Im leaving so you realise what youve lost! Live a week alone, howl at the moon without a man about, maybe then youll learn to appreciate a bit of care! Alex declared, flamboyantly chucking a handful of socks into his old gym bag, nearly knocking my favourite vase off the shelf.
Leaning against the doorframe, I watched his whole production in silence. Inside I was boiling a sharp blend of wounded pride and the urge to burst out laughing. My husband, a thirty-year-old lad in trainers, stood in the middle of my bought by me, before marriage! little London flat and threatened me with his absence. He must have genuinely believed the walls would cave in without his priceless company, that Id shrivel up like a forgotten houseplant.
As usual, this all kicked off after Sunday lunch with his mother, Dorothy. Now, Dorothy is a breed apart she gives compliments in a way that makes you want to leap off a bridge, and dispenses advice with the gusto of a drill sergeant scolding for muddy boots.
Alex came back from hers fully loaded, you could tell straight away: lips pursed, an inspecting glare, nostrils flaring for dust.
Emily, why arent the bathroom towels hung by colour again? he called out, still in his shoes. Mum says it makes the place look a mess and ruins the chi in the flat.
I took a deep breath.
Alex, your mum only knows about chi from that 90s telly show. The towels are up how I like them. Theyre for drying hands, not spiritual healing, I replied, giving my casserole another stir.
He sulked, strode into the kitchen and prodded the pan lid.
Chunky veg again? Mum says a proper wife should mash everything. Easier for a mans digestion. Youre just lazy.
Alex, I put down the spoon. Your mums only eating mash cause she never shelled out for a decent dentist always spent her money on pointless crockery sets. Youve got your own teeth. Use them.
His face went crimson, chest puffed in preparation for another round of mums wisdom, but he faltered.
Youre just ungrateful! he finally spluttered. My mums an expert in housekeeping, you know!
Alex, your mum worked on reception her whole life. She only calls herself an expert because she likes how it sounds, I shot back, voice icy.
He froze, searching for a comeback as his brain stalled. He blinked, ground his teeth and waved a hand as if batting away a fly.
He looked absolutely ridiculous like a penguin on a treadmill.
Thats when he decided it was time to teach me a lesson.
Thats it! Ive had enough of your attitude! he announced, zipping his bag. Im off to Mums. For a week. Think about your behaviour. When Im back I expect this place spotless and apologies. In writing!
The front door slammed. Silence at last.
I felt a weird mixture of emptiness and relief. Slightly stung, yes. But hed left his punishment as me being comfortable in peace and quiet? Brilliant tactics.
Except fate had something far better planned for me than Alexs drama.
Monday morning my boss called me in:
Ms. Waters, we need someone in the Manchester branch projects urgent. I need you to fly up tomorrow, three months. Youll get double per diems and a bonus big enough for a new car. Can you help? Theres nobody else.
Standing in his office, I felt like wings unfurled behind me. Three months! No Alex, no daily calls from Dorothy, a new city (even if its just Manchester), and very decent pay.
Ill do it, I agreed instantly.
As I left, I realised the flat would be empty while I was away and bills in London are no joke. Just then, my mate Hannah rang.
Em, disaster! My sisters lot just came up from Dorset their place is being renovated and they cant afford a hotel. Three kids, her husband, total chaos. But they can pay cash up front!
In my mind a little devil hatched a plan. The puzzle clicked in place.
Hannah, tell them to move in. Keysll be with the porter tomorrow. Just one rule if some bloke turns up wanting to throw his weight around, kick him out.
That evening I packed anything valuable into a box and dropped it at Mums. As for Alex he wasnt answering calls. Still playing hard to get. Fine by me.
I flew out next morning. Meanwhile, my flat filled with the laughter, racket and haphazard joy of the Broadbent family: Rob, Sara, three wild kids, and their enormous, thunderous golden retriever, Duke.
One week passed.
Alex, as I later found out, lasted the full week at his mothers. Turns out Dorothy is best kept at arms length in her own home, her love must have felt like a chokehold.
Alexander, dont slurp, shed scold at breakfast.
Alex, why are you flushing twice? The water bill!
Sit up straight, son, or youll end up like Uncle Graham hunched and miserable.
By the end of the week Alex had enough. He decided I would have spent my time weeping and realising how marvellous he was. He would return in triumph.
He bought a sad bundle of carnations (his idea of forgiveness, apparently) and headed home.
Walking up, he imagined me in terror and joy. Key in the lock wouldnt turn. He frowned, pulled the handle. Locked. Pressed the bell.
Inside: a stampede and Dukes booming bark, shaking the door.
Whos there? a broad West Country accent thundered.
Alex flinched.
Erm Its Alex. The husband. Open up!
The door flew open. Rob, big as a barn door, appeared with barbeque tongs in hand (it turned out they were grilling). Duke, tongue lolling, stood there beside him.
Husband? Rob looked confused. No Emily here. Shes away. Were letting proper contract, paid up. Who are you, mate?
I I own this place! Alex squeaked, losing his nerve. My our home!
Listen, pal, Rob clapped him on the back with his greasy tongs, leaving a smudge, Emily said: no husband about, hes off living with his mum. Flats empty. Go back to her, eh? Let decent folk enjoy a bit of peace. Sara, bring the ketchup!
The door shut in Alexs face.
A minute later my mobile practically exploded. I was relaxing, glass of sauvignon in hand, in a restaurant overlooking the Manchester canals.
Hello? I answered lazily.
What on earth is this, Em?! Alex was bellowing so loud I held the phone away Who are these people in OUR flat? Why wont they let me in? I get back and its like a circus!
Calm down, I interrupted coolly. You left, Alex. Said youd be gone a week, maybe more, to teach me a lesson. I got the lesson loud and clear. Living solo is costly and lonely. So I got tenants. Three months contract.
Three months?! his voice jumped an octave. Where am *I* supposed to live?
Well, youre at your mums. Towels all colour-coordinated, mashed food, a feng shui paradise. Enjoy. Im on a work trip, wont be home for ages.
Ill file for divorce! Or call the police! he shrieked.
Go ahead. Flats in my name. Letting contract is legit, I pay my taxes. And youre not on the deeds, are you, Alex? So youre well, nobody. A guest who ruined the welcome.
Call ended.
Ten minutes later, Dorothy phoned. I couldnt resist answering for the spectacle alone.
Emily! she screeched, voice like shattered glass. How dare you?! Kicking your husband out on the street! Its appalling! The Law says a wife must provide hot dinners and a loving home!
Dorothy, I interrupted, savouring the moment. The law says partners are equal. The flat belongs to me, always has. If your son wanted to play at discipline by storming off, mission accomplished. Student outdid the teacher.
You you selfish, greedy wretch! she hissed. A man needs his own space! Youre destroying our family! Ill write to my union!
Write to whoever you like, I laughed. And do remember, Dorothy, you always said Alex was gold. Treasure your golden boy. Just dont forget the mashed potatoes now hes forgotten how to chew.
She tried to curse me, but ended up gurgling in rage. The way she slammed the phone down reminded me of a fax chewing up paper.
Those three months flew by. I returned, hair newly styled, purse heavier, and utterly clear that I didnt want my old life back.
The flat was immaculate Rob and Sara turned out to be lovely, even fixing the leaky tap Alex had dithered over for a year.
Alex turned up two hours later. He looked pitiful thinner, grey, crumpled shirt. Three months of mums love had aged him.
Em, he began, eyes on his shoes. Time to stop sulking, eh? I I get it. Mum went too far. Lets start again? Ive got my stuff with me.
He tried to push past into the hall.
I blocked him with my suitcase.
Alex, theres nothing to start again. You wanted me to value the man of the house? Well, I do. Rob fixed a year-long drip in half an hour. You whinged for twelve months about buying a washer.
But Im your husband! panic flashed in his eyes, that frightened look of a child losing his spot in the sandpit.
Was husband, became baggage, I said. Your things are with the porter, keys please.
You wouldnt dare! Ill sue for half the renovations!
Alex, my dad did the work all receipts here. You only ever wallpapered the living room with your moans.
Staring him down, I smiled. End of the show. Curtains down. Audience left.
He just stood there, blinking, not realising his master plan to school me had completely backfired.
I shut the door. The click of the lock sounded like the start gun to my new life.
Word is, Alex still lives with Dorothy who now controls not just his meals, but his bedtime and who he talks to on the phone. He walks about hunched, silent, always watching his step, terrified of tripping Dorothys minefield of moods.
My lesson? Never let anyone convince you their absence is a punishment sometimes, its the greatest gift you could hope for.
