Came Home Early
Are you at the bus stop? Toms voice jumps to a high pitch. Right now? Why didnt you give me a heads-up? We agreed on Thursday!
I wanted it to be a surprise, Emily frowns. Tom, why arent you happy? Im exhausted. Come and help me!
Wait! he suddenly shouts. Dont come here. I mean, do but, Emily, listen, the cupboards are bare. I finished all the food yesterday. Look, pop into the 24-hour store on the corner, yeah? Grab some decent beef.
Her heavy bag pulls painfully at Emilys shoulder, and she lets out an involuntary gasp.
A sharp pain pulses through her lower back, something shes grown used to over the past couple of months.
Carefully, she lowers her bags onto the cracked tarmac by the bus stop.
Emily exhales, pressing her palm to her stomach.
The baby inside her squirms in protest. Six months along no joke, really, especially if youve decided to surprise your husband and come back from your parents three days early.
Shes missed him that much on the bus for the last sixty miles, shed counted lamp posts to make the journey go faster.
She wonders, whats Tom up to right now? He probably has no clue shes just a ten-minute walk from home.
The walk to her flat feels never-ending.
The bags are stuffed with treats from her mum and dad jars of jam, homemade pork pie, big bramley apples they weigh an absolute ton.
After fifty yards, Emily realises she cant do it. Her back might give out any second.
She fishes out her phone and rings her husband.
Tom, love, hi, she whispers down the line when he finally picks up.
Emily? Whats wrong? Has something happened? he sounds panicked.
Nothings happened, silly. Im here! Im at the bus stop outside. She glances up in relief at the flats familiar windows. Please come get me. I cant lug these bags upstairs, Mums filled them right up.
A strange silence hangs on the line. Emily checks the screen are they still connected?
Youre at the bus stop? Toms voice cracks. Right now? Why didnt you let me know? We were meant to do Thursday!
I wanted to surprise you, Emily frowns. Are you not happy? Im shattered, like a dog whos run all day. Please come down, will you?
Wait! Hold on! Tom suddenly yells. Dont come here yet. I mean, do, but Emily, Ive emptied out the fridge, finished every bit of food. How about you quickly run to the late-night shop, the one by the corner? Grab some good beef.
Ive taken a day off, didnt go into work, he rattles on. Wanted to cook a proper lunch, do things properly when you arrive.
What, beef? Emily almost laughs in disbelief. Tom, are you hearing me? Im six months pregnant, arms falling off, standing here in the street! My back is killing me! Weve got potatoes and eggs at home. Come down and help I just need to eat, and get to bed.
No, Em, you dont get it, he quickly interrupts. I want everything to be perfect. Wont take you a moment! The shops just steps away. Buy some beef, and maybe grab a bag of good new potatoes. Ours have had it.
Ask someone to help with your bags. Or take them in slowly, bit by bit… Please! Its for us. Ill get things ready here.
Emily stares at her sore, reddened hands where the bag handles have bitten in. A hot, bitter lump rises in her chest.
Are you serious, Tom? Her voice trembles. Youre asking your pregnant wife to drag herself to the shop for beef, just so you can cook something? Why dont you come down and do it?
Im already in the middle of well, getting things ready! If I leave now, itll all be for nothing. Emily, please, Ive waited for you. Get about eight hundred grams of beef, and a small net of potatoes. Go on, Im waiting!
He hangs up. Emily stares at the darkened screen.
Her mind reels. All she wants to do is cry, right here under the cold streetlight.
Not a hug, not a warm bed just a trip to the meat counter.
Maybe hes actually planning something wonderful? she thinks fleetingly.
She sighs, heaves up the bags, and limps off towards the shop.
***
Emily pushes a trolley, catching the sleepy cashiers pitying look.
The beefs heavy, and the potatoes even more so.
When she leaves the shop, her hands are numb, her fingers curled into rigid hooks.
Her phone rings again.
Did you get it all? Tom asks brightly.
Got it, Emily grits out, Im by the front door now. Open up.
Wait! Tom almost squeals. Dont come up! Sit on the bench for ten minutes.
Youre joking? Emily snaps, not caring who hears. Tom, Im about to give birth from sheer rage! What do you mean, ten minutes? My feet are swelling! I cant stand here!
The surprise isnt ready! he insists. If you come in now, its all ruined. Sit outside, get some air. Five minutes, Emily, promise! Got to go, I need to hurry!
She drops onto a bench by the entrance. The bags clunk down beside her.
She feels like throwing the beef through their third-floor window.
Ten minutes pass. Then twenty. Emily hugs her bump, and feels herself just boiling inside.
She imagines walking in, and…what? Flowers everywhere? Breakfast by candlelight? A violinist in the corner?
None of that would make it worth leaving her outside, in her condition, after a night with no sleep.
At minute thirty-five, the main door creaks open.
Tom dashes out. His T-shirts inside out, sweat glistens on his forehead, hair all over the place.
Oh, youre still here! he grins, grabbing her bags. Why so grumpy? Its a lovely day oh, I mean Come on, quickly!
Why are you dripping? And why do you smell of bleach from a mile off? Emily squints as she slowly gets up, leaning on the rail.
Youll see! he says, springing towards the lift.
They ride up. Tom swings the door open with a flourish, looking gleeful.
Emily steps into the hall, breathing in the sharp smell of bleach and some cheap Ocean Breeze air freshener.
She walks through the lounge. Then checks the kitchen. Peeks in the bathroom.
The flat is clean. As in unusually empty.
The usual jumble on the chairs has vanished. The rugs been hoovered (still a bit damp in places), dust wiped everywhere.
Her little ornaments all huddled in a sad corner now.
Well? Tom beams, like a newly polished coin. What do you think? Surprise!
Emily turns slowly to face him.
Thats it? she says quietly.
What do you mean, thats it? Tom looks genuinely hurt. Emily, look! Ive been at it for three hours! Ive mopped all the floors, even under the sofa! Washed every dish, loos sparkling. I didnt want you to lift a finger. I wanted you to walk in to everything perfect. Thats why I kept you waiting outside, while you were out shopping.
Emily feels a lump rising in her throat.
So for this she chokes on her words, trying not to cry, for the sake of mopping, you made me drag myself to the shop? You left me waiting at the bus stop, even though I begged, because you had to finish cleaning?
Well, yeah! Tom throws up his hands, exasperated. Youre always nagging, saying Im hopeless in the house. I wanted to show you. You turned up early, I was rushing! Had to stall you, so I could finish.
And you stand there, looking like Ive spat in your food, instead of thanks.
Tom, are you daft? Emily finally bursts out, her voice edged with hysteria. I couldnt care less about your shiny floors! My backs in bits, my arms feel broken!
Im pregnant, Tom! Do you grasp that? Preg-nant! I just wanted you to take my hand and help me home, not to see you racing about with a mop!
Tom goes crimson. He hurls the cleaning cloth into the sink.
Oh, brilliant! Here we go! he shouts back. Youre never happy! Im crawling round on my knees since five this morning, trying to do something nice. And you storm in, yelling!
Have you even seen how spotless the place is? We didnt get it this clean for our wedding!
And what good is that if I have to pay for it like this? Emily shudders with indignation. You left your pregnant wife on a cold bench outside for half an hour! My legs hurt, Im freezing!
You sent me shopping when I could barely walk! Tom, this isnt a surprise its just cruel!
Oh, so now Im cruel? Tom paces the kitchen, waving his arms. Sorry Im not perfect. Someone else would be over the moon! Husbands tidied up, cooking but you you only care about yourself! Oh, my bump, oh, my back. What about me? Didnt sleep all night thinking how to cheer you up!
Emily covers her face with her hands. You just dont get it, she sobs. Youve traded how I feel for a clean skirting board.
Whats a skirting board got to do with it? Tom shouts again, thumping the table. You showed up before you said! You ruined the surprise! If youd come Thursday, youd have had your gleaming flat and everything would have been perfect.
But no, had to barge in late at night and make it all my fault! Youre just ungrateful, thats what. Ungrateful, Emily.
He storms off, slamming the bedroom door.
The baby kicks again. Emily sinks onto a chair, staring at the beef Tom has abandoned on the counter.
She feels sick nausea rolling up every few minutes.
After ten minutes, the kitchen door nudges open.
So, am I cooking the beef or what? he mutters. Or will you starve, just to get at me?
Dont bother, Tom, Emily says quietly, not looking his way. Just leave me alone. I just want to sleep.
Fine! Slam, goes the door again.
Emily stumbles to the bathroom.
She sees herself in the mirror: pale, eyes ringed dark, hair a mess.
She remembers the bus ride, the way shed imagined Tom would greet her, arms open, saying, Thank goodness youre home.
Yeah, right. Some welcome.
When she leaves the bathroom, the argument flares up again.
Tom shouts at her, then throws a chunk of beef in her direction.
Emily leaves as she is lucky she hadnt had a chance to change.
She heads back to her parents.
***
Everyone tries to talk her out of a divorce Toms parents, his sister, even distant cousins.
And Tom keeps calling, asking her to come back.
But Emilys mind is made up: she doesnt want a husband like that anymore. The divorce is definitely happening.
Why stay with a man who puts mopping above the wellbeing of their child?
