Right then, lets raise a glass to our birthday girl! Forty-five years youngback in bloom, as they say, though with you, Mary, it might be more dried fruit than fresh berry, but still, aids digestion! Johns booming voice echoed over the entire function room, drowning out the background music.
The guests fell silent. Some gave nervous little laughs, hoping to break the awkwardness, others fixed their gaze on the salad, pretending to root around for a stray olive. Mary, perched at the head of the table in her new navy dress shed agonised over for weeks, felt the colour drain from her cheeks. The smile, painted on since the evening began, shrank to a pained grimace.
John, clearly delighted with himself, tossed back a shot of gin and landed heavily in the chair beside his wife, draping a clammy arm over her shoulders.
Whats with the long faces? he guffawed. My Marys got a sense of humour, she gets it, dont you, love? He slapped her on the back, as if she were one of the lads at the pub. And frugal, too. Look at this dresswhat, three years old, is it? Couldve fooled me.
It was utter rubbish. The dress was brand new, paid for from the money Mary earned tutoring in the evenings. But to argue now, in front of friends, colleagues, familyshed only turn the whole night into a circus. So she shifted his hand from her shoulder, sipped some water, and felt a chill settle inside, cold and heavy. Once, shed have brushed it off, joked about him going mouldy faster than her dress, but tonight, something inside her simply snapped.
The evening carried on, as such evenings do. John got drunk, louder, cruderflirting clumsily with Marys younger coworkers, shouting his views on politics and how women ruined this country. Mary accepted gifts, thanked people for speeches, made sure everyone had hot food, but she did it like clockwork, no longer really present. It was as if her mind had gone quieteerily, overwhelmingly quietbeneath the hubbub of Johns slurred laughter.
When they got home, John barely managed to yank off his shoes before heading to the bedroom.
Nice do, that, he muttered, yanking at his shirt buttons. Your boss Simons a strange one. Glared at me all night. Jealous, probably, of a patient wife. Oy, Mary, fetch us some sparkling water, Im parched.
Mary stood for a while in the hallway, gazing into the mirror. Smudged mascara, red-rimmed eyes; she quietly slipped off her shoes, lined them up neatly, then walked to the kitchen. She poured herself a glass of water, drank it slowly, watching the city lights from the window. Instead of bringing John his water, she took a blanket and pillow from the cupboard, set up the sofa in the lounge and climbed beneath the covers, shutting out the world.
Mary? The water? John called out groggily from the bedroom.
She switched off the lights and buried her head under the blanket, unable to sleep. She didnt think of revenge, or a rowjust a chilling clarity: this was it. No more. Nothing left in the account.
The next morning didnt begin with the familiar grind of the coffee beans. Mary always rose half an hour before John, cooked his breakfast, ironed his shirt, packed his lunch box. Today, he woke to silence. The flat smelled of nothing at allno bacon, no fresh coffee.
He lumbered into the kitchen, scratching his belly. Mary, fully dressed, was reading on her tablet, an empty mug before her.
No breakfast? John yawned, opening the fridge. Thought thered be scones. Didnt we have some clotted cream left?
Mary didnt look at him. She turned a page, sipped lukewarm tea.
Mary! Im talking to you! John spun, a pack of sausages dangling in his hand. Have you gone deaf, or what?
She stood, picked up her handbag, checked her keys, and headed out.
Hey! Where you off to? My blue shirt hasnt been ironed!
The front door slammed. John remained in his pants, sausages in hand, completely at a loss.
Fine then, he muttered, slicing off a chunk straight from the packet. Mardy cow. Shell get over it by tonightwomen like a bit of drama.
When he finally came home after work, the flat was dark. Mary wasnt home. He rang herno answer. He microwaved leftover pasta, watched some telly, went to bed determined to have a stern word with her when she waltzed in.
But Mary came back late, when he was already asleep. She made up the sofa again, quietly as ever. The next morning, it was the sameno breakfast, no good morning, no lunch prepared. She just packed her things and left in silence.
By the third day, Johns patience wore thin.
Enough with the silent treatment! he barked, catching her in the hallway as she slipped on her shoes. I put my foot in it, so what? We were having a drink, letting off steam. Youre not the flaming Queen! Sorry, all right? Where are my black socks? Cant find a single pair in the drawer!
Mary turned to look at him. Her gaze was calm, almost clinicallike she was inspecting a damp patch on the ceiling. Unpleasant, but not fatal. Without a word, she picked up her umbrella and walked out.
By weeks end, the flat was changing. Johns things, which used to magically appear washed and folded, now piled in clumps on a chair. The fridge, once full of home-cooked cottage pie and stews, was just eggs, milk, a handful of tomatoes. The dirty dishes he left in the sink grew into a crusty mountain. Mary just washed her own plate and fork every time, nothing more.
John thought hed outlast her. Leave the dishes, shell cave, he reasoned. But Mary simply took her plate, washed it, and left his untouched. His pile grew ever higher.
On Saturday, he took a new tactic. He bought a cake and a bouquet of chrysanthemums.
Come on, Mary, lets stop the nonsense, he said, setting the cake on the table where she sat working on her laptop. Cuppa?
She looked up, her eyes hollow. Gently, she pushed away the laptop, rose, and left the kitchen. Moments later, the bathroom door slammed and the sound of running water filled the silence.
John hurled the flowers into the bin, furious.
Fine, go on then! See if I care. Think I cant survive without you? I lived on my own before you could tie your shoelaces! Bloody manipulator!
He ordered a takeaway pizza, cracked open a lager, and watched football at full volume. Mary strode past in pyjamas, earplugs in, curling up on the lounge sofa with her back to him.
And so it went for weeks. John ran the gamut from anger and goading to guilt-tripping and retreat. Yet its hard to ignore someone who acts as though you simply dont exist. It was like playing tennis against a brick wallthe ball always comes back, even if the wall doesnt care.
He started to notice his life was falling apart at the seams. He had to iron his own shirts, badly. Takeaways cost a fortune and played havoc with his stomach. The flat became dustyMary only cleaned her own corners, refusing to touch the chaos everywhere else.
Then, on a Tuesday evening, things reached a new low. John got home early, seething after a telling-off from his manager. He wanted to vent, but there was no one to listen. Irritably, he opened up his online bankingto pay the monthly loan on his pride and joy, his two-year-old car.
The screen read: Insufficient Funds.
John blinked. What? His salary had gone in just yesterday. He checked the transactions and turned cold. Usually, hed transfer his share to the joint accountMary always topped up the shortfall for groceries, bills, the loan. But now, only his money sat in the accounta few hundred pounds, not enough to cover the payment, especially after fixing the bumper and having a few too many rounds at the pub assuming Maryll sort it.
He charged into the lounge. Mary was reading.
Whats this?! he yelled, waving his phone. Whys there not enough in the account? The loan comes out tomorrow!
She lowered her book, unhurried.
Wheres your money, Mary? Why havent you transferred anything?
No answer.
Are you mute now? The bankll fine me! Ill fall behind!
With a tired sigh, Mary laid her book down and handed him a sheet of paper from the coffee table.
It was a divorce petition.
John gripped the page, skimming lines that seemed to blur with every word. …no longer share a household…, …marital relations ceased…, it read.
You… you cant be serious? his voice cracked. Over a joke? That toast? Mary, have you lost your mind? Twenty years down the drain for nothing?
She picked up a notepad and scribbled quickly, turning it to face him.
Its not about the joke. Its about your lack of respectand its been like this for a long time. This flats mine, left to me by my grandmother. The cars joint marital property, but the loans in your name. Ill be filing for a financial settlement. You can keep the car, but youll owe me half of whats been paid. Im moving to my mums cottage during proceedings. Youve got a week to sort yourself a place.
John stared at her, feeling the ground shake. The flather inheritance. Of course. Hed conveniently forgotten, always thinking of it as theirs, never hers. He was listed on the tenancy, but owned nothing.
Cottage? Wherem I supposed to go? he spluttered, slumping into the armchair. Mary, please. My wagesthe loan, maintenance payments for Sam from my first marriagetheyll swallow up everything. I cant afford rent as well
Marys eyes met his, not cruel but tired, resigned. She scribbled again:
Youre a grown man. Youll cope. You called me an old wreck at your do. Why live with an old wreck? Find yourself someone young and lively. I want peace.
I was joking! John wailed. Everyone jokes like that! Mary, please, Ill get down on my knees!
And he didsliding off the chair to the rug, reaching for her hand. She recoiled, stood, and quietly pulled out her suitcase.
Real fear set in at laststicky, cold fear. Not fear of losing Mary, but fear of losing the structure of his life. Who would cook? Whod remind him about appointments? Whod listen as he moaned about the boss, or top up the finances when his spending ran over?
He realised, in that moment, just how alone he was. Mates were good for a pint, but not for a place to crash. His mum lived alone at the other end of town, cats ruling the roost and her temper twice as fierce as Mrs Ts.
He ran after Mary to the bedroom. She was packing with calm precisionsweaters, trousers, underwear, folded perfectly.
Dont do this, Mary, he pleaded, words tumbling from him. Lets talksee a counsellor, if you want. Thats a thing now. Ill change. Ill stop drinking, code up on the spot, if you want. Please.
She didnt turn. The suitcase zipped shut with a definitive click.
At least stay till morning, John begged, blocking the door, Lets be reasonable. We belong together.
Mary looked him in the eye, and for a fleeting moment, something like mercy softened her expression. A tired, pitiful mercythe sort you might give an injured sparrow you know wont make it.
She pulled out her phone, typed a message, and flashed the screen:
People who love each other dont humiliate one another in public. They dont trample all over those who care for them. I put up with your nastiness for ten years, John. I thought it was your way. Its not. Its indulgence. You thought Id never go. Wrong. Move aside.
She nudged past him, suitcase rolling behind.
Im keeping the car! he shouted after, desperate, lashing out. And Im not giving any money back!
Mary paused by the door, slipped on her coat, and for the first time in weeks, spoke aloudher voice gravelly as ever, sending a chill through John.
Youll return everything, John. The court will make you. And youll cover my solicitors fees, too. That bonus you eyed for a new fishing rod? I saved it for this. Leave the keys in the letterbox when you move outyouve until Sunday.
The door shut. The lock clicked.
John stood in the darkness. The silence of the flat was no longer just oppressive; it was deafening. He heard the faint hum of the fridge, the steady drip of the leaky tap hed been promising to fix for months.
He went into the kitchen, sat in the chair Mary always used. The divorce application glared up at himsigned, dated, legal.
His phone pinged: Payment due on your car loan tomorrow. Your account balance is…
John buried his face in his hands. For the first time in his fifty years, he criednot for lost love, but for himself and the wreckage hed made with his own mouth.
The next three days passed in a daze. Mary, unreachable. Even her mum, always placid, dismissed him curtly: You made this mess, John, you clear it. Leave Mary alone.
On Thursday, he began packing. Strangely, it didnt take long. Clothes, fishing rods, a toolbox, his old laptop. Anything that made their flat feel warmthe curtains, vases, soft throws, plateshad always been Marys touch. Now, it was just a concrete shell.
Sorting socks, he found an old photo album: ten years ago at the beach. Mary laughing, arms around his neck. He looked proud, content. Shed stared up at him with such adoration. When had that faded? When had she turned from his partner to a servant? Fetch, carry, clean, be quiet.
Idiot, he said out loud to the empty room. You old fool.
On Sunday, he carried his last bag down. As instructed, he dropped the keys into the letterbox. Leaving, he glanced at what was now her window; darkness stared back.
He climbed into his car, the tank nearly empty, his bank account even emptier. Nowhere to go but his mothers. He pictured the tiny, cat-filled kitchen, the greeting hed get: Told you she was too good for you, didnt I?
He smacked the steering wheel, pain snapping him alert. He scanned his contactsno one he could phone, no one whod just listen, not judge or gloat.
He put the car into gear, rolling slowly away, facing a long, lonely road where hed have to learn to cook, to iron, and perhapsfinallyto hold his tongue. But that wasnt the worst part. The worst part was the realisation that hed destroyed the one place hed ever been loved, simply for who he was.
At that moment, Mary sat on the porch of her mothers cottage, swaddled in a wool blanket, sipping mint tea. Her heart felt hollow, yet peaceful. The phone was off. Uncertainty, court, dividing up the life theyd builtit all lay ahead. But she knew now: the worst was behind her. To live with someone who made her feel utterly alonenothing could be harder. Somewhere in the garden, a robin sang, the air sweet with lilac and freedom. For the first time in years, that scent reached herunclouded by stale beer. She inhaled deeply, and, finally, smiled.
