So, whatve you achieved with all your moaning? her husband huffed. But what happened next genuinely left him gobsmacked.
Honestly, when else is a person supposed to wake up, if not at five in the morning, especially when her chest feels wrung out like a soggy washing-up cloth? Mary sat on the edge of the bed, peering gloomily out the window.
Her heart was doing that peculiar staccato again: two beats, void, three beats, silence. The doctor had called it panic attacks the day before and handed her a slip for more tests.
After eighteen years, Mary had gone from a bright-eyed economics graduate charging up the career ladder to well, what, exactly? Her husbands business sidekick? An unqualified fake bookkeeper, scribbling down numbers and signing whatever forms Tom plopped in front of her? Or just a glorified cleaner, mopping after dinner because apparently Toms eyes have developed a magical blindness to spilled beans?
Awake, then? Tom shuffled into the kitchen, face rumpled with irritation. Another night tossing and turning?
Mary just nodded, poured him a mug of tea, and fetched the Greek yogurtthe only breakfast hed eaten since, what, 2019?
By the way, he slurped his tea, Ill be off to Manchester today. Big meeting. Three days. Quite important.
Tom.
She knew better than to start. She knew hed throw her that lookthe one shed come to think of as The Pity Squeezea slight grimace, like she was wringing sympathy out of a dry sponge that hed never possessed to begin with. But this morning, she said it anyway:
Not now, please. I really dont feel well. Doctor was quite insistent about tests.
He froze mid-sip, put his mug down with a sighthe sort of snort made by men with no patience for déjà vu.
What do you expect to gain with all this moaning? His tone was almost neutral, veering towards bored. Mary, I have to work, not sit here listening to you banging on about panic this, tired that, endless complaints. Who isnt exhausted?
He was already rummaging for his suitcasemuscle memory, knowing full well shed swallow her pride, blame herselfthere I go again, picking the worst moment.
Except this time, Mary didnt fall silent.
Tom, she said, slow and calm as a judge passing sentence, do you even remember whose name the mortgage is in?
He turned, managed a smirk. Makes no difference. Both of us, I suppose?
No. Just me. Solely me.
Something seemed to crackle in the air. Mary watched as Toms cocky mask slid away.
What are you getting at?
I mean, cast your mind back eight yearswhen we bought this house, remember your debts? Substantial ones? No bank wouldve handed you credit. You recall?
He said nothing.
So, Mary continued, its my name on the mortgage. My name on the house. Not to mention, Im your co-signer on all those business loans. The business would barely keep the lights on without my signatureno extensions, no switching, nothing.
Tom sank slowly into a chair as if his knees suddenly vanished.
Why are you telling me all this?
Just a friendly reminder. Mary opened a drawer, extracted a bulky folder, and set it down with deliberate ceremony. And another thingI know about Jessica.
Tom stared at the folder.
He sat there, stunned, the look of a man whos just been walloped upside the head with a cricket bat. Not quite painmore dazed disbelief.
Jessica, Mary repeated. Her voice sounded unusually steady, even to herself. Jessica from Daves office. Rather pretty, Ill grant you. Twelve years my junior, too.
She flicked open the folder, fanned out statements with the panache of a croupier dealing blackjack.
These transfers, Tom£800, £1,200, £1,500every month, regular as clockwork.
He said nothing.
And heres the messages. Mary presented printouts. Really thought I wouldnt know your work computer password? Tom, love, I came up with that password for you three years ago after youd forgotten the old one.
Tom snatched at the papers, eyes darting back and forth. His face turned the shade of week-old porridge.
Whered you get all this?!
Does it matter? Mary poured herself some waterher hand just the tiniest bit shaky. What matters is that you funnelled money through herinto her account. Think HMRC might like a peek?
Tom leapt up, voice cracking.
Who do you think you are?! Living off my back your whole life! Never earned a penny! Sat around like a kept woman!
Kept woman? Mary let out a bitter, brittle laugh. Isnt that droll? Fancy calling the person whos been signing your business paperwork, running your accounts while you swan off to meetings, the one who actually owns the house and keeps your finances afloata kept woman.
Youre threatening me?!
No. Mary strolled to the window. Just setting the record straight. Because you seem to have forgotten the basics.
She turned back to him.
In the last six months, I renewed my degree. Took professional coursesyes, at night, with panic attacks and no sleep. Got a job offer. Not glamorous, but more than enough to rent a flat and support myself, and Emily.
Emily?! He jolted. Youre taking our daughter?
Have you even seen her in the past month? Mary edged closer. No, seriously. When was the last time you had a real conversation with her?
Tom was silenthe honestly couldnt recall.
Mary picked up one more document.
Neurologists note. Chronic nervous exhaustion. Panic attacks. Recommends change of scenery, therapy, removal of stress factors. See this bit? Prolonged exposure to stress. Know what that means for you?
Mary
It means if I file for divorce now, the court sides with me.
She placed the final page on the table.
And one other thingwithout my signature, youre not extending your business loan next week. Dave called yesterday. The bank wants updated paperwork. They need me.
Tom sat back down, moving slow and defeated.
What is it you want? His voice was raw. Money?
Mary laughedsoftly, without mirth.
Money? Oh, Tom. What I want is a little basic respect. I want you, just once, to admitwithout me, youd be nowhere. No business. No house. And definitely not able to swan off to Manchester as you please.
She picked up her handbag.
You have until this evening. Im taking Emily to Alices. Think. And when youre ready to talk like an adultring me. Just dont expect me to go back to being that Mary whod bite her tongue and swallow everything.
Tom phoned six hours later.
Mary was at Alices, sipping peppermint tea, feeling as though shed just dragged herself out of the Thamesmud-splattered and disbelieving she could breathe freely.
Yes? she answered, voice steady.
We need to talk.
Go ahead.
Not on the phone. A pause. Come home?
Mary snorted.
No, Tom. If you want to talk, come here. You remember where Alice lives?
He showed up an hour later, irate and taut as a drawn bowlooking every inch the man whos cornered and desperate.
Alice tactfully whisked Emily away to her bedroom. Mary stayed in the kitchen.
Who do you think you are?! Toms hand thumped the table. Youre blackmailing me!
No, just stating facts.
What facts?! You stole my documents! Stalked me! Dug through my emails!
Tom, Mary sighed, do you really believe attacking me is your best move right now? After everything I showed you?
He swallowed the retortbecause she was right.
Listen up. Mary leaned in. Im not trying to ruin you. Wont drop you in it with the tax office or cause a scene. But you need to face itwithout me, youve got nothing.
You want a divorce? His voice was hoarse.
And do you?
Tom stared at the floor for a while, then muttered, With Jessicait meant nothing.
Stop. Mary held up a hand. Ive known about Jessica for six months. About the money transfers. The Manchester trips, half of them bogus. I shrugged and kept quiethoping, maybe, it would pass. Maybe youd come to your senses.
She gave a sad, wry chuckle.
Maybe I was simply afraid to admit our marriage died five years back. But neither of us wanted to say it out loud.
Mary
Im tired of being an afterthought in your life, Tom. You belittle every word I say. Never even noticed I was falling apart beside youpanic attacks, sleepless nights.
Tom sat, white-knuckled, unable to look her in the eye.
Youve got a choice, Mary continued. We could try again, start from scratchno lies, no infidelity.
Or youll leave, take everything?
No. She shook her head. Ill take whats mine. The house. My share of the business. Youll be stuck paying off the loans I signed for. And Ill finally get to live my own life.
She stood, signalling the end.
Youve got three days. Think it over. When youre readyring. And remember: the Mary who kept quiet died at five oclock yesterday morning.
A week later, Tom came back.
This time, gone was the self-important swagger. He just sat in Alices kitchen, silent.
Dave says without your signature, the bank wont extend the business loan, he mumbled. The company will go under.
Mary nodded. I know.
So, what do you want?
She looked straight at him. I want a divorce.
Tom went grey. Youre serious?
More than ever. Mary poured herself some tea, steady as a rock. Ill sign at the bank. Ill help with the loan. But onlyonlyif we split things properly. You get the business, you buy out my share. House is mine. Emily stays with me.
Mary
My minds made up, Tom. She smiled faintly. Know what? For the first time in ages, I slept through the night. No pills, no panic. Just sleep.
He was silent.
And thats all I needed to know. Im not ill. I dont need fixing. I just needed to get out of a life where I didnt matter.
Mary stood.
So, your choice: agree to my terms and we part as adults. Or I go to court, present all the paperwork, and you lose even more. Decide.
Tom hung his head, finally realising hed lost. The woman he thought weak had more grit than hed ever admit.
All right, he breathed. Deal.
Three months later, the divorce was official.
Mary took the house and a chunk of cash for her business share. Started a new job.
Tom kept the business and a new flat, plussurprise surprisea queasy sense of emptiness. Especially on evenings when he discovered there was no one in the house to tell about his day. Nobody to just sit beside him.
As for Jessica? Shed vanished a month after the split. Turns out, she fancied an easy ride, not a lonely man saddled with mountains of debt. When she discovered Tom was now flying solo through his repayments and couldnt keep her in the style she was aftershe lost interest.
Mary heard about it all from Dave. She gave a tiny, wry smile. Felt, oddly, absolutely nothing. No gloating. No regret.
Just nothing.
Perhaps its not so daft for a wife to be involved in her husbands business after all? What do you reckon?
