Paul asked for my card on Wednesday over breakfast. His voice hit just the right noteconcerned, not alarmed.
“Kate, love, theres an urgent company paymentI need my card, but mines been blocked for a couple of days. Could you help me out?”
I wiped my hands on my apron, fished the card out of my purse, and handed it over. Paul took it quickly, almost as if he was worried I might change my mind, then kissed me on the crown of my head.
“Thank you, darling, you always come through for me.”
Twenty years of marriage had taught me not to ask too many questions. I trusted him. Or at least, I liked to think I did.
On Friday evening, while I was ironing the pillowcases, I heard Paul talking on the phone in the next room.
The door was ajar. His tone was light, nothing like the way he spoke to meeffusive and cheery.
“Mum, dont worry, its all sorted. The restaurants booked, table for six, the menus fantasticcocktails and sparkling wine, just as you like. No, she doesnt know a thing. Why should she? Told her wed celebrate at home, just us close ones.”
The iron froze in my grip.
“My naive wife wont suspect a thing. A country girl, Mum, you remember, shes from some little village. Twenty years in the city, but still a villager at heart. Of course Im paying with her card, mines blocked. But wait till you see the bash at The Sapphire Shore! She wouldnt step foot there, dont worry. Shell be home watching telly.”
I switched off the iron. Made my way to the kitchen, poured myself a glass of water, and downed it in one go. My hands were steady, but inside, there was nothingjust numbness, as if something had scraped every bit of life out of me.
Naive wife. Country woman. Her card.
I set my glass in the sink and stared out the window. Dusk melting against the glass. Maybe hes right. Maybe I really am simple. But even a mouse will bite when driven into a corner.
Saturday morning, I rang the bank and had the card blocked, saying Id lost it and was anxious about fraud.
Afterwards, I crossed to the other side of townback to the neighbourhood where I once lived, garden fences and clipped hedges.
Bill, in slippers, answered the door, eyebrows up in surprise.
“Kate? Blimey, its been ages. Don’t just stand there, come in.”
We sat at his kitchen table, drinking tea. I gave him the abbreviated versionno frills, just fact. He listened without a word.
“I get it,” he said. “Listen, Kate, dyou remember when you saved my family? When Dad lost his job and you turned up with a sack of potatoes, said you had too many. We knew it was your last. My turn now, isnt it? Their partys Monday night, yeah?”
“Banquets at nine. Ill ring you as soon as theyve ordered and ask for the bill. Slip in then. Ill have a word with the waiter.”
Come Monday evening, I wore a deep burgundy dressone Id sewn myself three years ago and never had a reason to wear. Hair done, makeup on. When I looked at my reflection, I didnt see a mouse.
Quarter to eleven, the phone buzzedBill.
“Head over. Theyve just asked for the bill. Hell try to pay with your card any moment.”
The cab got me there in twenty minutes. The restaurant gleamed with stained glass and gold trim. Bill was waiting in the foyer, nodded toward the dining room.
“Third table from the window,” he muttered.
I walked in. The place was buzzing with laughter, glassware chiming. As I threaded my way through the tables, I saw themPaul at the head, his mother, Mrs. Thomas, resplendent in a brown suit, his sister Marina with her husband. Empty plates, wine glasses, the remains of dessert were scattered about.
The waiter set the bill on a tray and brought it over. Paul didnt even glance at the total, just plucked my card from his pocket and set it down, like hed earned every penny himself.
“Service is brilliant, Mum,” he boomed, surveying the feast. “Told you Id throw you a real shindignone of this low-key rubbish, proper royal treatment.”
Mrs. Thomas nodded approvingly, adjusting her hair.
“Thats my boy. This is how it should be done, not like some people who only know how to fuss with their sewing machine and keep their heads down in the corner.”
Marina stifled a giggle. Paul grinned, basking in it all.
“You know me, Mum. Only the best for you. Lucky I’ve got the means.”
The waiter ran the card. Once. Again. Scanned the screen, brows furrowed, and returned to the table.
“Sorry, sir. The cards declined. Its been blocked.”
Paul turned pale.
“What? Try again!”
“Ive tried three times, sir. Its not valid.”
I walked up to the table. Mrs. Thomas spotted me first, her face lengthening.
“Katharine?” Paul choked, half-standing. “You what are you doing here?”
I looked him squarely in the eye, my voice calm and level.
“I came to the party. The one you paid for with my money. Without me.”
The silence was so thick you could hear the clink of glasses from the next table.
“Kate, listen, its all a misunderstanding,” Paul reached out, but I stepped back.
“Its not a misunderstanding, Paul. Its a lie. I heard your whole call with your mother on Friday. Every word.”
About the country wife. About how Id never suspect a thing, sitting at home with the telly while you splashed out here.
Marina stared into her plate. Mrs. Thomas clutched at her napkin.
“You were eavesdropping?” Paul snapped. “Spying on me?”
“I was ironing, Paul, you were shouting loud enough for the street to hearbragging about what a clever lad youd been, putting one over on your wife. Not eavesdropping. You just didnt care if I heard. You thought the mouse wouldnt bite.”
Paul tried to steady himself.
“Fine, I admit it. But can we talk about this at home, please? Not here.”
“No, Paul. Well do it now. I cancelled the card on Saturday, told the bank it was stolen. Because you took it without telling me and tried to spend my money on things I wasnt even told about. So, my dear husband, youll have to pay in cash. If you can.”
Bill walked over, arms folded.
“If theres any trouble covering the bill,” he said quietly, “Ill have to call the police. Someone has to settle up.”
Pauls face drained from white to scarlet.
“Kate, do you understand what youve done? Youre humiliating me!”
“Am I?” I smiled. “You did that yourself, Paul. When you decided your village wife wasnt even worthy of honesty.”
Mrs. Thomas shot up, jabbing her finger at me.
“How dare you speak to him like that?! Youre nothing! Worthless without him!”
I stared at her for a long time before replying softly, “Maybe. But at least now I dont have to pretend. Thats better than playing the naive wife.”
It took them twenty minutes to scrape the money together. Paul emptied his wallet, Mrs. Thomas her handbag, and Marina and her husband turned out their pockets. Coins were counted, notes compared, hushed arguments. The waiter stood impassively. Curious diners tried not to stare.
I stood to one side, watching as all the showy glamour, all the posturing and lies, fell apart piece by piece.
When at last they had enough, I slipped an envelope from my bag and set it in front of Paul.
“Divorce papers. You can read them at home.”
Then I turned and walked away, back straight, step firm. Bill held the door, murmuring, “Keep your chin up, Katharine.”
The city night met me with cold wind, but something warm and light was spreading through my chest. Freedom.
The divorce came through three months later. Paul called, apologising, begging for another chance, but I never replied. I got half the proceeds from the sale of the flat.
He rung again, a year after.
“Kate, I was wrong. Mum lives with me now, nags me every day, Ive lost my job Cant we put this right?”
“No, Paul.”
I hung up. And that was that.
Sometimes, I think back to that night at the restaurant. Walking through the crowd, watching Pauls face as I left the papers on the table. I realiseit wasnt the end at all. It was the beginning.
I bumped into Marina at the shops not long ago. She looked away. I didnt bother calling after her. No need. We just belong to different worlds now.
Yesterday, Bill dropped round.
“Well, Katharine, any regrets?”
I gazed out the window. Spring was blooming, sunlight flooding the world.
“Not one, Bill.”
He nodded.
“Thats right. No point regretting what youve doneonly what you havent.”
