You dont need a wife, you need a housekeeper.
Mum, Sallys chewed up my pencil again!
Martha dashed into the kitchen with the stub of a coloured pencil clutched in her fist, followed quickly by an apologetic golden labrador, tail wagging furiously. Jane tore herself from the stove, where soup simmered and sausages hissed, heaving a sigh. Third pencil today.
Just pop it in the bin and get a new one from the drawer, she instructed, then called louder, Simon, have you done your maths homework?
Nearly! drifted the reply from the childrens room.
Nearing in twelve-year-old Simon-speak meant he was glued to his mobile, his exercise book untouched at his elbow. Jane knew it, but right now, she needed to take up the sausages, stir the soup, intercept four-year-old Toby, who was determinedly crawling towards the dog bowl, and not forget the laundry rolling in the washing machine.
…Thirty-two. Three children. One husband. One mother-in-law. One labrador. And just herkeeping the cogs turning.
Jane seldom got ill. Not because of sturdy health, but because she simply couldnt afford to. Whod feed the family? Whod pack bags for school? Whod walk Sally? The answer was always no one.
Jane love, is supper nearly ready?
Margaret appeared in the kitchen doorway, leaning heavily on her stick. Eighty-five, sharp as ever, a healthy appetite.
In the five years theyd shared a roof, Jane could count on one hand the times her mother-in-law had helped around the house.
Ten minutes, Margaret.
The old lady nodded contentedly and shuffled off into the lounge. Occasionallyrarelyshed read little Toby a bedtime story. Little Red Hen or Three Little Pigs were the extent of her repertoire, but the boy always listened raptly. The rest of the day, Margaret sat in her armchair, glued to afternoon telly, awaiting her next meal.
The kitchen clock showed half-past five when keys rattled in the front door. David stepped over the threshold with the air of a man whod completed a marathon shift.
Is dinner on?
Not even so much as a hello. Jane wordlessly motioned to the set table. Her husband washed his hands, sat down. The TV flicked onremote practically welded to his palm.
Martha got top marks in reading today, Jane tried.
Mm.
And Simon needs some help with his geography project.
Mm.
Mm was as much acknowledgment as he gave. After supper, David moved to the sofa. His working day done. Mission accomplished. He brought the moneyeverything else was none of his business.
Later, when the children were finally in bed, Jane opened her laptop for her online workprocessing orders, replying to customers, arranging deliveries at the shop. Not much money, but hers all the same. Plus, there was the extra income from a flat shed been letting out for almost four years.
We should really move, flickered the old familiar thought. And, just as quicklythe usual excuses: Simons at a good school, Marthas settled at nursery, what about the rent money? Jane shut her laptop. Tomorrow. Always tomorrow.
December brought more than Christmas chaos; it brought flu as well. In a few hours her temperature was soaring towards forty, every bone aching, her throat searing, her head pounding. Jane barely made it to bed.
Mum, youre sick, Simon announced, poking his head in.
David appeared, worry on his face, but clearly not for her.
Dont let Mum pass it on to Margaret. At her age flus no joke.
Jane closed her eyes. Of course. Margaret. How could she forget the important one?
The next three days blurred into fever dreams. High temperature, damp pillow, parched lips. No onenot her husband, not her mother-in-law, not even the childrenbrought her a glass of water. The kettle was in the kitchen, ten paces away, but even those ten paces Jane managed on her own, clinging to the wall.
Everyone worried solely about Margaret. Dont go in there, Mums poorly. Put a mask on before you walk past. Should she sleep in another room?
SheJanebecame the contagion, from whom the real family members had to be protected.
A week later the virus came for the rest. First Tobyrunny nose, fever, grumpy. Then Martha. Then David, ostentatiously parking himself in bed with a lofty thirty-seven-point-two. Margaret was last to succumb, but with the most drama.
Jane, not yet back on her feet, rose. Chicken broth, a chemist run, thermometer, damp cloths, laundry. The everyday circuit, but with legs like jelly now.
David, can you take Toby for an hour? I need to go to the chemist.
David rolled his eyes in pained martyrdom, but agreed. Exactly an hourJane timed ithe delivered Toby back to the bedroom.
Im knackered. Ive got a temperature too, you know.
Thirty-six-point-eight. Jane had checked.
Spring wasnt any kinder. New virus, children struck again, more sleepless nights. Toby whined, Martha refused her medicine, Margaret requested a special menu. And in the middle of the chaosperfectly healthy David.
David, give me a hand with the kids.
Jane, I helped last time, but that was the weekend. I have work now, Im shattered after a full day.
He shrugged, as if that explained everything. Every evening he came home, plonked himself at the table and waited for supper. Ill, exhausted wife, fretful children, chaosnone of it his concern.
One night, after Toby finally slept and the eldest were doing homework, Jane approached her husband. Football muttered from the TV.
Why wont you ever help me? Why do you never, ever help?
David didnt turn around. No reply. He just cranked the volume up.
Jane stood there another minute, staring at the back of his head. Suddenly everything fell sharply, perfectly into place.
Next morning she pulled down two big suitcases. Childrens clothes, toys, documents. Simon froze in the doorway.
Mum, where are we going?
To Grandma Marys.
For long?
Well see.
Martha leapt for joyGrandma Mary always baked her favourite scones. Toby, not quite understanding, dragged along his threadbare teddy bear just in case.
She nearly forgot Sally, then quickly clipped on the lead. The labrador would go with them too.
David was sprawled on the sofa. Suitcases, packed bags, children in coatsnot one thing drew him from his screen. When Jane closed the front door behind them, she knew hed simply flick to a different channel…
Mary Bennett welcomed her daughter and grandchildren in silence: hot tea, big hugs. Nearly sixty, a teacher for thirty yearsshe didnt need words to understand everything.
Stay as long as you need.
On the third day David rang.
Jane, come home. Its filthy here. Ive nothing to eat. Margaret wont stop demanding things.
Not an I miss you. Not a I cant manage without you. Only domestic inconveniencehis true ache.
David, its not a wife you want. You need a housekeeper.
What? Thats not
Have you ever, even once, said you missed the children?
Silence. Long, heavy, eloquent.
I bring money in, he said at length. What more do you want?
Jane hung up. Abrupt, but oddly freeing.
Two weeks later, the tenants vacated the flat Jane owned. The move took a day. New school for Simon, new nursery for Marthaturns out, so much easier to sort than shed imagined.
The next call was final. All the swallowed words, bitter nights, lone feverish battles spilled out in a torrent.
For twelve years Ive been your unpaid maid! she cried into the phone. Not once, do you hear, not once have you ever asked how I am, or how Im even living! You Ive had enough!
She blocked his number. Then filed for divorce.
The hearing lasted twenty minutes. David didnt contest, signed the child maintenance papers, nodded to the magistrate and left. Maybe something dawned on him. More likely, he was just tired of the hassle.
…That evening, Jane was in the kitchen of her new-old flat. Simon buried in a book in his room. Martha hunched over her drawing, tongue poking from the corner of her mouth in concentration. Toby played on the rug with his building blocks.
Quiet. Calm. Sally lay at her feet, muzzle across her paws.
There was still cooking, cleaning, work each evening. But now, it was for the only people that truly mattered. She would raise them carefullyso theyd never think family meant becoming like their father.
Mum, Martha looked up from her picture, you smile much more these days.
Jane smiled again. Martha was right.
