Oh, please, Andy! I haven’t the faintest idea what to do, waters gushing everywhere Ill end up flooding the downstairs neighbour, you know what shes like, shell have a field day with this! My hands are shaking, I cant even find the stopcock! The voice on the other end of the phone was so piercing and plaintive it was perfectly audible from the opposite end of the table, despite Andy not putting it on speaker.
Abigail set her fork down on the plate with the kind of dramatic clatter that, in another life, might have started a boxing round. For three long years now, shed been fighting the same fight. Across from her, Andy sat looking shifty, eyeing both the gravy rapidly congealing on the homemade roast and the glowing phone screen.
Lucy, keep calm, Andy murmured, phone clamped to his ear. Which stopcock? Under the sink or by the loo? Turn off the main, the one by the meter.
I dont know where it is! Andy, please! Im scared! What if its hot water? Im on my own, I cant cope with this!
Andy glanced up at Abigail with the sort of martyred, hopeful look she recognised far too well.
Abby, you heard her? Shell end up with the downstairs dragon breathing fire. Lucy is clueless about anything practical, you know how she is. Ill have to pop over.
Of course you do, Abigail replied, with perfectly level politeness that nicely concealed the whirlwind inside. Its not as though its our anniversary this evening. Or that Ive had tonight planned for a fortnight, spending three hours in the kitchen. But do go, rescue Lucy. Shed be utterly lost without you.
Oh, Abby, dont start Andy was up in a fluster, car keys in hand. Shes an old friend, shes in trouble. Ill just change the washer and dash back. Pop the dinner in the oven for me, yeah?
The front door slammed behind him. Abigail was left standing alone in a flat heavy with the scents of a special dinner and a generous dash of disappointment. She wandered to the window and watched Andy roar out the drive into the night.
Lucy. That name had become the unwanted third wheel in their marriage. Old school friend, one of the lads Andy had a dozen ways to describe her. Shed reappeared from nowhere just after her divorce, and had very quickly become a fixture in their lives. First it was the odd favour: moving boxes, setting up her Wi-Fi. Andy, ever the easy-going handyman, was only too happy to oblige.
But the requests kept multiplying until it was less helpful friend, more emergency rescue. Flat tyres, collapsing bathroom shelves, urgent wardrobe assembly because clothes everywhere, I cant find a thing, honestly! and, miraculously, always just when Abby and Andy had their own plans.
Abigail wasnt some jealous old hag; she knew what friendship meant. But something about Lucys helpless damsel routine set her teeth on edge. Lucy was glamourous, coy, the sort who spoke to men as if they were living gods for simply lifting a screwdriver. And Andy, to his eternal shame, lapped it up. Out would come his chest, on would go his superhero cape.
Dinner went in the fridge; her appetite promptly left the building. Andy returned three hours later, grimy and flushed, but irritatingly pleased with himself.
Blimey, I made it just in time utter carnage with that u-bend. Had to leg it to the all-night shop for a washer. Lucy was in bits, could barely string a sentence together. I sorted it.
She at least gave her gallant rescuer a cuppa? asked Abigail, eyes on her book.
She did, and some apple cake she baked says hello and sorry for ruining the evening.
“Apple cake,” Abby noted mentally. “So, while she was apparently about to drown in hot water and couldn’t find the stopcock, she made sure to pop a cake in the oven. Fascinating.”
She said nothing more. Starting a row would be pointless; Andy would insist she was making a fuss. Clearly, a subtler tack was required. Next time, shed go along too.
As fate would have it, next time came with indecent haste. Saturday morning, sun shining, plans set for a day at their allotment. In the boot: marinated chicken for the barbecue. In Abigails dreams: a quiet afternoon basking on deckchairs, glass of wine in hand with her husband.
Andys mobile trilled that special ringtone, reserved for Lucy. Abby stiffened.
Yes, Luce? What sparking? How bad? Is it smoking? Right, dont touch anything, flick the mains in the hall! Yes, Ill be straight over.
He hung up and looked at Abigail, who waited by the garden gate, arms full of petunias.
Abby, bit of a situation
The socket? she guessed.
Worse. Main fuse boxs sparking, she reckons the whole place smells of burning. Shes in a panic. We wont get an electrician out of the council on a weekend, and private ones charge the earth and take forever.
Oh, joy, Abby set down her tray of flowers. So, thats the allotment off, then?
No, no not necessarily. Well nip round Lucys, Ill have a quick look. If its serious, Ill call an engineer if not, Ill tighten a few screws. Its only a detour wont be more than an hour.
Splendid, Abigail nodded. Ill come with you.
Andy was taken aback. Honestly, no need, costs time. Stay put, Ill be back in a jiffy.
Andy, were going to the allotment together. We swing by Lucys, you fix the sparky thing, and we move on. Id rather not be left twiddling my thumbs. Besides, I havent seen Lucy in an age.
Andy, reluctantly, agreed. He drove the entire way as if the steering wheel had insulted him. Abigail, meanwhile, was the picture of serenity, though inside she felt as taut as a guitar string.
Lucy welcomed them at the door in a silk dressing-gown that barely reached her knees, with full make-up at 9 a.m. Upon spotting Abigail climbing out of the car, her smile faltered, just briefly, then returned twice as wide.
Abigail! Well, this is a surprise! Excuse the get-up, Im all of a dither, so frazzled! Do come in, Andy it’s sparking like mad in the hall!
They stepped inside. There was the tiniest whiff of burnt plastic, but nothing more. Andy strode off to the fuse box, fishing out a screwdriver and tester.
Oh, Abby, darling, dont loiter in the doorway lets have a natter on the sofa while our hero does his thing, Lucy trilled, keen to whisk Abigail from the action.
I think Ill stay put, Abigail said sweetly. Andy might need a hand: torch-holding, an extra pair of eyes.
Lucy giggled. Youre funny! Andys a pro he could do this blindfolded, couldnt you, Andy?
Andy merely muttered something as he poked at the wires.
Lucy, said Abigail, watching her with steady composure, why didnt you ring the council hotline? I thought they had a 24-hour service for exactly this.
Oh, sweetie, dont be daft! They send over the rudest blokes, trail mud everywhere, leave you in a worse state than you started in. Andys a treasure. Hes the only one I trust.
My husbands magical hands, said Abigail, were supposed to be turning sausages on a grill right now. We had plans.
Oh, Im such a nuisance, always ruining things! Lucys eyes widened with practiced remorse. It really is hard, Abigail, being alone. When you dont have a man in the house… everything goes wrong. Youre lucky. You can always count on Andy.
Andy had the wires squared away in fifteen minutes. Loose connection, was all. Tightened it up, but Luce, you really should get the whole circuit breaker changed. Its past its best.
Oh Andy, you absolute angel! Could you sort it for me, maybe pop by after work? Ill pay for it, of course and if youd fit it
He cant, Lucy, Abigail interrupted. Were off to the allotment. Next weekend weve got theatre tickets. Andy will jot down which model you need after that, youll have to get someone in.
Lucy shot Abigail a look that could curdle milk, then turned on the old charm. At least let me make you both coffee! I picked up some eclairs this morning Andys favourite.
No, thanks, weve just eaten, Abigail replied crisply, looping her arm through Andys. Lets get going. Big day.
Once outside, Andy let out a massive sigh, but immediately tried to defend Lucy: Abby, must you be so sharp? She means well.
No, Andy she means to have your attention. Dressing gown, fluttering eyes This is less about emergencies and more about watching you dash to her rescue.
Oh, dont be ridiculous! Weve been mates since school for her, Im more like a brother.
Exactly: a brother who always fixes things, listens, and flatters her ego. Incredibly convenient, wouldnt you say?
They drove off. All afternoon, Abigail replayed everything in her head. Lucy, she understood now, enjoyed tugging Andys strings and watching him run to her call.
The final act came two weeks later. Andy was due back from a work trip on Friday evening. Abigail, busy making dinner, was eagerly anticipating him right until her phone rang.
Abby, Im running a bit late, Lucys in a pickle. Hurt her foot, apparently. Needs a hand right away heavy curtain pole dropped on her toe. She cant walk, says the poles blocking the room, wants me to pick up some ointment from Boots too. Wont be long.
Abigail took a deep breath. Listen, Andy you head home. Ill go round to hers.
You? Are you sure?
Yes. I know what to get for a bruised foot. Ill help her with a bandage. Youre shattered, go home, warm up dinner. Ill be at hers in half an hour.
All right. Just dont start a row with her, okay?
Abigail hung up, and set her own plan in motion. She wasnt about to doctor Lucys foot shed treat the real problem.
One quick search later, shed found a Handyman For Hire service with stellar reviews for reliability and zero-nonsense. Then she booked a pharmacy delivery for Lucys address painkillers and a support bandage.
Abigail drove over. As she arrived, she spotted the pharmacy courier at the entrance. She intercepted the bag and headed up. The flat door was ajar Lucy had evidently left it open for Andy, no doubt in expectation of a heros embrace.
Abigail entered.
Inside, the room was set for romance: candles, a bottle of wine, two glasses. Lucy lounged on the sofa in the infamous silk dressing gown, injured leg draped dramatically across a cushion. The curtain pole, to Abigails eye, looked as if it had been gently laid down, not crashed into anything.
Hearing footsteps, Lucy simpered: Andy, darling, you brought the medicine? I could die from the pain.
Abigail strode in and flicked on the overhead light, banishing the candle-lit gloom.
Lucy shot upright, foot miraculously recovered. Abigail? What are you doing here? Wheres Andy?
Andys at home, having his tea, Abigail replied matter-of-factly, dropping the pharmacy bag on the table next to the wine. Ive brought your supplies. And a little help.
What do you mean? I needed Andy! He can actually lift the pole
A specialist will handle the pole, Abigail cut across.
At that moment, the doorbell rang. Abigail opened it to reveal a burly man in work overalls with a toolbox.
You called for a handyman? Here for the curtain pole job.
Yes, come on in. The ladys through there.
The handyman entered, perused the setup, and got immediately down to business. Right, solid wall, this. Ill need some proper wall plugs. Wheres your stepladder, madam?
Lucy glowered at Abigail in disbelief and whispered: What are you playing at?
Oh, me? Abigail widened her eyes. Just helping out you asked. Theres your medication, and heres your repairman. Or did you need something other than a new curtain pole?
Lucy leapt up, foot forgotten. Get out! You think youre so perfect! Andyll go mad with your rules! He deserves fun and youre just a stuffy schoolmistress!
Perhaps, Abigail replied, but he still comes home to me every night. And arent you embarrassed, Lucy? Dreaming up new dramas to lure a married man. Youre a beautiful woman. Find your own handyman and stop scavenging scraps at other peoples doors.
Just leave! Lucy shrieked.
Gladly. The jobs paid for, youll be sorted in twenty minutes. Take care of your injured foot, wont you? Oddly nimble for someone in agony.
Abigail left feeling lighter than she had in years. She hadnt thrown a scene, or yanked Lucys extensions out. Shed simply exposed the game for what it was.
Arriving home, Andy was visibly worried.
How is she? Phones off. Was it bad?
Abigail poured herself a cup of tea and eyed her husband.
Shes fine. Dashing about at a fair lick, actually. Handymans fixing the pole. All sorted.
Handyman? But I
Sit down, Andy. She pointed to the spot across from her.
Andy obeyed, sheepish as a schoolboy.
Be honest. Did you really not notice what Lucy was playing at? The candles, the outfits, the emergencies always when I wasnt around?
Andy flushed. I suppose I always sort of suspected. I didnt want to believe it. Shes alone, shes my mate, I felt bad refusing.
Alone? Abigail scoffed. She had you running around replacing washers and telling her she was special. She was using you. You thought you were being a hero, but you were nicking family time and boosting her ego. She wasnt waiting for my curtain pole guy, Andy. She was waiting for you.
Andy just nodded, guilt written all over his face. Im sorry. Ive been a fool.
Big-hearted, but yes, a bit of a muppet. Abigail smiled. But Andy, thats it now. Lucy gets the handymans number. If something breaks she rings him. If shes lonely, she rings her other mates. Youre not her emergency response unit anymore, is that clear?
Crystal clear, Andy replied quietly. Ive really understood now. Thank you for sorting it out. Honestly, if Id walked in on those candles…
Lucy never rang again. No requests for plumbing or curtain rail heroics. Nothing.
About six months later, Abigail happened to spot Lucy at a shopping centre: arm-in-arm with a distinguished-looking gent, weighed down with Selfridges bags, radiating contentment. Their eyes met briefly. Lucy flicked her head, gave an enormous snort, and swept by as if Abigail was invisible.
Abigail simply grinned. She was genuinely happy for Lucy; finally, someone else could provide all the DIY heroism a woman in a silk dressing gown could possibly need. In her own home, peace reigned once more; the only emergencies now involved overcooked Yorkshire puddings, not panicked phone calls.
Evenings were given over to quiet cups of tea, holidays, and the certainty that, if they planned an outing, thats exactly what would happen. Because the boundaries of a marriage matter even if the trespasser insists theyre as helpless as a kitten.
Like the story? Give the post a like and a follow and share in the comments: what would you have done if you were in Abigails shoes? After all, friends are friends, but theres no harm in marking your territory with a velvet glove.
