He left me alone at the dressed table and dashed away to toast his mates in the garage
Are you really just going to walk out now? Just like that, stand up and leave? Marys voice almost broke, but she tried to make it sound not hurt, but steely.
Richard froze in the hallway, one arm shoved through the sleeve of his battered windcheater. Not his slippers on his feetno, hed donned the scuffed trainers reserved for fussing over his car. The kitchen was filled with the dizzyingly rich aroma of roast duck and baked Bramley applesa dish that called for four hours attention and marinating. In the parlour, the good lace cloth gleamed on the table, crystal glasses glinted, and bowls held salads shed fussed over since sunrise, chopping every piece into perfect cubes.
Mary, dont start, will you. Richard winced as if struck by toothache. Its the lads. Jim ranghis carburettors gone, hes stranded. Ive got to help. Itll be quick. Fifty minutes, an hour tops. Ill be back before your ducks cold, promise.
Jims carburettor breaks every Friday at seven on the dot, Mary replied, voice cool as a winter stream, leaning into the doorframe. Richard, its our tenth anniversary. I left work early for this. Bought your favourite Burgundy, costs as much as my weeks wages. And I even put on this dress. And youre leaving for the garage?
Richard wriggled the coat on and started patting his pockets for the car keys. Youre blowing it all up. Its just a bit of metal, needs a mans touch. Mates solidarityyou know. If I was in trouble, Jim would drop everything for me. Dont be selfish. Its not like were going out anywhere fancy. Back in a flash.
He gave her a peck on the cheekdry, hurried, almost impersonaland the door clapped shut behind him. The click of the lock rang through the flat like a gunshot.
Mary stood in the hall. In the mirror was a well-dressed woman with neat hair, a lovely navy frock that hid her flaws and made the best of what she liked. Only her eyes seemed faded, distant.
She walked into the kitchen. The timer on the old oven had clicked itself off, but inside, fat still hissed and crackled. She heaved out the roasting tray. The duck was perfection: burnished skin, the scent of apple and cloves. A culinary masterpiecefor nobody.
She took it, still hot, to the sitting room and laid it on the table. Two plates, two glasses, candles she hadnt even had time to light. Silence thick enough to press her ears shut. The neighbours telly mumbled the news through the walls, but here, a vacancy reigned.
He wouldnt come back in an hour. Or in ninety minutes. The garage is a Bermuda triangle of English suburbia. Time trickles differently there: first they check the carburettor, then they discover its not the carb but something deeper. Someone cracks a can just to wet the whistle. Then next doors Tony shows up because his grandson was born, or his cats gone missing, and off it all goes.
Mary poured herself wine. Deep, crimson, sour-edged. She swallowed. Then sliced off a duck legthe most delicious bitand ate, mechanical, unseeing. Not hysteria inside herno, something icy, weighty, clear was rising. The fog that had wrapped her eyes for years seemed to fall away.
Hadnt this all happened before?
Last year, her birthdayhe turned up three hours late, claiming he was moving Mums settee. Couldve hired a van for fifty quid, but Richard insisted, Why pay, when Ive two hands? He arrived sweaty, muddy, foul-tempered, groused about his back the entire evening.
The summer before? They were meant to go to the seaside, tickets booked. But just before, Richard lent half their holiday money to Jim, who was in a fix with his loan, and said, Were mates, Mary, hell pay it back. Jim paid in dribs and drabs for months, and their holiday meant sitting in a B&B noshing Pot Noodles instead of the seaside chippy.
Mary looked at the second, empty plate. Ten yearsthe tin anniversary. Tins supposed to bend, but if you keep bending it the same way, it snaps.
She finished the duck, ignored the sides. Then, slow and smooth, started tidying. Salads to the fridge, wine recorked. Piled the dirty crockery in the dishwasher, didnt even turn it on.
By one in the morning, Richards phone was out of service. At two, it chimed: User online. Mary didnt call. She changed the bed, lay down, turned off the light, but no sleep. She lay open-eyed, listening to the lift rumble up and down.
The key turned at half-three. Richard tried to be silent, but every shuffle thundered in the darkness. He stubbed his toe, cursed under his breath, then rustled about, peeling off his jeans. He smelled like cheap fags, engine oil, and drunken sweatthat distinctive garage stench.
He slid into bed and tried to cuddle her.
You awake? he whispered, hot sour breath prickling her neck. Mary? Sorry, it all kicked off… Jims engine packed in, wasnt even the carb. We had to take half the thing apart. Up to my elbows in grease. I couldnt just leave him. Phone ran dry, no charger.
Mary edged right to the edge of the bed.
“Dont touch me, she said quietly.
Oh, come on, youre overreacting. I came back, didnt I? In one piece. Well celebrate tomorrow. Or, well, today now. Ill buy a cake…
He was snoring within a minute. Mary picked up a pillow and blanket and left for the sitting room. The air still faintly held the scent of ducklike a holiday that never happened.
In the morning, there were no apologies, just complaints. Richard shuffled into the kitchen, rumpled and bleary, while Mary drank coffee scrolling through work emails.
No breakfast? he yawned, opening the fridge. Oh, theres still salad. Grand. Wheres the duck?
In the fridge, in a box, Mary said, eyes on the laptop.
Could you warm it up? My heads banging. Need something proper.
Mary closed the laptop lid with measured calm.
No.
No…what?
I wont heat it. Youve got two hands. Those same golden hands that fixed Jims bangeruse them to warm your own food.
Richard stared, nonplussed. After rows, Mary would sulk a few hours but still do her wifely dutiesfeed, tidy, serve. That was the dance. Hed mess upshed bristlehed buy a Dairy Milk or mutter something sweetshed forgive.
Mary, youre not still fussing about last night? I told you, mate in trouble. Thats what friends do. You cant keep a man on a leash.
Im not keeping you, she replied, voice glass-smooth. Youre entirely free. And so am I. Im not obliged to look after you and your hangover.
That werent a sess, just a bit of repair! he snapped, spooning up salad straight from the Tupperware. Honestly, youre all nerves lately. Need some vitamins? Or is it that time of the month?
Mary regarded him with a long, clinical look, as if seeing him for the very first time. This man, shovelling Russian salad and dropping crumbs, was her husband? The one she trusted with her life? She thought about the flather nans, not hishe was only on the paperwork. Theyd done up the place with shared money, though if shes honest, it was mostly hersRichard always had another dry patch or tools broken, or Mum needs help.
Richard, she said, voice lowered. Wheres the money we put away for the window replacements?
He choked on salad. Eh? In the tin where it always is.
Its not there. I checked this morning. Its empty. Two thousand vanished.
Richard looked away, ears reddening.
Rightyes. I took it. Yesterday, before popping round to Jims. Needed the cash for parts. Had to help him out, urgent bill. Hell pay me back next month.
You took two grand out of our savings, didnt even tell me, and handed it to Jim for his old wreck? Weve skimped months to make it through this winter, and now
Oh, calm down about the money! He banged the spoon on the table. Hell pay back, swore on his life. Im the man in this house, I handle the money. What, I need your say-so for every nut and bolt?
You need to ask when you raid the shared pot. Especially if I fill it most months.
Oh, so youre throwing money in my face? he narrowed his eyes. Thats low. I thought you were better than this. Turned into a right little gold-digger, havent you.
He thumped out and turned the telly up high.
Mary sat at the kitchen table, feeling the last string inside her snap. The one that kept this toppling sculpture of family upright. She realised: the windows wont be replaced. Jim will never repay the moneyhes always got some disaster. And Richard will go on playing the noble friend with her cash, while she skimps on lunches and mascaras.
A week drew on, glacial and silent. They only exchanged clipped words for the basics. Richard acted wounded, as if he were the put-upon hero and Mary a harpy. He started coming home even later, sniffed out leftovers, turned in without a word.
Thursday, he bustled in earlyunusually cheerful. Handed her a bunch of yellow supermarket chrysanthemumsthe cheap sort grannies flog at the station.
Come on, lets drop it, he said, offering the flowers. Peace?
Mary set them in a vase.
Peace, she answered flatly. She didnt much care anymore. The plan in her mind was set, perfectly formed.
Brilliant! Richard beamed. No point mooching, eh? Listen, my birthday this Saturday. Remember?
Of course I do.
I was thinkinglets give the restaurant a miss, save the money. Lets have it here, just us lot. Ill invite Jim and his wife, and Tony, maybe six or seven all in. Youre a star in the kitchencould you do your roasts, your salads, a nice spread? Everyones been nagging to come and try your stuff again.
Mary fixed him with a look. In his eyes was pure confidence. He truly expected, after ruining their anniversary, nicking their savings (for that was theft), and ignoring her for a week, that shed throw herself into preparing his party feast.
All right, Mary smiledstrangely, but Richard didnt notice. Invite who you want. Saturday, two oclock.
Thats my girl! he tried to hug her, but she ducked away, fussing with the cloth. Write a shopping listIll get anything you need.
No need. She shook her head. Ill sort everything. I want to surprise you. You do like surprises, dont you?
Love them! Richard grinned. RightIll phone the lads.
Friday passed quietly. Mary popped to Tesco, brought home shopping bags. Richard tried to peek, but she playfully smacked his hands: No peeking, its all hush-hush. Most of the night, she rattled about the kitchen with pansbut the door stayed shut. The smells were odd: no baking, just bland and boiled. Richard shruggedshe must be prepping something elaborate.
Saturday morning. Richard woke fizzing with excitement. Mary was already up, hair neat, face done, crisp in a navy suit.
Why so formal? he wondered. Was hoping for your red dress.
This is better for today, she replied. Are the lads arriving soon?
Yeah, any moment. Jim texted, theyre on their way. Ill nip for a quick wash.
While he freshened up, Mary laid the table. When Richard emerged, doused in Old Spice, the guests were buzzing the intercom. He flung open the door; in tumbled Jim and the rest, plastic bags clattering with cans and takeaway wine.
Happy birthday, mate! Jim slapped Richard on the back. Whats Mary got for us then? Cant smell anythingmustve got a decent extractor fan!
They trooped into the lounge and froze.
The table, laid with the finest cloth, was decked…strangely. In the centre sat a heap of the cheapest supermarket tortelliniglued together as if a single lump. Around, bowls of instant noodlesRubbery, thick, congealed. Instead of posh cold-cuts: chunks of economy ham with the packaging still on in places. In crystal dishes, limp croutons and grim tins of pilchards, straight from the tin.
What…is this? Richards voice went thin. He stared at the table, then Mary. Mary, is this some sort of joke? Wheres the roast? Wheres the rest?
Silence fell like a dropped curtain. Jim eyed the table, then Richard, then Mary. Jims wife pursed her lips.
Mary stepped into the centre of the room, steady, almost dignified.
This, Richard, is a Garage Feastin honour of how you love spending time with your friends there, even over our anniversary. I thought Id recreate your beloved atmosphere. Please, guests, tuck in. This is the true fare of your brotherhood.
You mad or something? Richard hissed, turning scarlet. You humiliate me in front of everyone! Get this out, bring the real fooddo you think I didnt see you cooking last night?
I was making myself lunches for the week. Theyre in the fridge. Thisthis is for you lot. Bought with your own moneythe dregs after you emptied our savings.
Jim cleared his throat.
Mate, maybe we should go…Awkward, you know
Stay there! Richard barked. No ones leaving. Mary will fix this, wont you? Youll go to the kitchen, get the proper grub, apologise to everyone, and well forget this circus. Or else
Or else what? asked Mary, detached.
Or I cant promise Ill control myself. You forget, woman, this is my house, my guests.
Your house? Mary gave a short, cold laugh. Lets get one thing straight, since we have an audience. This flat is mineI inherited it from my nan three years before our marriage. English laws the same as everassets owned beforehand stay as mine alone. Youre only listed as residing here. That doesnt translate to ownership.
Richard gawped. Hed never heard Mary speak like thisusually all recipes, coupons, and holiday talk.
What are you on about? I did the DIY here, didnt I? Tiled the bathroom.
The tiler did thatI paid him out my bonus. I kept every receipt. The sum of your effort was hauling two bags of plaster, then celebrating with lager all week. Even if you sued, at most you could ask for cashcertainly not a share of the flat. And since you keep raiding our family pot for your own ends, its not looking good for you.
Sod this! he screamed, red-faced. Ill call the police! Tell them youve gone round the twist!
Go on then, she replied. Heres your stuff meanwhile.
She rolled out two big suitcases from the bedroom.
I packed everything. Your clothes, your muddy boots, your spanners. Even your mug, though it came with my set.
The guests pressed towards the door; Jims wife started pulling on her boots, dragging him after.
Richwell wait downstairs, yeah? Jim muttered, hurrying out. Soon, only Richard remained among the cold pasta and his bags.
Youre actually serious? he asked, voice small now. All the swagger had melted away. Mary, come on, weve both lost our heads. Want me to beg? Say sorry? I was an idiot, Ill graft hard, pay it back. Dont throw me out. Wherell I gomy mums? One-bed with cats?
Thats not my concern, Richard. Youre a grown man. Youve got your mates, youve got your car. Go and live as you please. But not here.
Youll regret this! he barked again, realising pleading was useless. Whod want you at thirty-eight? Divorced and alone! Ill find someone half your agesee if I dont! Youll rot in here with your cats!
Ill risk it, she replied, serene, swinging the door open. Out you go.
He hauled out his cases. His face was warped by spite. Cow. Money-grabbing snake! Ill sue for half the furniture! That TVs mine!
The tellys on my credit; Im paying for it. Ive got all the statements. Leave, Richard. Keys on the side.
He wavered, met her resolute gaze, then hurled the keys to the floor.
Choke on your precious house!
He dragged his bags out onto the landing. The door shut, hard.
Mary turned the lock twice, slipped on the chain. Leaned against the chilly metal and closed her eyes. Her heart banged like a drill, hands shook. But no tears came. Just a weightless, strange kind of lightness. As if shed finally shrugged off the boulder shed been dragging for ten years, thinking it was her happy home.
She went back inside. Gathered the lace cloth and its lumpen pasta, pot noodles, and sweaty ham into a bin bagdidnt even bother sorting, just tossed the lot. She flung open a window, letting the pilchard and aftershave air out.
Then she pulled the anniversary wine from the fridge, filled a glass, and dropped into an armchair.
The phone pinged. A message from Mum: Love, is the party a success? Is Richard happy?
Mary typed her response: It went perfectly, Mum. The best birthday hes ever had. And the first day of my new life.
Tomorrow shed change the locks. Mondaybook the solicitor. It would be uglyshouting, threats, perhaps wrangling over forks and spoons. But it didnt matter anymore. Tonight, for the first time in years, she wasnt alone at dinner. She was dining with herselfa clever, strong, free woman she was only just beginning to respect.
