Victoria was standing at the kitchen sink, a din of clattering plates echoing through the small semi-detached, when John drifted in as if through mist. Before entering, he flicked off the light with a click that seemed to echo back and forth down endless corridors.
Its light enough in here, he grumbled, his voice mingling oddly with the noise of running water. No point wasting the electricity.
I was going to put a wash on, Victoria answered, staring hazily at the tap.
Put it on at night, John replied briskly, his words tumbling and bouncing off odd surfaces. Its cheaper after midnight. And you dont need to run the water like that. You go through gallons, Victoria. Gallons and gallons. Daft, really. Dont you see its just pouring our money down the drain?
John twisted the tap shut, reducing the water to a sad trickle before Victoria stopped it altogether. She dried her hands on a towel that seemed to blur and elongate, then sat at the table, watching the curtains flutter strangely in a wind she couldnt feel.
John, she murmured, do you ever look at yourself from the outside?
All the time, he snapped, eyes narrowing, Im always looking at myself from the outside.
And what do you see? Victorias heart thudded distantly, like church bells over the hills.
As a person? Johns brow creased.
As a husband. As a father.
Husband like any other, came his answer, oddly flat, dull as old brass. Father like any other. Nothing special, nothing bad. Average. Why are you badgering?
Do you mean to say all husbands, all fathers, are like you? Victorias voice carried and faded, as if she herself was speaking through fog.
What are you getting at? John demanded, as distant as a figure at the end of a railway platform. Looking for a row?
Victoria felt a strange tide pulling her along. She knew there was no turning back, that in the slippery logic of this dream, she had to keep going, keep speaking until he finally understood that sharing his life with him was a slow drip of suffering.
Tell me, Johndo you know why youve never left me? she asked suddenly.
And why would I leave? John tossed the question back, a sharp slant to his mouth.
Because you dont love me. You dont love the children, Victoria said, her voice warping, echoing through invisible tunnels.
John made to protest, but Victoria swept forward.
Dont bother denying it. You dont love anyone. And we dont need to waste time arguing. Thats not what I want to say. Its about why you stay. Why you havent left me and the children.
John blinked once, twice. All right then. Why?
Because youre miserly, Victoria said, the word arriving with the weight of old pennies spilled across a kitchen table. Its your stinginess that keeps you. To leave me would mean losing too much money. Fifteen years together, John. Fifteen. And what for? What have we managed, after all this time? She paused, glancing at a crooked clock. Never gone abroad, never even had a proper seaside holiday in this country. Never taken the children for a single weekend in Cornwall or the Lakes. Always summer here, in this house. And why? Because, for you, everything is too dear.
Were saving, John replied, thoughtfully twisting his ring, for the future.
We? Victoria let the word hang in the air like a question posed to an empty church.
I save for us, said John.
For us? For me and the kids? All these years, every month, you squirrel away both your salary and mineto keep us safe? Victorias gaze was sharp now, slicing through the mist. All those careful savings. Tell you what, lets check. Give me some money, John. Id like to buy clothes for myself, for the children. Ive been patching the same dresses for fifteen years, wearing old bits handed down by your brothers wife, and the kids wear their cousins outgrown jumpers. Id also like a flat of my own. Im sick of living in your mothers house.
Mum gave us two rooms, John snapped. Shes been generous. And whats the point of new clothes when the cousins hand-me-downs do rightly?
And me? Whose hand-me-downs are meant for me? Your brothers wifes?
Whos there to get dolled up for? Johns voice rasped, sounding almost amused. Youre a thirty-five-year-old mum with two kids! Clothes arent worth thinking about.
So what should I think about, John? Victoria asked, watching her words float out the window and spiral across the rooftops.
Think about lifes meaning, he answered, as if plucking the phrase from a dusty bookshelf. Theres higher things than frocks and flats.
Whats that mean? she asked, uncertain if she stood on her feet or her own shadow.
I mean, spiritual growth, John said, gesturing abstractly at shadows on the wall, Not every little thing is worth fussing over. Clothing, roomstheyre just distractions.
Ah, I see, Victoria said, flattening her palms on the kitchen table. Thats why you keep all our money on your account, and never give us anyso well grow spiritually by going without.
Its because you lot cant be trusted with money! John shouted, his face momentarily swelling like a balloon. Spend it all in a flashyou would! Where would we be if something happened, eh? Have you thought about that?
Youre afraidyet we already live like something has happened, Victoria said, her voice heavy and strange. You even save on soap, on loo roll, on paper napkins. You bring home soap and hand cream from work, like precious relics. We count every penny, but for what?
Take care of the pennies and the pounds will look after themselves, John muttered. Its the little things that count. Buying luxury soap, napkins, posh loo rollits absurd.
Set a date at least, John. How many more years must we save up before we get to live decently? Ten? Fifteen? Twenty? When Im forty? Fifty? Will we start living then, with proper toilet paper? Im thirty-fivethe day never seems to come.
John stayed silent, his shape blurring slightly at the edges.
Let me guess, then, Victoria pressed on, Forty? No? Of course, thats far too young to start living. Silly of me. Fifty, then? Shall we live at fifty?
John didnt answer.
Fiftys still too soon, perhaps. What if something happened, and splurging early on good thingslike proper toilet paperleft us penniless? Sixty, then? At sixty will you at least let the money stretch to the kids own trousers and my own dress?
John stayed mute, a shadow cast by an unseen hand.
You know, I just thoughtmaybe we wont even make it to sixty, Victoria said, her voice clear as glass. We eat terribly. Your fault, your penny-pinching. Do you know why we overeat? Because we buy cheap, tasteless food, and you can only fill yourself up if you cram it down in heaps. Its unhealthy. And were always so low. Ever noticed the mood in this house? And people dont last long that way.
If we left Mums place and lived well, wed never save enough, John insisted, his words crawling down the walls.
No, we wouldnt, Victoria agreed. Thats exactly why Im leaving, she said, her words ringing oddly in the kettles whistle. Im tired of saving. I dont want to do it anymore. You love it, I loathe it.
Howll you live? Johns voice sounded faint, like a coin rolling down a drain.
Ill manage, Victoria replied. It cant be worse than this. Ill rent a placea small flat for the kids and me. I earn no less than you. Well be fine for food, for clothes. Most important, Ill never have to listen to your lectures about switches and meters and taps. Ill use the washing machine in daylight, and if I leave the light on in the loo by mistake, I wont mind. Ill buy the poshest loo roll, always have dainty napkins on the table, buy what I want from the shops without waiting for reductions.
Youll burn through everything! John wailed.
Why shouldnt I? Victoria smiled, hearing church bells peal and fade away. If I want to save, Ill do it with your child support. But truthfully, youre rightI wont save. Not because I cantbut because I dont want to. Ill spend it alleven the child support. Ill live week by week, month by month. On weekends, Ill bring the children over to you and your mum. Imagine the savings! While you mind them, Ill go to the theatre, to restaurants, to galleries. When summer comes, Ill go to the seasidesomewhere, though I havent decided where yet. But I will decide when Im finally free of you.
For a moment, the world flickered and juddered around John. Panic fluttered in his chestnot for Victoria, not for the childrenbut for himself. He hurriedly calculated, in strange looping sums, what hed have left after maintenance and handing over the kids for weekendsbut what upset him most was the thought of Victorias seaside trips: his money, floating down the coast on tides beyond his control.
I havent finished, John, Victorias voice rang like keys clinking on a marble table. That account holding all your savingswell split it.
How do you mean? John asked, voice thin.
Half and half, she replied. And Ill spend it too. However much you put aside in fifteen yearsgone. I wont hoard it for a life that never comes. Ill begin living now.
Johns lips moved quietly, trying to shape words, but they dissolved before they could be heard. His will, cramped and shrunken, was pinioned by fear.
And you know my dream, John? Victoria murmured, a smile settling over her face as the kitchen blinked and dimmed. I want, at the end, not a single pound left on my account. Then Ill know I livedevery last penny, spent on me.
A curious silence folded around the houseand two months later, John and Victorias lives changed shape, as if theyd woken, blinking, from a long, disquieting dream.
