Did I begin to annoy my own husband?
For eight years, everything floated along splendidly, but in the ninth year, Georginas husband began to bristle at everythingchiefly, at Georgina herself.
Hed trudge through the front door late, grumble over dinner, then vanish behind his laptop, firing away at digital baddies until midnight. If he bothered to glance Georginas way, he looked stricken, as if carrying toothache from crown to sole. More and more hed announce, in that crisp, empty tone, hed spend the night at his mums.
One day, Georgina couldnt take it anymore. She rang her mother-in-law:
Mrs. Jenkins, is Thomas with you?
To which Mrs. Jenkins purred, A good wife, Georgina dear, always knows where her husband is.
Georgina even bought a book called How to Keep Your Husband. At the checkout, she overshared: Its for a friend, she claimed. The cashier granted her a lookboth withering and faintly mournful.
As Georgina leafed through the book, doubts crept in. She wondered, how many husbands must one retain to build up enough expertise for an entire book? And where do the new husbands come from, if the old ones are all so thoroughly kept?
A hundred and fifty pages of helpful hints: lure him home with cosiness, wear tantalising lingerie, show interest in his affairs. Shed even mastered yeast dough at last, but the cosiness failed to draw him in. Perhaps she should have kneaded dough in stockings. Or barged into her mother-in-laws, scantily clad, where legend placed her husband.
Trying to take up his interests failed too: Georgina breezed through a game level her husband struggled with all week, which only brought about further chill, not warmth.
She set out one day for winter boots, but returned with a chubby puppy for the same amount of pounds. One look, and she realised shed dreamed all her life of a real dognot a yappy handbag creature, but a proper, soulful hound.
The lady at the park, calling herself a breeder, said:
Are you familiar with dogs? No? Well, this is a classic golden retriever.
When Georgina asked why he wasnt golden, the woman replied indulgently,
Hell gold up as he grows, very fashionable, purebred, champion parentswhat a stunner hell be! I have all the papers, love. Giving him away for next to nothing.
And she named her price.
Georgina didnt have that much cash, but the generous breeder was willing to settle for what she did have.
Someone, at least, should be happy to see you come home. Boots dont gaze up at you with devotion or chase you with slippers in their teeth.
Thomas turned up that evening, docking at their marital harbour, and asked,
Whats that?
A golden retrieverpurebred, Georgina answered, waving the papers. Hardly cost a thing!
The documents revealed the puppy as a purebred Alapaha Blue Blood Bulldog. The breeders telephone belonged to a building firm, who responded to dog queries with colourful language.
Are you blind? Tell me, where, in Gods name, do you see a retriever or a bulldog here? How much did you pay? How much? Unbelievable! How do you manage to be so daft?
The puppy disliked Thomass shouting and tried to growl, but instead puddled copiously on the floor.
Heavens above, what sort of woman am I living with? Thomas bellowed at the ceiling and went back to his computer. His look was not that of a man blasting monsters, but as though he was blasting Georgina. And relishing it.
In the morning, the puppy had made himself at homeincluding a calculated assault on Thomass trainers and his smart shoes, both left savaged.
And that was when Thomas snapped.
Everything about Georgina was insufferableher face, her clothes, her spirit, her thoughts. Even the fact that she earned twice what he didjust to humiliate him. And she was childless.
Tom, you said you didnt want children, Georgina whispered.
Yes, because what sort of child could an idiot have? As daft as her, of course! Look at yourselfwhod want you?
The puppy, listening in, waddled over and had a go at biting Thomas on the ankle.
But Georgina, choking on sorrow for her unborn children, just watched as her husband hurled some belongings into a suitcase.
Thirty. Life over. Full stop. The end.
There was no reason to go on, but how do you explain that to a puppy? There he was, gnawing Georginas sock, the image of a woeful, hungry, unsung pup. Her misery meant nothing to him; he wanted food, water, praise, and some belly rubs.
The puppynow dubbed Gusgrew absurdly fast, but, despite his Bank Holiday beast-meets-biscuits appearance, proved no guard dog at all. Instead of biting, he mastered the affectionate lick.
Georgina took him for long walks, often late into the evenings. One December night, trenches appeared in the estate greensnow mixing with rain, everything slippery. Gus vanished into one of those pits, howling piteously. Georgina leapt down after him andmiracledidnt break her legs. The trench was properly dug: deep, with steep, muddy sides. Nearly midnight. Shed left her mobile at home.
At first, Georgina felt foolish calling for help. But after a few failed climbs, she shrieked for all she was worth.
Eventually, two lads straight out of Camden, in full goth regalia, arrived by the pit. Under the dim lamplight, they looked practically undead. They didnt bother with sacrifices; instead, they rang the fire brigade and waited, cackling over some ghoulish private joke.
They hauled Gus out first, who in his joy licked everyone, goths included. Then Georgina, so frozen with cold she didnt even blush.
The chief firefighter described the foolish dog, the idiotic woman, lazy council workers, and witless diggers in vivid terms. He even spared a few words for Parliament. Gus, hearing such spicy vocabulary for the first time, capered about making new attempts at licking the firemans nosesucceeding, and giving him a bruised beak for his troubles.
The scene at 1 a.m.: a muddy but elated Gus, a shivering Georgina caked in dirt, smudged firemen and goths, and a bleeding fire chief.
Madam, perhaps educate your monster, the chief suggested.
Im trying, but hes truly wilful, said Georgina.
Just like me, one of the goths admitted, andunable to hold the posehee-hawed cheerfully.
I live in that blockdo come in and wash up, Georgina chattered through chattering teeth.
Go on, urged the brigade, you look like Hannibal Lecter, mate.
Maybe I ought to dig a pit myself, Georginas mate suggested later. Youd die an old maid before the council sorts it.
P.S. Georginas future children proved no prodigiesjust clever, funny kids: Ben and Harriet.
For a Year One show-and-tell, Ben announced,
Our dad saves the world! And our mum works computers!
And shy Harriet added,
And our dog can watch the telly!He watches cartoons, and football, and whenever theres thunder, he hides his eyes until its over. He only ever tried to herd us, once, and got so tangled in the curtains Dad had to cut him free with the kitchen scissors. Ben giggled retelling this, the class erupting in laughter.
Mrs. Evans smiled and said, Not every family needs a gold trophy to be golden.
At home that evening, they all sprawledDad includedon the sofa. Gus burrowed under the childrens legs, one paw resting proprietorially on Georginas sock. The muddy shoes and diggers, mothers-in-law, forgotten game-scoresall faded behind the hum of the television and the warmth that had finally come home.
Georgina reflected, stroking Guss velvet ear: it wasnt boots or books or even new beginnings that had shaped her life. It was the soft, insistent paw of hope. It was a dogs steady gaze, an unexpected laugh, her childrens arms flung around her, and even her own, ever-astonishing, slightly daft heart that had kept beating on.
Tomorrow, maybe Gus would chase a crow straight into another puddle. Maybe Thomas would burn the toast. Maybe nothing would stay putor everyone would end their day with grubby socks and half-finished stories.
But Georgina would still belong, brilliantly and completely, to this patchwork clannever anyones kept wife, after all, but keeper of her own imperfect, wondrous home.
