its you whos ungrateful, Grace. Just ungrateful.
He stomped out of the kitchen, slamming the bedroom door behind him.
The baby gave another squirm. Grace slumped onto a chair, staring at the bag of beef Tom still hadnt put away.
She felt physically dreadfulqueasy, exhausted.
After ten minutes, the kitchen door creaked open.
Shall I cook then? he muttered. Or are you refusing food just to spite me now?
Dont bother, Tom, Grace murmured, looking away. Just leave me alone. I need sleep.
Fine by me! he snapped and slammed the door again.
Grace staggered to the bathroom.
In the mirror: a pale woman with dark circles and wild hair stared back. She remembered the bus journey, dreaming of Tom hugging her, saying, Thank goodness youre home.
Yeah, some hug
When Grace left the bathroom, the row started up again.
Tom shouted some more, and then lobbed a chunk of beef at her.
She left, just as she waslucky shed not even changed out of her coat.
Back to her parents house she went.
***
Her entire familymother-in-law, sister-in-law, distant cousinskept urging her not to divorce him.
Tom called every other day, begging her to come back.
But Grace had decided: she didnt need a husband who prized a sparkling skirting board above her and their childs well-being.
Divorce now seemed not only the right thing, but the only sensible move.
