I was washing the dishes when my husband burst in, shouting. It was his mum again. More doubts, more suspicions. Enough.
Why did you tell my mum something about money?!
Susan Douglas was standing by the sink, scrubbing the last plate, when her husband stormed into the kitchen. He didnt just walk inhe crashed in, face contorted, fists clenched at his sides. She jumped, letting the plate slip back into the soapy water.
What? Peter, whats going on?
Dont play dumb with me! You know what Im talking about!
Peter stood in the centre of the kitchen, his shirt rumpled even though Susan had ironed it that morning. He always got like this when upsettwitchy, sharp movements, pacing for no reason.
I just spoke to my mum. She told me, Peter, your wifes been moving money aroundthe money for the car! Whats this about? Care to explain?
Susan switched off the tap slowly. Her hands were wrapped in yellow rubber gloves, which she removed carefully, laying them by the sink. Her heart pounded not in her chest but up in her throat.
Peter, hang on. What money? What do you mean?
Dont pretend you dont know! Mum said you withdrew a big sum. Where did it go?
From which account?
From our joint account!
Pete. Calm down and listen to me.
I am calm!
He said it so forcefully the dishes in the rack almost rattled. Susan looked at him. He was flushed and his eyescold, distantheld a look she knew, though she saw it rarely and never liked it.
I didnt take anything off our card. Thats the truth.
Then what did Mum see?
Susan leaned against the sink. Outside, the sun was shininga normal Sunday. All morning, shed been thinking about paint colours, maybe finally moving the side table to the window. And then this.
Peter, I think your mum got the wrong end of the stick.
My mum doesnt get things wrong!
Everyone gets things wrong, Peter.
Dont go blaming her! She saw the statements! She saw the amount!
What statements? Did you give her access to our bank records?
She regretted it as soon as she said it. That was always a touchy subject. Margaret Douglas had long since assumed a right to know every detail of their life, and Peter thought that was fineshe was his mum, after all.
I didnt show her, no. She called, and I mentioned it, a little.
A little?
Susan, dont try to wriggle out! Why does your dads name come up on transfers on our statement?
Now she understood. It all made sense. Susan sighed, walked over to the table, and sat on the stool.
Sit with me, please. Lets talk it out.
Ill stand.
As you wish. Peter, you know my dad bought a car last month. You remember?
Whats that got to do with anything?
Come on, Pete! I told you: Dad wanted to buy an old Ford for his allotment runs. Hes out there all the time. Theres only one bus a day, and sometimes not even that. Completely cut off.
And?
Dad doesnt get on with online banking. He hates cards, doesnt trust themtypical for his generation. Prefers cash, so hes not scammed, as he says. I explained the seller only takes bank transfer. Dad gave me the cash, I put it on my card and made the transfer for him. Thats it. Nothing more.
Peter was silent.
That was his money, Pete. Not ours. He handed me the cash, I just did the bank transfer for him. I didnt touch our savings.
Why not tell me?
Because thats Dads business. Am I meant to account to you for every step my dad takes?
You should inform me if other peoples money is passing through our account!
Thats not other people. Thats my dad.
It doesnt matter! Am I the husband here or not?! Who am I in this situation?
That word who hung in the air between them. She studied himstill in the middle of the kitchen, not as red now but still worked up. She suddenly realised how tired she was. Not just today, not from this rowshed been tired a long time.
Youre my husband, Peter. But you just came rushing in here and pounced on me, on the strength of your mums word. Im here, explaining myself. Yet youd already made your mind up.
I didnt pounce.
Peter.
Alright, maybe I raised my voice a bit
You shouted.
He said nothing. Looked away, at the fridge with its faded seaside holiday photothey were younger there, both laughing. Then he turned to the window.
Alright. Maybe.
Maybe, she repeated quietly, not sarcastically, but simply repeating.
Look, Susan, try to understand. Mum rang and said all sorts, I got anxious
What exactly did she say?
She claimed you shifted out a big sum. Somewhere. Big, apparently.
Does she know what Dad paid for the car?
How should I know?
Nor do I. But she somehow does. And told you. And you were straight round here.
I wasnt dashing. Just trying to get to the bottom of it.
Susan stood, walked to the window. It was nice out, birch trees turning green, fresh spring air. The neighbours ginger cat sat on the fence, staring at something only cats can see.
Peter, Im going to speak plainly nowdont be upset.
Go on, then.
I dont like your mum knowing more about our finances than is reasonable. I get it, you trust her. Shes family. But whats not normal is her phoning you about my supposed transfers. Its just not right, Peter.
You just dont like her.
This isnt about love or not, Peter.
It is. Whenever something happens, you blame my mum.
Susan closed her eyes briefly and exhaled.
Remember three years ago? Your mum called to say I spent too much on food?
Well, maybe
She got your supermarket receipts and added them up. Claimed Im buying too much. You came home and asked, Susan, maybe ease up on groceries? Remember?
Mum was only trying to help
She wanted to know exactly what we spent, thats what.
Youre being unfair.
Fine. Another time, last year, when I worked late into the eveningend of quarter, I told you. I got in half-nine. Your mum called and suggested, Whos Susan with at this hour? Remember what you said then?
Peter winced.
Well
You said, Susan, you really were with your colleague, right? Youd never doubted before. But she makes a suggestion andsuddenly, youre asking questions.
Just checking
You never used to check, because you trusted me. Now, she hints, and you dont.
Susan
And then, there was Colin Baker. She saw me walking with himhe helped me carry my shopping when I couldnt manage. Hes just our neighbour, Pete, been in our block for fifteen years. Remember what your mum said?
Peter was silent.
She said shed seen me with some manputting special emphasis on manand you barely spoke to me for three days. Three whole days, Peter. Because a neighbour helped me carry bags.
I didnt think anything bad
You did. Even if you didnt say so out loud.
He turned to her. There was something in his eyes now, not anger anymore but confusion. He opened his mouth, then shut it again.
Susan
Im not after a row, Peter. Truly. But this, what just happened, isnt the first time. Or even the second. Every time, you take her side first.
She doesnt mean harm.
Maybe not. But the result is always the same: you doubt me. Im always having to justify myself. Im tired, Peter. Really tired.
What do you want from me? Should I stop talking to my mother?
No. I want you to talk to me first.
She said it quietly, no shouting or tearsjust plain words, and somehow they weighed more that way.
Peter looked at her, then at the floor, then back. Susan, I honestly had no idea about your dad
You could just have asked me, Pete. Walked in and said, Sue, Mums seen something on the statementwhats going on? Thats all. One question.
Well
But instead, you stormed in yelling, like Id already done wrong.
He fell silent. The kitchen quiet, just the fridge humming, sunlight lying across the floor, indifferent to their troubles.
Susan looked at her husbandher Peter, after nearly twenty-six years together. Theyd raised a son, lost his dad, managed house moves, money worries, illnesseslife. She knew him inside and out. Every wrinkle, how he breathed in his sleep, the way he held his mug with both hands. She knew he was good and hardworking, and loved her. She knew all that.
And yet, here they were.
Go, Peter.
He flinched.
What?
Im asking you to leave the kitchen. I need some time on my own.
Susan, come on
Please.
He stood a moment longer, then leftno slamming, just quietly walking out. She heard footsteps down the hall, creak of the lounge door.
Susan turned back to the sink, picked up the plate, began washing. Her hands moved by themselves while she gazed out the window, thinking she ought to ring Anne GrantAnne from college days, whod always listen without butting in.
Or maybe not. Maybe just pack a bag, go out, take a breather. Because here, in this kitchen, with that humming fridge and that indifferent sunlight, she just couldnt stay any longer.
—
She packed slowly, hands clumsy. Opened the wardrobe, stared inside, eventually picked up a jumper. Put it in her bag. Took it back out, found the grey one Anne always complimented. Remembered the phone charger was on the kitchen table.
It felt awkward, heading back innot because Peter was there; she heard the TV in the lounge, then silence again. It was because you then had to say something, or say nothing, and either was hard.
She hurried into the kitchen, grabbed her charger, turned to leave.
Where are you off to? Peter was standing in the lounge doorway.
To Annes.
Why?
I just need to.
Susan, hang on. Youre upset
Yes, I am. Very.
Can we talk?
We just did, Peter. For half an hour. I explained everything.
I mean properly.
She looked at him. Bag in hand, coat still off, standing in the hallway.
You want to speak properly after running in yelling your head off.
I wasnt yelling!
Peter.
He closed his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose.
Alright. Maybe Susan, dont go. Its childish.
Children dont walk out? she managed a smile, without warmth. Remember when James used to sulk and lock himself in the bathroom for hours? Childish, right?
Thats different.
Of course it is. Peter, Ill be back this evening. Or maybe tomorrow morning. I just need air.
Youll be angry, walk away, and Ill be left here fretting?
Or watch the telly, if you prefer.
Susan!
She zipped her jacket.
The problem is, you dont trust me. Not really. Not after all these years. And that hurts more than anything else.
He was silent.
Ill be back later. Or in the morning. Im not sure yet.
She gripped the door handle. He was watching her, looking lost. She hadnt seen him that lost in yearsbig man, grey at the temples, didnt know what to do with his hands.
Susan he said softly. Sue
She went out.
—
The door closed behind her. Peter waited in the hall, then wandered into the lounge and slumped onto the sofa. Got up, sat down again.
His phone was on the coffee table. Two unread messages from Mum: Well? Talked to her? and Peter, reply, please.
He picked up the phone, held it for a long time. Finally, he stood, walked to the kitchen window. The birch trees outside swayed gently as evening approached, though it was still light. The neighbours terrier scurried around the garden, comically fluffed.
He dialled another number.
Hello, David Thompson? Its Pete. Afternoon.
Oh, Peter! Well, hello, lad. Everything alright?
I just wanted to check. Did you buy a car last week?
I did, I did! her dad chuckled. Picked up a used Mondeo. Not dear, nice seller. Im set now, sorted for my runs. Susan helped me, these phones confuse me, you know.
Peter was quiet.
Pete? You there?
Yes, yes. Just checking, David, that was all your money, right?
Course it was! Whose else? I gave Susan the cash, she sorted it all. Bless her, so quick. You ought to pop round, made some apple pie. Susan doesnt know yet, sneak a bit with me before she tallies up the sugar! He laughed again.
Ill stop by. Thanks, Mr. Thompson.
No trouble. Doors always open.
Peter hung up, put the phone down. He sat, rubbed his face.
Idiot.
Just an idiot.
Mum called, filled his head with nonsense; he ran in, shouting, at a wife whos always been nothing but decent. Who helped her dad, who helps everyone. Just who she is.
And here he was.
He remembered her with the yellow gloves, so careful, so steady even as she spokeher eyes, tired. Not angry, just so very tired.
And she was right about the receipts.
And about those three days of silencehed convinced himself he was just in a mood, but if he was honest, really honest, his mother had ranted about Colin, no smoke without fire, until he started to wonder, unpleasant doubts creeping in.
Susan got home, put the bags down, said nothing. He stayed silent too, for days. She never asked what was wrong. Perhaps she knew all along.
He picked up the phone again. Dialled his mum.
Peter! At last! Well? Did you talk to her? Did she explain?
Yes, Mum. She explained.
And?
Mum, it was her fathers money. He bought a car. He gave her the cash, she did the transfer. I just spoke to him. Everythings fine.
A pause.
Well, his mother said finally, her voice pinched, That doesnt really change anything. You shouldve known there were other peoples funds in your account.
Mum.
No, let me finish. I worry about you. What if she
Mum, stop. He spoke quietly, firmlysurprising himself a little. Listen to me. Im going to say something important, please dont cut in.
Go on.
You were wrong. You called, jumped to conclusions, got me in a state. And I went and shouted at my wife. Shes left the house. Because of me. I behaved like an idiot.
I didnt mean
Mum. He stopped her again, gently but unyielding. You do this a lot. You phone and sow doubts, and every time I go running to Susan. Then it turns out to be nothing, or not what you thought. I cant keep living like this. Its my marriage. Not just yours to comment on.
Im only looking out for you
I know you mean well. I love you, Mum. But dont do this again, please. If youre worried, call and suggestdont accuse. Just say, Peter, can you check something? Not thisstories and certainty.
So youre picking her over me.
Im not picking sides. Im choosing my marriage. Thats how it should be.
A long pause. He heard her breathing.
Thats all I have to say, he finished. Love you, Mum. Speak later.
He ended the call before any reply. He stared at the phone lying silent on the table.
His mum would call back. Or not, maybe not today. Shed sulk, of course. She was good at sulkinglong, dramatic, with drawn-out sighs. But hed say the same next time, and again if needed. He should have spoken up ages ago. He hadnt, and that was his fault too.
He tried Susan next.
Rings. Voicemail.
He put the phone away. Stood by the window. The birch trees had stopped swayingthe wind had eased off. Their pale green leaves glowed gently beneath a clear blue sky.
He stood a while, then went to get his coat.
—
Anne Grant opened her door and took one look at Susans face before standing aside and saying simply, Come in. Ill put the kettle on.
They sat in Annes kitchen. Annes place was always so cosyfloral curtains, a fat cat called Charlie on the windowsill, and the warm scent of sponge cake. Susan drank tea in silence; Anne, as ever, knew to wait.
Im just so exhausted, Anne, Susan said eventually.
I can see that.
Its not the argument. Arguments pass. This is worse.
What is it, then?
Susan cradled her mug in both hands, warming herself.
He doesnt trust me. Not really. Twenty-six years, and when his mum rings, Im suddenly in the wrong.
He does trust you, Anne said softly, Its just, well, you know what Margarets like.
I do. But, Anne, its his choice. Not hers. He choosesevery timeto listen to her, not me.
Anne said nothing.
Im not asking him to turn his back on his mumyou know that. Love her, visit her, fine. I just want some boundaries. That if its about me, I hear it firstnot yelled at after shes rung him.
Did you tell him this?
I did.
And?
I left.
Anne sighed and poured more tea.
Thats probably best. Let him think for a bit.
Im scared, Anne.
What of?
Susan paused.
That nothing will change. Hell nod, apologise, say Im right. But then Margaret will ring again, and so it happens all over. I cant go on like that forever.
Well, Sue people do change.
Sometimes. Slowly. Susan looked out the window. Sometimes not at all. How do I know which is which?
Anne didnt answer. Some questions hang in the air, never fully answeredyou just have to live with them.
Charlie the cat rolled over on the sill. A car passed outside.
Alright, Susan said, setting down her mug. I should go.
Home?
Home. Loads to do.
Has he called?
Susan checked her phonea missed call from Peter.
He has.
There you go.
That doesnt mean anything, Susan said, but she zipped her coat up anyway.
—
She took the tram and looked out at the city. Spring made everything seem just a bit grubby after winter, but alive. People with bags, kids on bikes, an old man feeding pigeons on a bench.
She found herself thinking of her dad.
Shed have to visit next week, see how he was getting on alone. Car boughthed be fine, independent, hopefully fit and healthy.
She thought of James, their son, living in another town, calling only now and thenbut always bringing happiness when he did. Hed grown up well, had a good wife, and, if all was well, their first grandchild on the way.
She thought about the paint for the hall. Cream? Pale yellow? Cream might be warmer.
Her stop came.
—
The flat door wasnt locked.
That was oddPeter always locked up. She hung up her coat.
Peter?
Here, he called softly from the lounge.
She found him sitting on the sofa, TV off, hands folded in his lap. On the coffee table, two mugstea or coffee, she wasnt sure.
He looked up.
Youre back.
Im back.
She hesitated in the doorway. He stood, unsure, then sat, then stood again.
I called your dad.
I knowhe texted me.
Good bloke, your dad.
Yes.
Said he had apple pie for me.
Hes always good with apple pie.
The silence between them grew taut, like a stretched washing line. She went and sat at the other end of the sofa. Picked up a mugcoffee, as it turned out.
Did you call your mum? she asked.
He hesitated.
I did.
And?
I told her this had to stop. That we would deal with our own business.
Susan looked at him.
Really?
Really. She was upset, obviously. Didnt hang up, but you know that voice.
I do.
Doesnt matter. Well live, he said, sounding unsure but determined. Should have said it years ago.
Susan cupped her coffee, looking at himslightly hunched, familiar, with the realness she had always lovednot the heroic kind, but the gentle, slightly rumpled sort that stays.
Im sorry, Susan, he said. I was an idiot. I didnt think, just ran in and believed Mum. That wasnt right.
It wasnt.
I know. He was quiet a moment. You were saying this morning about decorating.
Peter
No, come on. Lets do it. Any colour you want. And holidaylets have one, you always wanted a week by the seaside.
Im not after a holiday.
I know its not about that, he sighed. I just Im out of ideas.
Susan set her mug down.
I dont need special things, she said slowly. What I do need is your trust. Thats all. Its not complicated, Pete.
I trust you.
Today, you trusted your mum.
He said nothing.
I was wrong today.
Once isnt the end of the world. What worries me is its not for the first time. And I worry it wont be the last.
It wont happen again.
Leave promises out of it. Lets agree instead.
He looked at her.
Agree what?
She angled towards him.
Next time your mum rings with something about me, come straight to meask: Sue, is this true? Just ask. Ill answer. Thats all. Can you do that?
He paused, then nodded.
Yes. I can.
Deal?
Deal.
They sat side by side, not touching but closer than before.
Outside, dusk was falling. The birches stood quiet against the darkening sky.
She wont drop it, you know, Susan said quietly. Margaret will sulk for a month, then ring again.
I know.
And itll happen every time.
Yes.
How will you handle it?
He didnt rush to reply. She liked thata pause for real thought.
Im not sure yet. Shes my mum. But youre right, she interferes too much. I need to talk to her again, properly, face to face. Sit down and explain.
Shell cry.
She will. But that doesnt mean Im wrong.
Susan watched him, then looked away.
You know this wont be sorted overnight?
I know.
Shell be angry, blame me.
Let her, Peter said, weary but certain. Im living my life with you, Susan. Not with my mother standing between us.
She nodded.
Her coffee had gone cold. She drank it anyway; in that moment, it didnt matter.
Paint, she said suddenly.
What?
For the hall. Maybe cream. Or pale yellow. I cant decide.
He glanced at her and half-smiled.
Both are nice.
Well go to the shop and pick some samples.
We will. Whenever you want.
She nodded again, set down the mug. They sat in the gentle darkness, the warmth between them real, fragile, but present.
Things werent magically fixed. She knew that. Tomorrow Margaret might ring and stir things up again. Peter would have to find the right wordsand actions matter more than promises, Susan knew that well.
But now, right now, they were side by side. That meant something.
Peter, she said.
Yes?
Pour me another coffee. And make it hot this time.
He got up without a word, took her mug and headed to the kitchen. She heard the kettle, the coffee maker.
She gazed out the window, thinking how life isnt constant joyor constant sorrow. Its these tired moments, these unspoken hurts and misunderstandings. Still, they were together. Still, they were trying.
He came back with two steaming mugs, handed her one.
Thank you, she said.
Youre welcome.
They sat in quiet. Peter hesitantly reached over and covered her hand with his. She didnt pull away.
That agreementabout asking you straight. Its really that simple? he asked quietly.
Its really that simple, she replied.
A cars headlights flickered past outside. The coffee was hot and rich. Tomorrow shed ring Dad, see if his car had any hiccups.
And on Sunday, theyd go look at paint samples.
Sometimes, the lesson is simple: trust must be chosen, again and again. And the coming together after a row matters more than always being right.
