Im leaving, so you realise what youve lost! Have a week alonehowl at the moon without a man in the house. Maybe then youll start appreciating a bit of care! James loftily threw a pack of socks into his duffel bag, nearly knocking my favourite vase off the shelf.
Leaning against the door frame, I silently watched his dramatic little show. Underneath, I could barely hold back a mix of indignation and a bout of hysterical laughter. My husbandthirty years old and still a mummys boystood in my (yes, my!) one-bedroom flat, bought with my money well before our wedding, and threatened me with his absence as if the walls would crumble and Id shrivel up from lack of his precious company.
It all started, as usual, after a Sunday visit to Mrs. Margaret, my mother-in-law. Margaret is one-of-a-kind: she can compliment you so skillfully it feels like a subtle insult, and dispense advice with the tone of a headmistress berating a naughty schoolchild.
James came back charged up from his mums. I knew it the moment he stepped in: lips pursed, eyes scanning for some household atrocity, nostrils flaring in search of dust.
Emma, why are the towels in the bathroom hanging out of order again? He didnt even take his shoes off at the door. Mum says it creates visual clutter and ruins the homes harmony.
I exhaled, stirring the stew.
James, your mums entire theory of harmony is leftover from 90s television. The towels are arranged for convenience, not Chi.
He glowered, stormed into the kitchen, and jabbed at the saucepan lid.
Chopped vegetables again? Mum says a proper wife purees everythingits easier to digest for a mans stomach. Honestly, youre just being lazy.
James, I put down the spoon, Your mums got no teeth because she scrimped on the dentist to buy a third china set for the display cabinet. Youve got teethso use them and chew.
He turned crimson and gulped a breath, no doubt ready to spout more of mums gospel, but stopped short.
You youre just ungrateful! he huffed, Mums practically a domestic science expert, for your information!
James, your mother worked as a hall porter for twenty years and calls herself an expert because she likes the sound of it, I replied with the iciest smile.
He stared, searching for a comeback, but his brain clearly stalled. His eyes blinked, teeth ground, and he waved dismissively, exasperated. The whole scene was so ridiculoushe looked just like a penguin.
That was when he decided to teach me a lesson.
Thats it! Ive had enough of your cheek! he declared, zipping up his bag. Im going to Mums. For a week. Reflect on your behaviour. When I return, I expect perfect orderand a written apology!
The front door slammed shut. Silence.
It was oddI felt both a hollow pang and a surge of relief. He left, thinking Id suffer, left me in peace and quiet in my own home? A stroke of genius.
But fate was about to outdo Jamess tantrums.
Monday morning, my boss summoned me.
Emma Campbell, projects on fire at the Bristol branch. I need you therethree months. The day after tomorrow. Double allowance, bonus tooenough for a new car. Youre my only hope.
Wings seemed to unfurl across my back. Three months! Three glorious months without James or Margarets nagging, in a new cityby the harbour, with great pay.
Im in, I blurted.
Then I had a thought. My flat would sit empty for three months. Bills dont pay themselves. Just then, my friend Laura called.
Em, help! My sister, her husband, and their three kids just came up from the coast. They need somewhere to stayhotels too dear. Theyre noisy, but theyll pay you up front for the lot.
A wicked plan hatched instantly. The pieces fell into place.
Laura, they can move in tomorrow. Ill leave the keys with the porter. Only one thing: if a man turns up causing troublesend him packing.
That evening I boxed up valuables to take to Mums, prepared the place, and ignored Jamess callshe still fancied himself my teacher. Fine.
On Tuesday, I jetted off, and in moved the lively Bainbridge family: dad Harold, mum Susan, their trio of stair-step kids, plus a huge, excitable Labrador called Duke.
A week ticked by.
As I heard later, James held out a heroic seven days at Margarets. It turns out, at close quarters, her loving ways were more suffocating than nurturing.
James, dont slurp at breakfast.
James, why are you flushing twice? Waters not free!
Son, sit properlyyoull end up with a hunch like Uncle Bob!
By the end of the week, James was howling. He decided hed punished me enough, assumed Id spent days weeping and realising his greatness. Time for a triumphant return.
He bought three limp carnations (forgiveness, apparently) and went home.
The key didnt fit. He frowned, jiggled the handle. Locked tightly. Doorbell.
Inside, the stampede sounded like a herd charging, followed by Dukes thunderous bark.
Whos there? boomed a deep voice.
James recoiled.
Its meJames. The husband. Let me in!
The door flew open. There was Haroldbuilt like a rugby prop, barbecue fork in hand (mid-barbecue, obviously). Duke stood beside him, tongue lolling.
Husband? Sorry, mateEmmas not here, shes away. Were the tenants, rents paid, contracts here. Who are you?
I Im the owner! James squeaked, losing what little composure remained. Its my flatwell, my wifes… We live here!
Listen, pal, Harold patted Jamess shoulder with the greasy fork, leaving a blotch on his shirt, Emma said hubbys off living with his mum, flats free, we moved in. Off you go. Dont bother us. Susan, pass the relish!
Slam. Door closed.
My phone erupted with calls minutes later. I was dining out on St Nicholas Street, sipping white wine, enjoying grilled scallops.
Yes? I answered, lazily.
What on earth have you done?! James bellowed so loudly I had to hold the phone away. Who are these people in our flat? Why wont they let me in? I come back to this circus?!
James, chill, I replied coolly. You left. Said youd be away for a week or maybe forever, so I could learn. Well, Ive learned. Living alones expensive and dull. So I let the flat out. Three-month contract.
Three months?! He nearly screeched. Where am I supposed to live?
Well, youre at your mums. Towels are in perfect harmony, soups pureed. Enjoy it. Im away on business. Ill be back eventually.
Ill call a solicitor! The police! James raged.
Do what you like. The flats in my name, the tenancys legal, I pay tax. Are you on the lease? No. Youre not even a lodger, James. Just an ex-guest who overstayed his welcome.
I hung up.
Ten minutes later, Margaret called. I answered just for the entertainment.
Emma! How dare you? Youve turfed my poor boy out onto the street! Its inhumane! According to law, a wife must keep a home and a hot supper for her husband!
Mrs. Martin, I cut her off, relishing every word, the law states spouses are equal, and the deed has only my name. Your son decided to educate me by leaving. Lesson learned. The pupil outsmarted the teacher.
You you greedy wretch! she gasped. A real man needs his own space! Youre tearing the family apart! Ill write to the union!
Write to the BBC if you like, I laughed. Anyway, Mrs. Martin, you always claimed James was a treasure. Well, hes all yours now. Dont forget to puree his peasseems hes forgotten how to chew.
She sputtered, tried to curse me, choked on her own fury, and hung up with a noise like a fax machine swallowing a page.
The three months flew by. I returned, a new haircut, a healthy bank account, and a crystal-clear sense of what I did and didnt want from life.
The flat was spotlessHarold and Susan were model tenants. Theyd even fixed the leaky tap, a job James never had time for in a year.
James turned up a couple of hours after my return, looking pitiful: thinner, grey-faced, crumpled shirtthree months with his beloved mum had aged him.
Emma he began, staring at the floor. Lets stop all this. Ive thought it all over. Mum went a bit far too. Lets start afresh? Ive brought my stuff back.
He tried to step in.
I blocked him with his suitcase.
James, theres nothing to start. You wanted me to value a man in the house? I doHarold fixed that tap in half an hour. Youd been moaning for a year and never bought a washer.
But Im your husband! he blurted. For a second, I saw a scared little boy about to be banned from the playground.
You used to be. Now youre just dead weight, I replied. Your things are with the porter. Hand over the keys.
You wouldnt dare! he tried an old blustering tone. Ill sue for half the refurb!
James, my dad did the refurb; Ive got the receipts. All you did was whinge at the wallpaper. Shows over. Intermissions finished. Everyones gone home.
He gaped, still trying to figure out when his genius plan shifted into total personal defeat.
I shut the door. The click of the lock sounded like the starting pistol for my new life.
Apparently, James still lives with his mum. People say Margaret now controls everything, right down to his bedtime and who he chats to. James walks hunched, quiet, always staring at his shoesalways wary of stepping on one of his mothers invisible emotional landmines.
Sometimes, lifes greatest gift is learning you dont need someone whos meant to teach you your worth. Sometimes, you find you knew it all along.
