No, Steve, whats she going to do? My wifes as wooden as a wardrobe, shell be deaf to anything. Dont worry, Ive already lined up a buyer for her flat.
I froze in the hallway, two shopping bags in each hand. The keys were still jangling on the lockboxI hadnt even managed to shut the door behind me. Inside the bags were potatoes, onions, chicken legs, a bag of discounted buckwheat and three yoghurts for Charlieplain, no sugar. I was already calculating whether Id have time to defrost the meat or end up slapping a frozen slab onto the pan and getting something that looked more like steam than a roast.
Dave was standing with his back to the front door, phone pressed to his ear, stirring something in a mughis instant coffee with three spoons of sugar. He never bothered to wash the dishes.
She wont notice a thing, he murmured, taking a slurp. Ill say its paperwork for the transfer, youll sign. She trusts me. Wooden, that one. No feelings, no character. Free housekeeper.
He laughed. I recognised that chuckle the same one hed crack with his mates in the garage while I was washing up after their gettogethers. The same laugh when little Charlie tumbled off his bike and I ran with a smear of green paint, while Dave stood there saying, Come on, youre not a hen, get up yourself.
My ears rang like before a storm. My fingers clenched the bag handles, the plastic digging into my palms until white lines appeared. I set the groceries down slowly, fished my phone out and hit the recorder.
From the kitchen came the low mumble of Dave already debating fishing hooks and tomorrows trip to the lake with Steve. He always does thatspits out the venom first, then slides into idle chatter as if nothing had happened. As if I were really just a wooden doll.
I pressed the phone to the crack of the ajar door and waited until hed said goodbye to Steve and promised to wrap up the deal next week.
Then Dave hung up, clattered his slippers toward the fridge. I stopped the recording, slipped the phone into my coat pocket, grabbed the bags and glided past the kitchen into the bedroom, closing the door behind me and leaning my back against the frame.
A cold fire gnawed at my throatshould I scream or howl like a dog? Twentyfour years of marriage. Charlie, school, university, his loans that Id been chipping away at with my 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 the wooden one. And a buyer was already on the line.
I plonked myself on the bed and stared at my hands, dusted with buckwheat flour. My wedding bandthin, wornglinted. Hed given it to me back when we were still sharing a cramped flat and eating spaghetti with ketchup. I felt the urge to fling it out the window, but I didnt. I took a deep breath, just as Mum used to say: Lucy, if youre angry, count to ten before you decide what to do.
I counted to twenty. Then I got up, splashed my face with icy water and dug out an old notebook from the drawer. Inside was the number for the local council office where Id once arranged my mums disability paperwork.
A womans voice told me on the line that a ban on any registration could be set up online, but it was better to come in person. I said Id be thereright now.
It was about three in the afternoon. Dave was banging about in the kitchenprobably frying an egg. I slipped into the corridor, threw on my coat.
Where are you off to? he asked without turning, the pan hissing.
To the shop. No crumbs for dinner.
Oh, and grab me a packet of cigarettes while youre at it.
I left. The lift jolted; not from fear, but from the realization of what I was doing. For twentyfour years Id never done anything without his nod. Even the wallpaper colour was a joint decision, and hed later scoffed, Beige is boring, we should have gone green. I kept quiet.
The council office was empty. A clerk behind a glass screen stared at my papers for a long moment.
Are you sure you want to place a restriction? Without you being present, no one even with a power of attorney can sell, give away, or swap the flat.
Absolutely.
She typed away. Fifteen minutes later I was out on the street with a slip of paper, tucked into the inner pocket of my coat where the phone with the recording lay.
I returned home with a loaf of bread and a pack of his favourite cigarettes. Dave was sprawled on the sofa watching a war film. I drifted into the kitchen, switched on the kettle. On the pan lay the burnt remnants of yesterdays eggs. I washed them, habit doing the work.
Around seven, the doorbell rang. Dave sprang up, tugged off his shirt.
Oh, thats for me. Love, set the kettle, a nice persons coming.
I nodded.
A man in his fifties, wearing a sharp coat and clutching a briefcase, stepped into the hallway. Dave brightened, flashing a grin.
Meet Mr. Oliver Bennett, estate agent. About the flat.
I emerged from the kitchen, drying my hands on a towel, and caught Daves selfsatisfied smile.
Dave, remember you were on the phone with Steve this afternoon?
He froze. The smile slipped like badly hung wallpaper.
What? Yeah something came up.
You called me a wooden wife. Said youd already found a buyer for my flat. Said I wouldnt know anything.
A beat of silence. The agent shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Daves face went pale, then mottled with uneven patches.
What are you on about, love? he began, but I raised my hand.
No need. I heard everything. Here.
I pulled the phone out and played the recording. His voice filled the room: My wifes wooden Ive already found a buyer she trusts me free housekeeper
Oliver took a step back.
Mr. Bennett, you didnt mention any complications.
Dave stared at me as if I were a stranger.
You recorded me? Been spying? he hissed.
I was standing in the doorway with the groceries I bought on my own wages so you, Charlie and his girlfriend could have dinner. Meanwhile you were wheeling my house. My house, Dave. Not ours. Mums.
He moved toward me, but I kept my calm.
And another thing. I went to the council today and put a ban on any action with the flat without me being there. So your buyer I gestured at Oliver can look elsewhere. This flat isnt for sale any more.
Oliver blinked, then backed toward the door.
I think Ill be on my way. Dave, lets talk later. Sorry.
He slipped out.
We were left alone. Dave stood in the middle of the room, gulping air like a fish stranded on the shore.
What have you done? Youve ruined everything! We had plans!
You had plans. I had faith. And you burnt it today, calling me wooden. Well, wood burns, Dave, and Im ash now.
He flopped onto the sofa, clutching his head.
Im sorry, Lucy. It just fell apart. I didnt mean it. Steve pushed me
Steve, I smirked, of course. Always someone elses fault. Not you, whos spent twentyfour years living off my pay, drinking my tea, sleeping in my sheets and treating me like a piece of furniture.
I slipped off the ring, placed it on the coffee table.
Ill file for divorce tomorrow. The flat stays with me its Mums inheritance, you have no right. Pack your stuff within a week. Ill explain everything to Charlie; hes an adult now.
Lucy
Dont, Dave. You have no idea how light I feel. For the first time in years Im not worrying about what to cook. I have a house. I have myself.
I slipped into the bedroom, shut the door, and the phone buzzed with a message from a friend: How was your day?
I typed back: Great. Im no longer wooden.
Morning found me up at seven. Instead of dashing to make tea for Dave, I stretched, threw on a robe and brewed coffee for myself. Ground beans, a pinch of cinnamon. Dave only ever drank instant. Ive always loved real coffee.
He shuffled into the room, his face crumpled, and stared at the Turkishstyle pot in my hand.
What about me?
Dave, its time you found a new housekeeper. Wooden ones sometimes wake up.
I took a sip. The coffee was scorchingly hot. My hands still trembled, and the cup clinked against my teeth. Still, 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. Standing on the doorstep was Oliver Bennett again, coat still immaculate, but looking bewildered.
Sorry to bother you so early. Your husband mentioned the flat was yours, but I didnt know Id like to offer my services as an agent, should you ever decide to buy, sell or rent anything. Honest, no hidden strings.
I stared at him, then at Dave, who had popped his head out of the kitchen with a horrified expression.
What are you doing here? he barked.
Working, Oliver replied calmly. Ive got a new client now.
He handed me a business card. I turned it over, looked at Daves frantic stare, at the agents practiced smile.
Thank you, Mr. Bennett, Ill think about it. Not today. I have other plans Im getting a cat. And perhaps a new frying pan.
Oliver nodded, said goodbye and left. Dave muttered something and disappeared into the bedroom. I leaned against the closed door, laugheda soft, almost inaudible chuckle. For the first time in ages I laughed in my own hallway.
I finished my coffee with a grin, already thinking of naming the new cat Martha, after the tabby that used to live with us when Dad gave her away to the neighbours because she shed everywhere. Now Martha would be mine, and no one could claim that shedding was a problem.