No Longer a Wife
Tony, Tony, have you checked your blood pressure today? Taken your tablet? Jane pokes her head around the door, drying her hands on her apron.
Oh, for heavens sake, Jane, leave me alone with your blood pressure business! he grumbles, eyes fixed on his phone. Ive got a meeting in an hour. Wheres my blue cotton shirt? Is it ironed?
I ironed three shirts for you last night, remember? You said that one needed to go to the cleanersthere was a stain
Youre forever mixing things up! Cant trust you with anything. Fine, whatever, just give me whichever. And make me a proper cup of teanot that chamomile stuff, Im sick of it.
Janes shoulders tighten, but she bites her tongue and heads to the kitchen.
Its November outside, wet and grey. The council block opposite has identical darkened windows, only two are lit. Jane Cartwright, fifty-six, stands at the hob, watching water boil in her battered old kettle. Shed meant to get a new one in the spring. Didnt manage. Other things got in the way.
She adds strong tea leaves to his mugthe way he likes, no chamomile, no mint. She grabs a plate of sandwiches she made at six this morning: bread and butter with cheese, crusts cut off (his stomachs delicate), a few slices of tomato, tasteless as a November tomato can be, but at least vitamin-rich. She arranges it all on a tray and carries it in.
Anthony Cartwright, fifty-eight, sits in his armchair scrolling on his phone. Three months ago, he was made Head of Department. Before that, hed been a regular engineer, same as twenty years before. Then Mr. Simpson retired, and Tony, being the oldest, got the job. The new position came with a twelve hundred pound raise, his own officeand, apparently, a new way of viewing himself and those around him.
Put it here, he nods at the coffee table, barely looking up.
Jane sets down the tray. Hesitates a second.
Tony, really, just take your tablet. You said your head hurt yesterday.
I said it hurt yesterday. Its fine today. Thats enoughI have calls to make.
She leaves. Stands in the hall by the coatshis overcoat on a hook, her padded jacket, the useless umbrella with a bent prong. She stands staring into space. Then, nowhere else to focus her restlessness, she grabs a cloth and wipes down the kitchen sill.
Its been three weeks since Tonys promotion and that corporate seminar in Surrey. Hed returned standing straighter, with a new haircut and a strange, keen expression. At first, she was gladthought: hes come to life. But then she started to notice things.
Suddenly, he had complaints about the food. Used to eat whatever was there in silence; now nothing was right: the stew too salty, the chicken dry, tinned beans the kind of thing students eat, not heads of departments. She asked if shed misheard, but he just gave her a look and said,
Jane, its time you cooked something decent. Baked fish, proper salads, not just your potato salad at Christmas.
So, Jane made baked fish and salads. He ate in silence, and she thought all was well. But the next day, he came home glum and said that his new acquaintance, Mr. Jameson, had a wife who didnt work, just ran the house and Looked like someone.
Jane stayed quiet. She couldve reminded him she hadnt worked in four years, ever since the accounts department shut. She couldve said she gets up at six, goes to bed last, runs the house, queues at surgeries for his prescriptions and pharmacies for his statins, changes his tyres at the garage since hes busy. She couldve said all that. But she was used to silence.
But two days ago, being quiet stopped being an option.
Tony got home about eight. Jane was just taking chicken soup off the stovelean, double stock, for his cholesterol. Two hours it took. The kitchen smelled of dill and carrots.
What took you so long? she called from the kitchen.
Got held up, he barked, kicking his shoes off in the hall, not bothering with the rack.
Soups ready. Sit down.
He peeked in the pot, frowned. Chicken again?
Tony, your cholesterol, the doctor
I know about the cholesterol. Im not a child. Im tired of hospital food at home.
She served up, sliced some bread. He ate, got up, left the bowl on the table. She washed up, wiped the stove, cleared the crumbs. Then went in to tell him there was apple juice if he wanted.
He sat in his chair, scrolling his phone. She glimpsed something pink on the screen, couldnt see what. He angled the phone away.
Tony, want some juice?
He looked at her, thoughtful, as if weighing something.
No, he said. Then, after a pause, Jane just look at yourself.
She didnt quite get it.
What?
I saidlook at yourself. When did you last go to the hairdresser? Hair all limp. That old check dressing gown. You look like some village granny.
In the kitchen, the faucet dripped. On the other side of the wall, a neighbours TV muttered.
Tony, she said quietly.
WhatTony? Im just telling the truth. I’ve got corporates now, meetings. People visitmy wife should look presentable; and youwell, just look at you.
People? What people? she replied slowly. No ones been round in three months.
Because Im embarrassed! He raised his voicethe word embarrassed crashed into the hush like a stone. Jamesons wifes a pleasure to look at. Polished woman. Stylish. You overweight, in that old thing, hair not even dyed
Anthony. She used his name in full, which was rare. Youll be sixty soon. Im fifty-six. Were not young.
Exactly! He sprang from his chair, as if this was proof. Thats why you have to look after yourself! Ive joined a gym. You sit at home all day and you cant even
All day at home, she echoed, her voice oddly steady, surprising herself. Alright, Tony. I get it.
She left, closing the door gently behind her. In the kitchen, she put away the bread and switched off the light. She moved calmly, automatically. Inside, something shiftednot broken, just shifted, like moving old furniture. Unfamiliar at first, then you realiseits what was needed.
She slept little that night. Lay on her side, staring at the ceiling. He was snoring softly, as he always did. She listened, thinking.
Ten years now shed lived as caretaker: up first, cooking, laundry, cleaning, pharmacy runs, surgery bookings, still using the car occasionallyno, theyd sold the car three years ago, his blood pressure making driving impossible, meaning she booked the taxis, swiping her own debit card. She kept his medicine routineEnalapril for pressure, Rosuvastatin for cholesterol, last spring even some expensive joint pills, almost fifty quid a box. She recorded refills in her diary, visited the chemist early, made sure there was never a gap. Doctor said: missing doses is dangerous.
And now he said she was embarrassing to look at. Like a granny. Jameson’s wife was better.
Jane lay awake, thinking. And by one oclock, she thought: enough.
Not Ill leave, not Ill demand divorce, not make a scene. Justenough of doing things he never even notices. Enough of being a resource, used like a tap: switch on, get water, switch off. Let him manage.
Next morning, she got up at six, as always. Made herself chamomile teathe one he couldnt stand. Sat with her mug and mobile. Booked a Wednesday appointment at the fancy hairdresser in the shopping centre by the tubeeven though a simple cut cost forty quid. Found a free outdoor walking group in the local park, Tuesday and Thursday mornings, and set a reminder.
At seven, Tony came into the kitchen. There was a mug for tea on the side. The bread was in the bread bin, butter in the fridge. Hed have to help himself.
What about breakfast? he asked, glancing around.
Theres bread, butter, cheese in the fridge, Jane replied, not looking up from her phone.
He paused. Poured his tea, sliced bread, ate it standing by the fridge. Left for work without another word.
She watched the door close after him and felt something like relief.
That Wednesday, Jane walked to the hairdressers. The stylist, a young woman with a side shave and multiple studs in her ears, examined Janes faded hair.
Had it done recently? she asked.
Three years. Never got round to it.
You grew it out well. Lets do gentle highlightsa soft blend, nothing harsh. And reshape it?
She spent two and a half hours in the chair, watching herself transform. Not young, no, but alive. Like herselflike the version of herself shed almost forgotten.
It cost her ninety quid. On the way home, she bought good face creamno longer the cheap chemist stuff, but a proper one marked mature skin, twenty quid. She hesitatedwas it too much? Then remembered Jameson’s wife and put it in the basket.
Tony noticed the change that evening. Looked at her hair. Said nothing.
She hadnt expected a word.
The following week, his blood pressure tablets ran out. Jane, who used to keep track and do the chemist run days ahead, simply put the empty box on his bedside table. Let him see.
He got home, walked past the box. She didnt mention it.
The next day, he reached for the tablets, found the empty pack.
Jane! he shouted from the bedroom. Im out of tablets!
I know, she replied from the kitchen.
Wellwhy havent you got more?
Youre a grown man, Tony. You can manage.
A pause. A long one.
Ive got work, you know.
Ive got things to do, too.
And she did. Tuesdays and Thursdays she joined the walking group, got to know two women her ageLinda, a deputy head who laughed so loudly the birds flew off, and Ruth, who was retired and looked after grandchildren. Their chattering walks were unexpectedly sweetand Jane realised shed never known such easy company.
Tony eventually bought the tablets himself, returning from Boots with the air of a man whod conquered Everest. He placed the box on the bedside table. Said nothing. She said nothing too.
About then, Jane phoned her old friend Eileena mate since days in accounts.
Eil, fancy coffee Saturday?
Whats the occasion?
Lets just go outa film or a café?
Jane, is everything alright? Eileen sounded warythey hadnt done coffee in at least four years.
Better than usual, said Jane.
That Saturday, they met at the station. Eileen saw Janes hair and gasped.
Jane! What have you done? You look great!
Finally made it to the hairdressers.
About time! I was wondering when
When? Well, nows when, Jane replied, and off they went.
They had lattes, a slice of cake each, set up by the window as the first real snowfat and softfell and quickly melted on the pavement.
Go on, tell me, said Eileen.
And Jane did: about Tonys promotion, the seminar, his new way, the foodie complaints, Jameson’s wife, Look at yourself, the shame. Spoke calmly, without tears, as if about somebody else.
Eileen stirred her coffee, head cocked, listening.
So what have you decided?
I havent decided anything, not really. Just stopped doing what he doesnt notice. Not to be spiteful. Theres just no need.
No need, Eileen repeated softly. I get it. She paused, forking cake. Right choice.
I dont really know if its right. I just cant do otherwise.
Eileen nodded. Picked at her cake.
Has he noticed?
That Ive stopped chasing up his medicine? He has. That I dont iron a shirt every day? Also yes. Yesterday, he took a wrinkled one and left. No drama.
Not even an argument?
No. Jane shrugged. Hes at a loss. Used to me being silent in the face of anything. Now Im still silent, but its different.
Eileen eyed her carefully. You ever think of divorce?
I do. Not now, though. First, I want to figure out who I even am, without the tablets and the shirts and the stews. Its been so many years since I saw myself.
They sat a while longer, ordered another coffee each, went back out after dark, snow now falling in flurries. Eileen hugged her at the tube. Ring me. Next Saturday again?
Lets, Jane agreed.
Going home, she realised she hadnt taken a coffee catch-up with Eileen like this in at least six years, maybe more. There had always been something more urgent: Tonys health, Tonys dinner, Tonys needs.
At home, he was in front of the telly. On the worktopthe dirty mug and plate from the fry-up hed made himself. She glanced at them. Once, shed have washed up straight away. Now, she left them.
Whereve you been? he called, not turning.
With Eileen.
A while.
Yes.
She went to wash her face. Smoothed on the new cream and studied her reflection. Nothing tragic there: fifty-six, not young, but alive. Laughter lines, a crease by her mouth, highlighted hair that suited her. She was not a young womanand that was fine.
December brought real cold. Jane bought herself good bootsproper leather, not the cheap rubber ones shed worn three winters in a row. Paid ninety pounds and didnt feel a shred of regret.
Something intangible kept shifting at home. She still cooked, but no longer with Tonys diet in mind. She made what she fancied: hearty stew with proper meat, roast chicken with potatoes, even ready-made dumplings sometimes becausewhy not? Those bland steamed fishcakes were finished. If he wanted doctors food, he could see to it himself.
His shirts now got washed with everything else, all in a regular cycle, not fussed over separately. Once, shed taken special pains. Nowno.
He noticed. Said nothing, though now and then lobbed a barb:
Dumplings again?
Yes, dumplings, shed reply evenly.
Youve practically stopped cooking.
Why? There was soup yesterday. A roast on Sunday.
He left, grumpy. But couldnt say straight out: Why arent you orbiting around me? That would be too much, even for him.
Meanwhile, Jane kept up the park walks on Tuesdays and Thursdays, got friendly with Linda, who recommended a good GP shed been meaning to see foreverJane finally made the appointment. Then she signed up for a free watercolour class at the local library on Wednesdays. Not because art was her secret dreambut two hours in calm, when nobody needed her and nothing was urgent, was unexpectedly appealing.
Mid-December, Tony started staying late at work. Once, this would have lit her with anxiety: dinner cooling, constant checks. Now, she simply ate when she was ready, went to bed when she felt like it. He came in at nine, tenonce nearly midnight. She didnt ask, and he didnt explain.
She didnt spot a mistress by messages on his phone. No, it was the scenta sweet, heady perfume that didnt belong to offices or restaurants. One sniff in the hallway and she knew. Well, then.
Surprisingly, she didnt feel pain. Shed expected ache, but felt only a tired curiosityand a strange relief: the responsibility was no longer hers. If he left, it would be his choice, not her failure.
She said nothing. Slept soundly.
It went on for three weeks. Hed go to work, stay late, sometimes leave the room to answer calls. Once, through the closed bathroom door, Jane caught: …yes, Helen, Saturday Helen. Fine.
In those three weeks, Jane thought a lot. Thirty-two years and a grown sonMichaelin Birmingham, with a wife and two kids. When had Tony changed? He was once lively, funny, went fishing with Michael. When had it started to dry up? There was no exact day: it seeped in like water flooding a cellarunnoticed at first, then impossible to bail out.
She reflected on how shed lost herself in all her attempts to care for him. Not just her looksher own preferences, desires, music, books, places shed golong drowned by years of stews and pillboxes.
Watercolour lessons became a lifeline. She sat in the quiet, the teachera kind woman named Mrs. Sutton, fifty-twoshowing how to blend colours, mix washes. Jane painted apples, flowers in a jug, the view from the library window, and realised she hadnt painted since school. It was not so frightening after all, and watching the green melt into yellow on the paper felt magical.
One Wednesday, Mrs. Sutton said: You have a really good feel for colour, you know. Tossed off as nothingbut the first kind thing Jane had heard about herself, even in passing, in years.
In early January, Helenpresumablyvanished. She didnt hear it from Tony, but saw it in his posture: no more late nights, home for news at seven, no phone calls in the bathroom, looking wan and a bit deflated.
She made stew, he ate in silence. Once, he sat beside her in the kitchen as she drank tea and said, as if into thin air:
Its cold out there tonight.
Yes, Jane replied, they say minus twelve later.
Hmm. He wandered off. Conversation done.
Later, a mutual friend calledAndy Richardsand before hanging up, joked: So, heard Tony was getting cosy with some lady? Didnt last long, did it? Jane said, So I heard. Andy cackled and moved on.
Jane could fill in the rest: Helen fancied a well-off manager, the café lifestyleand got a middle-aged man with cholesterol who needed his shirts ironed and his tea made just so, who apparently moaned about his health. Hardly a treat.
Jane didnt pity him. What she felt was the absence of painthe way the throb of a bad tooth vanishes. Not joy, just blessed neutrality.
In February his health dippedtaking his tablets sporadically, not the old routine Jane had enforced for years. Sometimes forgetting a day, sometimes doubling up. Jane saw the boxes stacked carelessly, not in order. Once, he washed two down at once, to make up for a missed dose. She said nothing. The consultant had warned him himself.
Blood pressure rose, he looked pale, complained of a ringing in his ears, had trouble sleeping.
Dizzy this morning, he complained.
See your GP, she said.
Will youwill you ring and book me in?
Give them a call yourself. The numbers on your NHS card. Written there.
He looked at her. She sipped her tea.
I dont remember how it works.
Youre a bright man, Tony. A department head. Youll manage.
He managed. Rang up, booked in, fetched a new prescription.
Here, he laid the slip on the table.
Alright, she said.
Will you get them?
Ill be passing by tomorrow. Give me the money.
He was thrown. She used to handle it, pay from household funds, keep the ledger. Nowthis.
He gave her money. She bought the medicine, set it beside the rest. No instructions, no little calendar like before. Just put it down.
March brought thaw. The snow shrank to muddy puddles, drip-dripped from the guttering, kids splashing in the yard below. Jane took to walks with no sticks, just to stroll. Bought herself a new spring jacketshapely, belted, light beige. She stood in the shop mirror and thought: when had she last got something nice just for herself?
That same March Michael, her son, and his wife Sarah came to visit for a few days. Michaela tall, easy-going forty-year-old, like his father used to be. Sarah was lovelycalm, warm. They brought a pot of honey and a box of chocolates.
First night, they sat down togetherJane made roast potatoes, layered herring salad, and ham hock jelly, her mums recipe. Tony was quiet at dinner, said little. Michael told stories about work, kids; Sarah chatted to Jane about her watercolours.
You paint, Mum? Michael was surprised.
Im learningwatercolour.
Brilliant. Will you show me?
She fetched her sketchesthe apple, the vase, the window view. Michael studied them intently, Sarah praised them warmly.
Mum, you actually look younger, honestly.
Just finally got to the hairdresser, Jane said.
She noticed Michael eyeing his father. Tony ate in silence. Michael sensed the tension, but said nothing in front of Sarah.
Next day, while Sarah was at the shops, Michael joined Jane in the kitchen as she made dumplings by hand.
Mum. Is everything alright?
What do you mean?
Dads I dont know, a bit out of it. Is he ill?
Just the blood pressure. He saw the doctor, got pills. Hes managing himselfhes an adult.
Michael fiddled with a bit of dough.
You two havent you know, fallen out?
No, Jane repliedand it was true. Thered been no row. They just lived side by side now.
Just, let me know if you
Michael, Im fine. Really. Im alright.
He believed her, she could see that. Because, oddly, she was telling the truth.
They left Sunday. Flat went silent. Jane washed up, tidied, wiped the hob. Tony watched TV.
Late that evening, he popped into the kitchen for a glass of water. Loitered by the window.
Michael looks well, he said.
Yes, he does.
And their kids are he trailed off.
Yes.
He drained his glass, set it down, left. Jane stood at the window, gazing at the soggy, lamp-lit road, the last flurries of snow.
April began with Tony suffering a hypertensive episode. Not life-threateningno ambulance, but after standing up in the morning, his head reeled so badly he sat back down in the hall.
Jane. I feel awful.
She came, saw him slumped, red-faced, sweating gently.
Come on, into the bedroom, she said.
Helped him up, sat him on the bed. Took his blood pressure: 185 over 110. Not good.
Take your emergency tablet, Captoprilits just there. Lie down, dont get up. Ill check again in half an hour.
Where are you going?
Ill be in the kitchen.
She set the kettle to boil, listening as he rummaged for his pills. After an hour, he felt better: 160 over 95. Manageable.
Stay put today, she said. No work.
Ive got to go in
Ring up. Youre unwellyoure not going.
He stayed home. Jane brought him tea and a rusk. Not because he asked. Just becausethats different from refusing care and watching someone suffer.
He stared at the ceiling.
Jane, he said after what seemed like ages.
Yes?
I look, Ive been an idiot these last few months, havent I?
She took a second before replying. Sat on the bed edge.
Yes, Tony. You have.
Well He gazed at the ceiling. This promotionit went to my head. Thought things would change, that Id achieved something.
You did. Head of department.
Oh, yeah. But you justwellI mean
I understand what you mean, she said softly.
She got up, took his empty mug. Went back to the kitchen. There was no reconciliation scene, no hugs or tears or grand words. Hed said idiot, and she agreed. That was that.
April slid into May. Jane kept walking in the park and going to art class. She got closer with Linda, who invited her to the theatre monthly. They bought tickets for a play at the civic theatregood seats, the stalls. Jane hadnt been in years. Sitting there, sipping orange juice from the bar, watching live actors felt remarkably nourishing.
She was fifty-six, and just beginning to realise it wasnt the endjust something entirely new.
Life with Tony became a civil, parallel existence. Hed stopped criticising meals, no more talk of Jameson’s wife. Sometimes, theyd even chat about practicalities. Sometimes, they’d sit in the eveningshim with the telly, her with a book Linda recommended. There was peacesomething that felt almost normal, but of a new quality: she no longer owed him her life.
Once, Tony asked her to order medicine online, because its cheaper.
I dont know how it works, he said. Youre better at it.
Tony, its simple. Search the name, add to cart, choose your nearest collection point.
Yes, but youre always better with these things.
I am, but so will you be.
He managed. Spent ages, called her in once for advice. She talked him through it. He ordered it himself.
She realised this was the real help: not doing everything for him, but letting him do what he could. Before, shed thought helping meant taking all burdens onto herself. Now, she saw shed been replacing rather than assisting.
June turned warm. Jane bought herself a new dresslight, flowery. Put it on and felt she lookednormal. Not like a village granny, just a woman in a nice new dress.
She saw how older couples handled things differently. Some lived at war, some in forced jollity, some in chill indifference. She and Tony found their own way: not war, not peace, not indifferencesomething where each went their own way, still sharing one roof.
She didnt know what the future held. Sometimes she thought about Eileens question about divorce. She didnt dismiss it, but she wasnt in a hurry. First, she had to understand herself.
Summer came and went. Jane visited Michael in Birmingham for two weeksher first solo trip in years, Tony opting out (too much work). She packed a bag, sewed a patchwork pillow for her granddaughter, skills picked up on YouTube, and left.
Two weeks with Michael, Sarah, and the grandkidsStephen, six, and Maisie, fourwere the best two weeks shed had in years. She played, cooked porridge, bathed Maisie, read bedtime stories. Giving care felt differenta nurturing she actually wanted to give.
Michael quizzed her in the evenings: How was she, how were things at home? She was honest: things were normal, if tricky. He nodded, didnt press with advice. Shed raised a good son, she thought.
Jane returned home tanned and rested. Tony met her in the hallwayHome, thenhelped with the bag. Not much, but not nothing.
August was humid and close. Jane bought herself a watermelon at the market, ate half herself, sliced the rest for Tony. He thanked herfor the first time in ages.
Then, in September, as the mornings grew colder and yellow poplar leaves littered the pavements, it happenedwhat shed been expecting.
Friday evening, Tony came home around eight. His face was grey, he moved carefully. Jane was in the kitchen, reading.
Jane, he called from the hall, I dont feel well.
Whats up?
Blood pressure, I think. My head. And here he pressed his chest, its tight.
She stood up, examined him.
How long?
Since lunch. Thought itd pass.
Taken a tablet?
Took one at three. Hasnt helped.
Sit down.
He sat at the kitchen table. She fetched the monitor: 190 over 115. Worse than April.
Tony, she said quietly, its serious. You need an ambulance.
Oh, come onno. Maybe another tablet
No. 190 and chest tightness. You need proper care. A tablet wont fix this. Call the ambulance.
Well, can you call?
And here she paused. Stood there in the kitchen with the blood pressure monitor in her hand, looking at him.
She saw him: grey skin, wide eyes, hand at his chest. She saw a man in trouble. She felt somethingnot indifference, no. Sympathy, real human sympathy. He was unwell, frightened.
But she also saw everything else: that hed been looking through, not at her, all year. That hed flung words at her she couldnt ever un-hear. That shed ceased being a person to him long before shed stopped caring so much.
She understood what shed doand what she wouldnt.
Tony, she said calmly, Youve got your phone. You know the number.
He looked at her, lost.
What?
Call the ambulance yourself. Dial 999. Give the address, say its blood pressure and chest pain. Theyll come.
Janehis voice trembled, almost childlikearent you going to help?
I haveI checked your pressure, told you what you need. The rest is for you.
But I
Tony. She placed the monitor on the table. Dial 999. Youre an adult. Youll manage.
She walked out into the corridor, into the sitting room, closing the door softlynot slamming, not locking. Just closing it.
Soon, she heard his voice from the kitchen, small and shaky: Hello. Yes, ambulance please, address is
She poured herself teachamomile, the one she liked. Mug in hand, she slipped quietly through the kitchen, past him sitting, speaking to the dispatcher. He glanced at her. She stood by the window, staring into the autumn darkness.
The yard was empty, the lamp outside yellow on the wet tarmac. The last poplar leaves lay sodden on the ground. The bench by the door was deserted.
He finished the call. Silence.
Theyre coming, he said.
Good, Jane replied.
Will you come with me, to hospital?
She turned from the window to face him. His grey face, hand pressed to his chest, scared eyes. She pitied him. Genuinely pitied himnot for show. He was an ageing, unwell man in distress. No triumph in it.
No, Tony, she said quietly. I wont. The doctors will sort you out.
Jane
The paramedics will come, thats their job.
She picked up her mug, left him, closing the door behind her. She sat by the window in the next rooma different window, a farther poplar, other glowing estate windows across the way. The kitchen was quiet, save the occasional rustle. Then the distant hum of a lift.
The ambulance arrived twenty minutes later. She heard the door, the thump of uniformed feet, brisk and purposeful voices: pressure, ECG, possibly the ward. His own, embarrassed voice.
Then:
Is your wife home?
Yes. But she wont be coming.
A pause. The paramedics neutral: Alright. Coat onwell take you in, get you checked.
The door closed. The lift whined. Silence.
