Time you grew up, Emily told her husband. His reaction really got under her skin.
Can you imagine living with a perpetual teenager in the body of a forty-year-old bloke?
Thats when you say, Tom, could you go to the parents evening at school? and he comes back with, Cant, got a FIFA tournament tomorrow.
Or if you remind him about the council tax he nods, smiles, then a week later the house gets a warning because the bill never got paid. He forgot. Got carried away with his football manager game.
Its when your twelve-year-old son asks for help with science homework, but Dads in the next room, headphones on, bellowing, Pass it down the wing, you twits!
Emily put up with this for seventeen years. Seventeen! Can you picture it?
They met at uni Tom was the charming lad, always the life of the party, guitar in hand, full of wisecracks. Emily, studious and a bit of a bookworm, was swept off her feet by his easy-going charm. He just knew how to not sweat the small stuff really live, not just exist.
She figured, heres balance! Shes all seriousness, hes got the jokes. Yin and yang, right?
Except, what happened was: she pulled the cart while he sat on top, kicking his legs, enjoying the view.
After they married, Tom did work here and there. Bit of a manager, some admin, sales, you name it, as long as you didnt have to actually break a sweat. The pay was dodgy, but he always had an excuse: Just temporary, Em. Things will pick up soon.
It never did.
Emily, meanwhile, slogged away at the council, steady but dull. She paid the mortgage, bought the weekly shop, took Jamie to the GPs, helped with homework. Tom was usually recovering from work.
On the computer. Until three in the morning.
Tom, shed say, feeling absolutely knackered, could you go to a parents meeting for once? I cant keep taking time off.
Cant, Em. Got an important meeting tomorrow.
Meeting being a pint down the pub with an old mate.
Tom, could you sort the internet bill? Theyll cut us off, you know.
Yeah, yeah, course.
He never did. Emily sorted it, every time.
Bit by bit, she felt less like a wife and more like a mum. Or a supervisor. Certainly not a partner.
When patience snaps
Jamie was hunched over his textbook one night, eyes red with frustration.
Mum, I dont get this question. Dad, can you help?
Tom was in his armchair, glued to the screen, headphones on.
Dad! (louder)
Emily went in and yanked off the headphones.
Cant you hear your son calling?
Huh? Tom glared up, grumpy. Em, Im busy, alright?
Busy? She glanced at the screen. Tanks, explosions, swearing on the live chat. This is what you call busy?
Dont start.
Your son needs help with his schoolwork! While youre still wasting hours on that nonsense!
Its called Football Manager, he replied, deadpan. And for your information, Im ranked.
Couldnt care less about your ranking!
Jamie crept away quietly. He knew the drill. When Mum and Dad started up, best to keep your head down.
Emily stood in front of him, looking at this big grown man with a bit of a beer belly and a childish grin.
Tom, she said, her voice dangerously calm, its time you grew up.
He stood so suddenly the chair rolled back.
What?!
Emily flinched.
Grow up?! Im sick of being henpecked! Of hearing what a rubbish husband I am! Irresponsible, bad father, lazy you never stop!
Tom
Shut it! He grabbed his coat. Thats enough. Im off. Live your life, do what you like!
The door slammed.
Emily stayed standing in the middle of the room.
When your son knows more than you
Emily spent half the night in the kitchen, just staring out the window.
Tom didnt come back. Didnt answer his phone. Ignored her texts.
For the first time in seventeen years, Emily didnt go looking for him. Didnt call up his mates. Didnt panic.
In the morning, Jamie shuffled in, bleary-eyed and wild-haired.
Mum, wheres Dad?
He left, she said flatly.
Did you argue again?
Not quite.
Jamie poured himself a mug of tea, sat at the table, quiet for ages.
Then suddenly, Mum, did you know Dads selling the car?
Emily froze, mug in her hand.
What?
He told me not to tell anyone, but I saw him sorting out paperwork. Doing photocopies of passports, marriage certificate and some other forms.
A chill ran down her back.
When was this?
About a week ago. He said its just in case. Said we shouldnt worry.
Emily headed for the spare roomToms den for six months now, he claimed it was better for his back.
She rifled through his desk. Receipts, junk, bills.
But in the bottom drawera folder.
She opened it, and it felt like the floor dropped away.
A guarantor agreement.
Black and white: Thomas James Hart agrees to act as guarantor for a loan of ninety thousand pounds.
Borrower: Hart, Richard James.
His brother. His useless brother who five years ago already racked up debt, nearly gave their mum a heart attack and vanished for two years till the lenders lost track.
Ninety grand.
Emily slumped onto the bed. Kept reading.
Collateralfamily car. The one they just finished paying off.
And moredraft forms to guarantee the loan against the flat. Their flat! The very one they all lived in.
Oh my God, murmured Emily.
So thats why he blew up yesterday. Thats why he ranted about being under the thumb and fed up. He knew shed find out soon. He wanted to walk out first. Play the victim.
This immaturityit wasnt laziness or apathy. It was running away. Fear. Hiding behind games and a pint, trying not to think about the mess he was making.
Emily reached for her phone. Called Tom.
He declined.
She rang again.
What? he barked down the line.
Come home. Now. Right now.
Im not coming. Got nothing to say to you.
But Ive got plenty to say about your brother. About the loan. About how youve decided to chuck your own family under the bus for a brother who doesnt give a toss about you.
So you found the papers?
Yep. You coming? Or should I go see your Richard myself and tell him everything?
He was home an hour later.
When immaturity isnt weakness, but cowardice
Tom stumbled incrumpled, stinking of booze and fags.
Jamie stayed in his room. (Emily had asked him not to come out.)
Sit down, she said quietly.
He did, eyes glued to the carpet.
Ninety thousand pounds, said Emily. Against our car. And our flat. All for your brother, whos been in this mess before.
You just dont understand, Tom muttered.
Then explain.
Rich is in trouble! His business collapsed, lenders are on his tail. Hes my BROTHER! I couldnt say no!
Emily gave a bitter laugh.
But you could say no to me?
Youd never agree.
Too right I wouldnt! Because its insane! Tom, we have a son. We still owe the mortgage for ten years. We barely make it as isand now you want to put us on the line for ninety grand?!
Hell pay it back.
Like he did last time? Emily stood. Remember? Your mum nearly ended up in hospital. You swore youd never help him again!
People change.
No, Tom, they dont. Richards a professional failure. Hes always lived off other people. And you just volunteered to be his next sucker.
He was silent. Looked for all the world like a scolded schoolboy.
When you have to choose between your brother and your family
Suddenly Tom jumped up.
I just I just couldnt turn him down! Hes my brother!
And what are we, Tom? Emily shot back. And what about Jamie? Or am I just another stranger?
Youre my family. But sos Richard!
No, she shook her head, family is who you look after! Richards a grown man, forty-three years old, still sponging off others. And you chose him over us. Again.
Tom was silent. Gaze on the carpet.
Emily opened her laptop. Logged in to their online bank.
What the hell are you doing?
Changing the login to our joint account. The one where my salary goes. The one you wanted to use for your brothers loan payments.
You cant do that!
I can, she replied simply. Because its my money. I earn it. Youve jumped jobs for the past five years and barely brought anything home.
Low blow. But true.
Tom went pale.
Emily
Im seeing a solicitor tomorrow, she continued, changing passwords. Ill find out how to protect the flat. And if you sign that guarantee, Im filing for separation. Division of assets. Legal block on ownership.
Youre blackmailing me!
Im protecting myself. And Jamie. From you.
Tom grabbed his jacket.
You know what? Do what you want! Im going to Richards. Ill sign whatever needs signingthen you and your precious money can live happily ever after!
You sign anythingIm filing the papers that day, Emily said, level as a judge.
He hesitated at the door.
Youre serious?
Completely. Tom, Ive been hauling this family for seventeen years. I worked, raised Jamie, sorted everything, while you played video games. And I put up with it, because at least you didnt drink, didnt hit, you never cheated. But now you want to drown us in debt for your good-for-nothing brother. Well, thats it. Thats the last straw.
But he asked me, Emily
And he always does! she snapped. Five years ago. Ten years ago. Richards a professional beggar. Hes good at guilt-trippingand you fall for it every damn time.
He promised hed pay it back.
Tom, she stepped closer, open your eyes. Richard never pays anything back. He just takes, and takesand vanishes.
This time is different.
Different?! Emilys voice trembled with anger. Whats different? Just that the debts even bigger now? Or the fact youre offering to drag us down instead of your parents?
When the truth hits harder than love
Jamie crept out the room.
Mum Dad whats going on?
Emily and Tom fell silent.
The boy looked up at them, fear in his eyes. That awful fear you only see in kids when their whole world comes crashing down.
Dad, Jamie asked in a tiny voice, are you really going to take out a loan for Uncle Richard?
Tom flinched.
You heard?
I heard everything. Jamie wiped his nose with his sleeve. Dad, if he doesnt pay, will we have to move out?
No, Tom lied flatly. Itll be fine.
It wont, Emily cut across, sharp as a knife. Jamie, go to your room.
But Mum
Now, please.
He left quietly.
Emily turned to her husband.
See that, Tom? Did you see how afraid your son looks? Hes twelve. He should be thinking about mates and school, not worrying if hell have a home to sleep in.
Tom collapsed onto the sofa, hands over his face.
I dont know what to do.
You do, Emily said, hard as steel. Pick. Brother or family. Right now.
Emily, its not that simple.
It is. Its dead simple. Ring Richard. Tell him, Sorry, I cant. Ive got a family. Done. Thats it. Three sentences.
What if something happens to him?
Something always does, she shrugged. Richard always ends up like this. Owes big, cheats, borrows what he cant repay. Hell carry on forever if you let him. Only question is, are you going to go down with him?
Tom sat in silence.
Emily grabbed her phone.
Youve got one day. By this time tomorrow, either you ring Richard and say no, or Im starting divorce proceedings. Thats it.
Tom made the call the next evening.
Emily was in the kitchen with the solicitora kindly woman in her fifties, explaining how to safeguard the flat from being seized.
Her phone buzzed. Tom.
Yeah? she said.
I called Richard.
A pause.
And?
I said no.
Emily closed her eyes. Let out a long breath.
How did he take it?
He was furious. Called me every name under the sun. Said Im a traitor, were not brothers anymore. Emily, Im worried about him. What if?
Dont be, she said gently. Hell find someone else to leech off. He always does.
Tom came home an hour later. The solicitor had gone, leaving a folder of documents on the kitchen table.
For the first time in years, Tom looked less like a cheeky lad, and more like a tired man.
Jamie asleep? he asked.
Yes.
They sat at the table.
Emily slid the folder his way.
Were starting again. You get a proper job. No more temporary, no more drifting. You help pay the bills. You share looking after Jamiehis school, clubs, homework. Everything. Fifty-fifty. No more secrets. No decisions behind each others backs.
Tom sat in silence. Then gave a nod.
Alright. Ill do my best.
Three months later
Tom landed himself a job as a site manager at a building firm.
Emily, for the first time, stopped having to micromanage everything. And, wellshe was shocked. Turned out her husband could cook dinner. Could help with homework. He even went to the parents eveningwithout any reminders.
Richard? Gone. Changed his number. Never rang again.
For the first time in seventeen years, Emily felt, honestly, like she was livingnot dragging a dead weight behind her. Actually living.
With a husband who, at last, had grown up.
