Sarah arrived home three days earlier than planned, with a bag full of treats her mum had packed. Shed hoped to surprise her husband, but instead of a warm welcome, John sent her straight to the shops, and what followed was anything but expected.
The heavy bag was biting into my shoulder so badly I let out a yelp. My lower back was killing menever stopped for the last two months. I carefully set the bags down on the cracked pavement near the bus stop.
I let out a deep breath. The baby wriggled uneasily inside me. Six months along Its no laughing matter. Especially when you decide to surprise your husband and come back from your parents early. Id missed him so much; I counted nearly every lamp post on the last hundred miles of that bus.
I wondered what John might be up to. He surely wouldnt expect mejust ten minutes walk from home. The journey from the bus stop to our front door felt endless. The bags, stuffed with jars of jam, mums homemade pie, apples as heavy as bowling balls, felt like they weighed a ton.
After about fifty yards, I realised I wouldnt make it. My back just wouldnt have it.
I rummaged for my phone and called John.
Hi, Johnny, I whispered when he picked up at last.
Sarah? Whats happened, love? He sounded panicked.
Nothings happened. Im just here! Im at the stop by our place. Can you come out and help me, please? The bags are a nightmareMums gone overboard as usual
There was a weird, stretched silence. I squinted at the screen to see if the call had dropped.
Youre at the bus stop? Right now? Why didnt you tell me? I was expecting you Thursday!
I wanted to surprise you, I muttered, feeling deflated. Arent you happy? Im knackered. Just come out and meet me, please!
Wait! he blurted. Dont come up yet. Or do, but Listen, love, theres hardly anything in the cupboards. I finished everything off yesterday. Tell you what, pop into the Tesco around the corner. Grab some beefgood stuffand some potatoes. Ive booked the day off work to make you a proper meal. Want it to be special when you get home.
What do you mean, beef? I blinked in disbelief. Have you heard me? Im six months pregnant, Ive got two enormous bags, and my backs killing me!
Weve got eggs, weve got potatoes at home. Can you just come and get me? I need a rest and a bite to eat.
No, Sarah, please, you dont get it. He was speaking even faster now, barely letting me get a word in. I want it perfect for you. The shops only a quick walk. Grab some beef, and a small sack of fresh potatoesthe old ones have all gone soft. Ask someone to help you carry them or take your time Please! This is for us. Im getting things ready here.
I stared at my red, sore hands, feeling a hot lump rising in my throat.
John, are you serious? My voice shook. You want a pregnant woman to lug these bags to the shop for beef, just because youve decided to play chef?
Cant you just come down and meet me?
Ive started er preparing! If I come down now, Ill ruin it. Please, Sarah. Eight hundred grams of beef, little bag of potatoes. Ill have everything perfect here.
He hung up before I could say more. I stood staring at my darkened screen, gutted. Instead of a hug and a warm bedthere I was, off to the local shop. Maybejust maybehe really had planned something wonderful? With a sigh, I grabbed my bags and hobbled off.
I hefted the trolley through the aisles, barely noticing the cashiers tired, sympathetic look.
The beef weighed a tonne, and the bag of spuds felt impossible. By the time I left, my hands were numb and aching like they didnt belong to me.
The phone rang again.
Did you get it? John asked, cheerful as ever.
Yes, I gritted through my teeth. Im outside.
Wait! Dont come up! Sit on the bench and give me ten minutes.
Are you joking? My voice broke out in a shout, despite a passing stranger. John, what ten minutes? My feet are swollen. I can barely stand!
The surprise isnt finished! he insisted. If you come in now, itll ruin everything. Go sit down, get some air. Five minutes, I promise! Ill be there!
I slumped onto the wooden bench outside our building, dropping the bags beside me with a bang. Right now, I wanted to hurl the bag of beef at our third-floor window.
Ten minutes passed. Then twenty. I sat, boiling inside, imagining what? A sea of flowers? Breakfast by candlelight? A violinist in the corner? Nothing could possibly be worth making me wait there, after that journey, in my state.
After thirty-five minutes, the front door creaked open. Out dashed John looking ruffled and off-kilter: t-shirt inside out, sweat spotting his brow, hair like a haystack.
Oh, there you are! he grinned, snatching up my bags. Why the long face? Look at this weather oh, right, yeah. Lets head in!
I peered at him, struggling to my feet with the help of the banister. Whats with the cleaning smell? And why are you soaked?
He bounced towards the lift with giddy anticipation. Youll see!
Inside, he held the door and beamed, waiting for applause as if hed just finished a marathon.
I walked into the hallwaythe air was thick with bleach and a nasty whiff of cheap sea breeze air freshener.
I checked the lounge, the kitchen, even the bathroom. The place was spotlesseerily tidy. Belongings usually strewn about had vanished. The carpet was hoovered so well it was still damp in places; the shelves dusted; even my little ornaments were huddled together, looking lost.
Well? John was beaming like a newly minted pound coin. Hows that for a surprise?
I turned to him slowly.
Thats it? I asked quietly.
What do you mean it? He practically squatted with indignation. I spent three hours straight cleaning! Washed every floor, did the dishes, scrubbed the loo until it sparkled! I wanted you to come home and not lift a finger. Couldnt have you walking into a mess, could I? Had to delay you while I finished up. And now, instead of saying thank you, you look like Ive just spat in your tea!
I felt a lump in my throat.
You made me drag myself to Tesco, in this state, just so you could mop the floor in peace?
You didnt come to get me, even though I asked, because you wanted to mop?
Thats right! he clapped his hands. I was trying to do the right thing! You always moan I dont help round the house, so I thought Id surprise you for once. You came back early, I panicked, had to stall you to finish. And youre just cross, as usual!
John, are you serious? My voice finally broke. I dont care about your floors! I was exhaustedand Im carrying our child! What I needed was you, just you, to help me home. Not this endless scrubbing!
John flushed, flinging the rag into the sink.
Oh, here we go! He bellowed back. Nothing pleases you! Ive been up since five, making the place look perfect for you, planning a nice dinner. And you come in and start a row! Have you seen how spotless it is? Cleaner than our wedding day, it is!
I dont need it clean at this price! I was almost choking with frustration. You left me sitting outside for half an hour! I was freezing, my feet are throbbing. You made me do the shopping, too, when I could barely stand! This isnt a surprise, its cruel!
Cruel, is it? he fumed, looping round the kitchen. Well, sorry for not being your fantasy! Any other wife would be thrilled Id cleaned up and planned a meal. All you do is complain! Oh, my back, oh, my condition. Ever think that Im tired too? I was up all night, thinking how to please you!
I hid my face in my hands.
You dont get it, I sobbed. You just dont get it. You picked a clean skirting board over my health.
Whats that got to do with? He shouted, almost at a loss. You showed up early, you ruined the surprise! If youd just come on Thursday, Id have finished and everything would have been perfect. Now you turn up earlier and have a go at me! Youre just ungrateful, Sarah!
He stormed out, slamming the bedroom door.
The baby kicked again, hard. I slumped on a chair, staring at the bag of beef John hadnt even bothered to put in the fridge. I felt sick, my stomach churning.
Ten minutes later, the kitchen door inched open.
Shall I start dinner, then? he muttered. Or are you not eating now, just to spite me?
Dont bother, John, I said quietly, facing away. Just leave me alone. I want to sleep.
Fine! he snapped, slamming the door behind him.
I tottered off to the bathroom, glanced in the mirror: pale, dark bags under my eyes, wild hair. I remembered the bus ride home, imagining a happy hug and a Thank heavens youre home. Sure. Some hug.
When I came out, the row started up again. He had a go over some petty thing.
I left in what I was wearingthank God Id not even changedand headed back to Mum and Dads.
Everyonemy in-laws, Johns sister, distant relativestried to talk me out of leaving him. John rang often, asking me to come home, swearing hed changed. But Id made up my mind: I didnt want a man who valued tidy skirting boards over the well-being of our child.
Looking back, I learned one thing: if you need to choose between dusting and the people you love, always pick the people. You can mop a floor any time, but you only get one chance to be there for your family when it truly matters.
