I stopped speaking to my husband after what he did at my birthday party, and for the first time, he was frightened
Well then, lets raise a glass to the birthday girl! Forty-five still in her prime, though in Marys case Id say shes a bit more like a dried fruit than a summer berry still good for the digestion! called out Richard, his voice booming across the modest function room above the Crown & Anchor. He drowned out even the music, his cheer filling the oak-panelled space.
The guests, gathered around the long oak table, froze in their seats. A few managed awkward laughs to smooth over the tension, while others stared fixedly at their plates, earnestly trying to spear a stray olive. Mary, seated at the head in her new navy dress the one she had deliberated over for a fortnight felt her cheeks drain of colour. The smile she had worn since the start of the evening turned brittle and tight.
Richard, thoroughly pleased with himself, upended a measure of gin and dropped heavily onto the chair beside Mary, slinging a clammy arm about her shoulders.
Whats with the long faces? Marys got a sense of humour, shell let me off right, love? he bellowed, giving her back a hearty slap as if she were an old pal at the pub. Always thrifty, my Mary. That dress how old is it now? Three years? Looks good as new, doesnt it?
It was a lie. The dress was brand new, paid for with money Mary had painstakingly set aside from part-time translation jobs. Confronting Richard in front of friends, colleagues, and relatives wouldve brought the evening to ruin. She gently moved his hand from her shoulder and took a small sip of water. Somewhere behind her ribs an icy knot began to form. In the past she mightve made a witty retort just as long as you dont start looking a bit mouldy, darling but something within her had finally short-circuited.
The rest of the evening unfolded on autopilot. Richard grew ever more boisterous, drank steadily, tried coaxing Marys younger co-workers onto the dance floor, and held forth loudly about politics and how women have brought this country to its knees. Mary accepted presents, thanked her guests, ensured everyones plates were full but did so with the mechanical precision of a wind-up doll. In her mind there rang a ringing, crystalline silence, one through which her husbands drunken boasts faded to nothingness.
After returning home, Richard, barely pausing to remove his brogues, trudged straight to the bedroom.
Well, that was a cracking night, he grunted, working at his shirt buttons. Your boss, Andrew, bit of a dodgy one, eh? Had a look at me like Id nicked his car. Probably jealous Ive got a wife as… patient as you. Mary, love, fetch us a sparkling water, Im parched.
Mary stood in the hallway, gazing at her reflection in the mirror: tired eyes, streaked mascara. She silently slipped off her heels and aligned them neatly on the rack. She wandered to the kitchen though not to fetch his drink. She filled herself a glass of water, drinking it slowly, eyes fixed on the darkened window with the hum of the high street beyond. Then she went to the lounge, fetched a spare blanket and pillow from the cupboard, and made up a bed on the settee.
Mary? Whereve you got to? Cmon, love, bring us that water! drifted his voice from the bedroom.
Mary switched off the corridor light, lay down on the sofa, and pulled the blanket over her head. Night fell, but sleep wouldnt come. There were no thoughts of revenge or making a scene. Just a piercing, lucid realisation: that was the last straw. The account was empty, the tally complete.
For the first time in decades, the morning didnt start with the chattering of the coffee grinder. Usually, Mary would rise half an hour before Richard to make his breakfast, iron his shirt, and pack him a lunch. That day, Richard woke to silence and the beep of his alarm. The flat didnt smell of frying eggs or fresh coffee.
Shuffling into the kitchen, scratching his belly, he spotted Mary at the table, already dressed, reading on her tablet, an empty cup before her.
No breakfast? yawned Richard, egging open the fridge. Thought there were scones left over?
Mary didnt look up. She turned the page, sipped her cooling tea, and carried on reading.
Mary! Are you deaf after all that noise last night? Richard demanded, holding up a stick of salami.
She stood, calmly collected her bag, checked for her keys, and headed for the door.
Oi! Wherere you off to? And my shirt? My blue ones still not ironed!
The front door closed with a sharp click as he was left standing in his vest and pants, clutching a lump of sausage, baffled.
Suit yourself. Must be her time of the month. Or sulking over a joke. Shell get over it by tonight. Women and their dramas.
That evening, when he returned, the flat was dark. There was no sign of Mary, odd for her. He rang her the phone rang out. Richard reheated yesterdays pasta, watched the telly, and went to bed, plotting a scolding for her return.
Mary slipped in after hed fallen asleep. He didnt stir as she made herself up on the lounge sofa. The next morning, the pattern repeated. No breakfast, no good morning, no lunchbox. She simply readied herself and left without a word.
By the third day it was getting under his skin.
Enough of the silent treatment! Richard barked, catching her in the hallway as she put on her shoes. Everyone says something daft once in a while! We were just having a laugh, letting our hair down. What are you, the Queen now? Sorry, alright? Where are my black socks? None left in my drawer!
Mary looked at him, her gaze steady and cool, as though regarding not her husband of twenty years, but a patch of damp on the skirting. Unpleasant, but not life-threatening. Without a word she turned, picked up her umbrella, and left.
By weeks end, the flat began to change. The clothes Richard had always found clean and folded now piled up on a chair in the bedroom. The fridge, once full of ready meals, now held only eggs, butter, milk, and a few vegetables but no pies, stews, or roast dinners. The dirty dishes he left in the sink now stayed there, crusting over.
Determined, Richard declared, I wont wash up. Shell give in first, but Mary calmly washed her own plate and fork, ate, washed up again, and put them away. His pile grew ever larger.
On Saturday, he switched tactics. He bought a cream cake and a bouquet of chrysanthemums.
Come on, Mary, no more sulks, he said, placing the cake on the kitchen table where she sat tapping at her laptop. Lets have a nice cuppa. I know youre about.
She raised her eyes. They were empty. She quietly closed her laptop, stood, and left the kitchen. A minute later, he heard the bathroom door bang and the sound of running water.
In a temper, Richard pitched the flowers into the bin.
Suit yourself, Ill be fine on my own! Did fine before you, can manage again! Manipulator, thats what you are!
With a show of independence, he ordered pizza, cracked open a beer, and blasted the football. Mary walked out in her pyjamas, completely ignoring him, plugged earplugs in, and settled on the lounge sofa, back to the room.
So the month limped by. Richard swung between anger, attempts to rile her into an argument, and ham-fisted bribery, but nothing drew her back. Ignoring someone who no longer saw you at all turned out harder than any shouting match like lobbing a tennis ball at a wall and having it bounce straight back, while the wall didnt care.
He noticed his life start to unravel. He wrangled with the iron but never managed a crisp shirt. Takeaways left him poorer and queasier. The flat slowly succumbed to dust; Mary only cleaned her own corner while Richard stubbornly refused to lift a finger.
But the truly chilling moment came on Tuesday evening. Richard, home early and fuming after a telling-off from his boss, aimed to let off steam. He logged onto his bank to pay the car loan his pride and joy, a nearly-new Ford hed taken out two years back.
The screen flashed: Insufficient funds.
He blinked. How so? His wages had come in yesterday. He checked the statement and went cold. Usually, he and Mary both paid into their joint account, from which bills, groceries, and the loan were paid; Mary always made up any shortfall from her account.
Now, only Richards money sat in the pot, amounting to less than the monthly payment thanks to some recent pub nights and a bumper repair. Hed assumed Mary would cover the rest, as always.
He burst into the lounge. Mary was reading.
Whats all this?! he shouted, waving his phone at her. Loans due tomorrow wheres the money, Mary?
She slowly set her book aside.
Wheres your share, Mary? Why havent you transferred it?
She just looked at him.
Gone mute, have you? Well get fined the accountll default!
Mary sighed, put away her book, and pulled a sheet of paper from the folder on the coffee table, handing it to him silently.
It was a petition for divorce.
Richard scanned it, the words sliding about before his eyes no longer maintaining a joint household…, marital relations at an end…
Youre serious?! he croaked, his voice pitching. Over a joke? Over a toast? Mary, are you mad? Twenty years down the drain over nothing?
She took a notepad and pen, wrote swiftly, and turned it to him.
Its not about the joke. Its because you stopped respecting me a long time ago. The flat is mine, left to me by my grandmother. The car is in your name, so is the loan. I am seeking my share of the assets. The car stays with you, but you must repay me half of whats been paid so far. I shall be at my mothers cottage during proceedings. You have one week to find somewhere to live.
Richard read those words and felt the ground fall away. The London flat, technically, had been hers since before they married, and in twenty years hed pushed that fact from his mind. He was only a resident, not the owner.
What cottage? Where am I meant to go? he stammered, slumping into an armchair. Mary, you know Ive the loan plus child maintenance for James. Theres no way Ill manage rent too!
Mary looked at him, not gloating, just weary. She wrote again.
Youre a grown man. Youll cope. You called me an old wreck in front of everyone. No one needs to live with that. Find someone younger and lively. I want peace.
I was joking! Richard wailed. Just a joke! Everyone teases like that! Mary, dont do this Ill get down on my knees!
And indeed he slid to the floor, grabbing at her hand. Mary recoiled and stood. Then she walked into the bedroom and began to pack.
Now Richard was truly frightened a cold, sticky fear. Only now did he see he wasnt just losing Mary, but his entire way of life. Whod cook? Remind him about the dentist? Listen to his grumbling? Patch the holes in his spending?
He realised he was utterly alone. His mates were good at a pint, but none would take him in. His mother, widowed, lived in a poky flat across the city, ruled by five cantankerous cats and a temperament worse than Margaret Thatcher.
He dashed into the bedroom. Mary calmly folded jumpers, blouses, underwear, set into neat piles.
Dont do this, Mary, he babbled. Lets talk. We could try counselling its all the rage. Ill change. Quit the drink, get therapy anything!
Mary didnt turn. The suitcase snapped shut, the sound as final as a gunshot.
Its night now, just stay here until morning lets talk it through. Were family! Richard pleaded, barring her way.
She looked him full in the face. For the first time in weeks, some emotion flickered in her eyes not anger, but pity. The sad, quiet pity people have for a wounded sparrow.
She took out her phone, typed a note and held it up:
Family do not belittle one another in public, nor trample those who care for them. I endured your crassness ten years, thought it was just your way. Turns out it was laziness. You banked on me never leaving. You were wrong. Step aside.
She gently brushed past, wheeled her suitcase to the hall.
Im not giving up the car! Or paying anything back! he shouted desperately.
Mary paused at the door, pulling on her mac. Turning, she spoke, voice hoarse but steady, for the first time in a month:
Youll pay, Richard. The courts will see to it and you can cough up my solicitors fees as well. Thats what I saved last year the bonus you wanted for that new fishing rod. Post the keys when you leave. Youve until Sunday.
The door clicked shut.
Richard remained, alone in the gloom. The silence now pressed in, piercing and absolute. He heard the drone of the fridge, the drip of a tap hed promised to mend months ago.
He slumped into Marys chair in the kitchen. The petition lay there, official seal and all.
His phone pinged Your car loan payment is due tomorrow.
Richard buried his face in his hands. For the first time in fifty years he wept, not from heartbreak, but from the bitter realisation that his own tongue and habits had led to ruin.
Three days blurred by. Marys number blocked him. His mother-in-law, always polite before, answered crisply: You brewed this yourself, Richard. Leave Mary be her blood pressures bad enough.
That Thursday, Richard began to pack. He found he owned surprisingly little: clothes, fishing rods, toolbox, laptop. All that made the place a home curtains, vases, pictures, cushions, every spoon and mug were Marys. Without her, the flat was bare concrete and echo.
Stowing socks, he came across an old photo album. He opened to a holiday snap from ten years ago: the two of them on Brighton beach, Mary laughing, his arm proudly round her shoulder. In those days, shed looked at him with wonder. When had that left? When had she become a convenience: Fetch, carry, wash, be quiet?
Fool, he said into the silence. What an old fool I am.
On Sunday he left with his last bag, dropping the keys in the letterbox as told. Standing on the street, he looked up at what was once their now her window. Darkness.
He slid behind the wheel, started the car. The petrol gauge hovered low, his bank card nearly empty. He had nowhere to go but his mothers. He pictured her nicotine-stained kitchen: Told you so, didnt I? She was never for you!
Richard punched the steering wheel hard. The pain cleared his head a moment. He scrolled through his contacts not a soul he could ring for sympathy, just a parade of drinking pals and judgment.
He pulled away, stretching out into an uncertain, lonely future where hed have to learn to iron, cook soup, and perhaps mind his words. But the worst of it wasnt practical hardship. The worst was knowing that hed destroyed, with his own carelessness, the only place in the world where hed been loved for no reason at all.
Meanwhile, Mary sat wrapped in a tartan rug on the veranda of her mothers country cottage, sipping mint tea. Her heart felt empty, yet calm. Shed turned off the phone. The road ahead was unclear, with legal wrangling to come but she knew she would manage. The hardest part was already behind: living with a man who made you feel alone. Somewhere in the plum orchard a nightingale sang, and the air smelt of lilac and freedom. For the first time in years, the staleness of gin didnt drown it out. She drew a deep breath, and for the first time in a month, smiled for real.
