I’ll find a better husband for my daughter
This months going to be tougher, muttered Andrew, refreshing his banking app for the third time.
He sighed deeply. Lately, his money had been vanishing faster than a cup of tea at a builders breakfast. And he knew the reason, though he was still a bit too chicken to say it out loud.
Andrew stepped out of the lift, loosening his tie as he went. Flat 3B, third floor, fourth door on the left. After three years, his feet could have taken him there blindfolded. He turned the key, and immediately the comforting aroma of fried potatoes with parsley hit him square in the nose. Vera always lobbed parsley in with reckless abandon, like she was wallpapering. Andrew kicked off his shoes and dumped his bag on the sideboard.
Im home!
Im in the kitchen! Vera called out.
She was standing by the hob, stirring something in a frying pan. Hair pulled back in a ponytail, favourite checked shirt over her shoulders. Andrew sneaked up, planted a kiss on the top of her head.
Mm, smells brilliant.
Its mushrooms and potatoes. Sit down, Im just plating up.
Vera smiled, though her eyes didnt quite get the memo. Andrew spotted it straight away. He always noticed her way of layering cheerfulness on top of anxiety, like butter over stale bread. Three years together had trained him to read her better than any novel.
He sat and watched Vera distribute dinner. Her movements were brisk, not smooth as usual. Something was gnawing at her, probably another chat with her mum. Susan had a knack for leaving a bitter aftertaste.
Your mum call? Andrew asked, though he could pretty much guess.
Vera hesitated for a moment. She set the plate in front of him, then sank down opposite.
Yeah. Nothing special.
He knew that was tripe. Susan never rang for a natter. Every conversation hid a poisonous little dart. Andrew decided not to dig further. He could have pressed, dragged out all the words Susan poured in Veras ear, but what was the point? Nothing new would come up: low wages, that ancient car, not enough prospects. The same old jazz record.
They ate in companionable quiet. Their little flat wasnt much a one-bed above an off-licence but it was theirs. Andrew had bought it before their wedding, and he liked that. Nothing grand, but earned honestly.
Vera prodded her potatoes, not really interested. Andrew knew she was still mentally stuck in Susans phone call, as persistent as the Go Compare jingle.
…Andrews mother-in-law had disliked him since the very first meeting. Hed shown up in his best jeans and only decent jumper. Susan had eyed him like at a charity jumble sale: not worth the fifty pence.
What do you do? shed asked.
Im an engineer.
Engineer She said the word like hed confessed to being a traffic warden. Does it pay alright?
Vera had blushed and tried changing the subject. But that set the tone. Three years later, Susan still hadnt thawed.
Every visit felt like Andrew was on trial. Oh, Stevens lad just started his second business. When are you getting a new car? That heap must be all held together with prayers. Vera always dreamed of a cottage in Lincolnshire, did you know?
Andrew learned to let it wash past: smile, nod, dont start a battle. No point. Susan had made up her mind and planned on sticking with it.
Vera finished, pushed her plate away.
Mum wants us for dinner on Saturday. Dads birthday.
Andrew felt a twinge of nerves. Saturday dinners at the in-laws were always a special variety of emotional endurance test. Long table, loads of relatives, and Susan running it like a boot camp sergeant.
What time?
Seven.
Alright. Well pick up a cake on the way.
Mum said not to. Shes making everything herself.
Of course she is. Susan loves micromanaging every detail. Sneaking in a shop-bought cake would wreck her ideal fantasy.
Vera cleared the dishes, left for the sink. Andrew watched her back, petite, fragile. She always looked to him like a bird you wanted to shield from the wind. Too bad the wind was blowing straight from Susans sitting room, and you couldnt shut that out.
Vera. She turned. You know I adore you.
I adore you too, she whispered.
But something flickered in her eyesdoubt, maybe? Exhaustion? Guilt?
Andrew left it there. Sometimes its better not to know what your loved ones thinking, especially if it was planted by someone else.
Saturday arrived suspiciously quickly…
Andrew parked the old Vauxhall Astra outside Susans house. The patch of paint on the wing had peeled off last autumn and he still hadnt got around to fixing it. Vera sat beside him, fiddling with her bag strap.
Ready?
No, she admitted, but we have to go in anyway.
Susans flat greeted them with the perfume of roast meat and the quiet buzz of relatives. Veras dad, David, a gentle, quiet man, hugged his daughter and shook Andrews hand. The birthday boy looked awkward, as though hed gatecrashed his own party.
The guests were already camped round the table. Aunties, uncles, cousinsAndrew still hadnt learned all the names after three years. Susan ran the show at the head, issuing orders like Downton Abbeys Mrs Patmore.
Andrew sat next to Vera, close to the edge for a fast getaway.
The first half hour was calm. Toasts for David, clinking glasses, laughter. Andrew began thinking he might survive, reaching for bread.
Andrew Susan piped up, and he knew hed relaxed too soon. You and Vera still in that matchbox of a flat?
Yes, Susan. Its enough for us.
Enough, she echoed. What about children, then? Wheres a kid supposed to sleep in that broom cupboard?
Vera tensed beside him. Andrew squeezed her hand under the table.
When were ready for kids, well sort the flat.
Youll sort it? Susan scoffed. On your wages? You need a mortgage, Andrew. Proper people take one out, buy somewhere bigger. Ambition!
I dont want to drown in debt, he replied calmly. Weve got our place. Its enough for now.
Enough! Susan scanned the family, fishing for support. Hear that? The man says Its enough. Never mind his wifes huddled in a shoebox while her mates move into roomy semis.
Mum Vera started tentatively.
Quiet. Im talking to your husband. Susan wheeled around. Take Stevens son, Danielremember? He took two mortgages, now hes got a three-bed in London and a German car. And you? You drive a rust bucket, live in a biscuit tin. Honestly, arent you even a bit ashamed?
Andrew set his fork down, slow and measured. Three years of swallowing sly digs and side-eyes. For Vera. For the sake of a quiet life.
No, Im not ashamed, Andrew said levelly. I earn an honest living. I dont nick, dont cheat. If I cant afford something, I dont buy it.
Living within your means! Susan banged her palm on the table hard. Glasses rattled, a fork clattered to the floor. Her face blotchy with rage.
Youre not a proper man, youre useless! My daughter deserves a proper bloke, not you! Ill find her a better husband myself!
A stunned silence, as dramatic as a soap opera murder scene. Relatives froze mid-fork. David peered at his plate, not daring look up.
Andrew stood up, slow and steady. Three years of bottling things up, and he was finished.
Susan. Im not about to prove myself to someone who despises me. If you think Im not good enough, thats up to you, but I wont let you insult me anymore.
Vera stared at Andrew, eyes wide. She turned to her mum. Two big pieces of her life on either side of a line shed never wanted to draw. And that line demanded she choose.
Vera rose.
Mum. I love you. But if you ever insult my husband again, were leaving and we wont come back.
Susan froze.
What did you say?
You heard me. Andrew is my husband. I chose him myself. I wont let you belittle himnever again.
How dare you! Susan spluttered. Ungrateful little madam! I raised you, taught you, and THIS? You pick this this hopeless man!
Mum, enough!
Veras shout sliced the air. The relatives shrank into their chairs. Even Aunt Jean, who always had a comment, was silent.
For years youve run my life, Vera went on, lips quivering, what to wear, who to see, who to love. Thats finished. Im an adult. I choose who Im with, and how I live, myself.
Susan glared at her daughter. Her face had gone white, cheeks sharp.
Youll remember this day, she hissed. When he leaves you penniless, youll come crawling back. But dont count on me opening the door.
She strode off, pointedly ignoring everyone, and slammed the bedroom door. Andrew moved toward Vera, wrapped his arms around her. Vera buried her head in his chest, shoulders shaking.
You did the right thing, he told her softly. Im proud of you.
David struggled up from the table.
Best go home, you two, he said quietly. Your mumll cool offeventually.
In the car, Vera was silent the entire way. Andrew didnt push her. Some wounds dont appreciate being poked.
Back in their little flat, Vera finally spoke:
I wont be the first to call her.
Ill back you either way.
She looked at himeyes tired, red from cryingbut deep inside, there was a spark.
Well manage, she said.
Andrew pulled her close. Beyond the window, the sunset was fading into dusk. Their tiny flat felt less cramped than ever; it felt like a fortress. And they knew, without a doubt, their real life was only just beginning.
