No, Simon, whats she going to do? My wifes as solid as a plank, she couldnt care less. Dont worry, Ive already got a buyer for her flat.
I froze in the hallway, two grocery bags in each hand. The keys were still jingling in the lockI hadnt even managed to pull the door shut behind me. Inside the bags were potatoes, onions, chicken drumsticks, a bargainbucket of buckwheat and three yoghurts for Charlieonly the plain, sugarfree ones. My mind raced, wondering whether Id have time to thaw the meat or if Id end up slamming a frozen slab onto the pan and getting steamcooked chicken instead of a proper roast.
Dave stood with his back to the entrance, phone pressed to his ear, stirring something in a mughis instant coffee, three spoons of sugar. He never washed any dishes after himself.
She wont notice a thing, he said, taking a sip and letting the liquid splash. Ill tell her its paperwork for the transfer, youll sign. She trusts me. Shes like a wooden statueno feelings, no personality. The housekeeper is on the house.
He laughed. I recognised that laughhe used it in the garage with his mates while I was washing up after their drinks. He laughed the same way when little Charlie fell off his bike and I raced over with a bottle of antiseptic, while Dave just stood there and said, What, youre going to coddle him? Let him get up on his own.
My ears rang, the way they do before a storm hits. My fingers clenched the bag handles, the plastic biting into my palms until white lines appeared. I set the groceries down slowly, fished my phone out, and hit record.
From the kitchen came a low murmurDave was already chatting with Simon about fishing hooks and tomorrows trip to the lake. He always does that: first he spits out poison, then he slides into nonsense, as if nothing had happened. As if I were really just a wooden thing.
I held the phone up to the crack of the ajar door and waited until he finished his goodbye to Simon and promised to seal the deal next week.
Then Dave hung up, slammed the receiver, and shuffled in his slippers toward the fridge. I stopped the recording, slipped the phone into my pocket, grabbed the bags, and slipped past the kitchen into the bedroom, closing the door behind me. I leaned my back against the doorframe.
A cold fire gnawed at my throatsomething between a scream and a dogs howl. Twentyfour years of marriage. Charlie, school, university, his loans that Id been paying off with my own holiday pay. His mother, whom I drove to the hospital three times a week until she passed. His socks, his meatballs, his endless, Love, wheres my blue shirt? And now I was a wooden statue. And the buyer was already lined up.
I sat on the bed, staring at my hands, dusted with buckwheat flour. I looked at my wedding bandthin, worn, the one hed given me when we were still sharing a cheap flat and eating spaghetti with ketchup. I wanted to fling it out the window, but I didnt. I took a deep breath, just as Mum used to tell me: Lucy, if someone hurts you, count to ten first, then decide what to do.
I counted to twenty. Then I got up, splashed my face with icy water, and pulled an old notebook from the drawer. I found the number for the local council officewhere Id once filled out the paperwork for my mothers disability.
A woman’s voice came through the line, explaining that I could place a restriction on any transaction involving the flat via the online portal, but it was better to appear in person. I told her Id be there right away.
It was about three oclock. Dave was booming in the kitchenprobably frying egg. I slipped into the corridor, threw on my coat.
Where are you off to? he asked without turning, the pan hissing behind him.
Bread, I said. Nothing for dinner yet.
Fine, grab me a pack of cigarettes too.
I left. The lift jolted as it rose. Not from fear, but from the realization of what I was doing. For twentyfour years Id never acted without his nod. Even the paint colour was a joint decision until hed later declared, Beige is boring, we should have gone green. Id said nothing.
The council office was empty. A clerk stared at my documents from behind a glass partition.
Are you certain you want to place a restriction? Without you being present, no oneno proxycan sell, gift, or exchange the property.
Absolutely.
She clicked away on the keyboard. Fifteen minutes later I stepped back onto the street, a slip of paper in my coat pocket, alongside the phone with the recording.
I returned home with a loaf and a packet of his favourite cigarettes. Dave was sprawled on the sofa, watching an action film. I went to the kitchen, switched on the kettle, andout of habitwashed the pan, its burntegg remnants curling away.
Around seven, the doorbell rang. Dave leapt up, tugging his Tshirt.
Thats me, love. Put the kettle on, someones coming.
I nodded.
A man in his fifties, dressed in an expensive coat, carrying a leather briefcase, entered the hallway. Dave brightened, flashing a grin.
Meet Oliver Blake, property broker. About the flat.
I stepped out of the kitchen, drying my hands on a towel, and stared at Daves selfsatisfied face.
Dave, remember you were on the phone with Simon this afternoon?
He froze. The grin slipped, like badly pasted wallpaper.
What? Yeah there was something, but what?
You called me a wooden wife. Said youd found a buyer for my flat and that I wouldnt know anything.
An uneasy silence fell. Oliver shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Daves face turned pale, then speckled with uneven blushes.
What the hell are you talking about, love? he started, but I raised a hand.
Dont. I heard everything. Listen.
I played the recording. His voice filled the room: My wife is wooden Ive already found a buyer she trusts me the housekeeper is free
Oliver backed toward the door.
Dave, you didnt mention there were complications, he said, uneasy.
Dave stared at me, as if I were a stranger.
Did you record me? Were you watching me? he hissed.
I was standing in the doorway with the groceries I bought on my salary, so you, Charlie, and his girlfriend could have dinner. Meanwhile you were selling my flat. My flat, Dave. Not ours. My mothers.
He took a step toward me, but I kept my voice steady.
And another thing. I went to the council today and lodged a restriction on any action with the flat unless Im there in person. So your buyer I gestured at Olivercan look elsewhere. This flat is off the market.
Oliver hesitated, then backed out.
Ill be off then. Dave, lets talk later. Sorry.
He slipped out the door.
We were alone. Dave stood in the middle of the room, gulping air like a fish stranded on a beach.
What have you done? Youve ruined everything! We had plans!
You had plans. I had faith. You smashed it today. Called me wooden. Well, wood burns, Dave, and Ive been set alight.
He collapsed on the sofa, burying his face in his hands.
Love, Im sorry. I didnt meanSimon pushed me
Simon, I said, a bitter smile curving my lips. Always someone else to blame. Not you, the man who spent twentyfour years on my tab, drank my tea, slept in my sheets, and treated me like a piece of décor.
I slipped the ring off and placed it on the coffee table.
Tomorrow Ill file for divorce. The flat stays with meits my mothers inheritance, you have no rights. Pack your things within a week. Ill explain everything to Charlie; hes an adult now.
Lucy
No. You have no idea how light it feels now. For the first time in years Im not thinking about dinner. I know I have a home, and I have myself.
I slipped into the bedroom, shut the door, and the phone buzzeda message from a friend: How was your day?
I typed back: Great. Im no longer wooden.
Morning found me at seven. Instead of racing to make tea for Dave, I stretched, threw on a robe, and brewed coffee for myselfground beans with a dash of cinnamon. Dave only ever drank instant. Id always loved the real thing.
He shuffled out, a crumpled face, and stared at the Turkishstyle pot in my hand.
What about me?
Its time you find a new housekeeper, Dave. Wooden things sometimes come to life.
I took a sip. The coffee was blistering hot. My hands still trembled, and the cup clattered against my teeth, but it was the best coffee Id ever tasted because Id made it for me.
The doorbell rang. I set the cup down and opened it. Oliver Blake stood on the doorstep, coat still immaculate, but his eyes flustered.
Sorry to bother you so early. Your husband mentioned the flat is yours, but I didnt know I just wanted to offer my services as a broker, should you ever decide to buy, sell, or lease anything. Honest, no strings.
I stared at him, stunned. From the kitchen, Dave emerged, his face twisted in bewilderment.
What are you doing here? he barked.
Im working, Oliver replied calmly. Ive got a new client now.
He handed me a business card. I turned it over, then looked back at Dave, at his helpless fury, and at Olivers practiced smile.
Thanks, Oliver, I said slowly. Ill think about it. Not today. Ive got plansI’m getting a cat. Maybe a new frying pan too.
Oliver nodded, said goodbye, and left. Dave muttered something and disappeared into the bedroom. I leaned against the door, laugheda low, almost inaudible chuckle. For the first time in many years I laughed in my own hallway.
I finished my coffee with a smile, already thinking of the name for my new catMartha, after the feline that lived with us as a child until dad handed her over to the neighbours because she shed everywhere. Now Martha would be mine, and no one could claim that shedding was a problem.