Who would ever want her?
Sophie, whats all this? Did you just throw away Mums pickled cucumbers?
Of course I did, Tom, I sighed. Theyd gone off ages ago All soft and fizzy. You couldnt eat them if you tried
Oh, not a big deal. You couldve just thrown out the ones on top; you can rinse the rest and eat them. My mum and I used to polish off swollen jars all the time, and look were still here. These only sat out for a bit. You cant just waste food like that, Soph, its money down the drain!
Tom strode past me, chin lifted, eyes all judgemental, muttering under his breath.
I exhaled hard. Once, Id found that sort of thing endearing. My mind unwittingly wandered back to the early days, those first dates
There he was, tall and laughing, striding through the park in a white shirt, holding a wildflower bouquet. Exactly my favourite.
Tom! I gasped. Seriously? Did you just pick these yourself?
Yup, he nodded. Whats the point in all those roses? Overpriced and boring. Wed be better off spending on a few rides at the fair instead.
I remember smiling and walking by his side
Todays me blinked the memory away. Tom actually was in the kitchen, rinsing those cucumbers. Honestly, nothing surprised me anymore. For ages, Id thought we skipped restaurants because Tom loved the fresh air, not because he begrudged spending. That we avoided the pricier rides at the funfair out of concern for me, not for the cost. Oh, how wrong Id been
But now, after years of marriage and two kids, I saw it clearly. There was nothing left for me to do but put up with it, or else rebel. Id chosen silence.
I went into the kitchen, dishing up plain meals for the twins and ourselves buckwheat, some meatballs, a bit of salad. Simplicity defined our household. Luxuries? Never.
Tom, what are you doing? I asked, weary. He was standing over the kids plates, cutting up their meatballs.
Theyre only five. Half a meatball is more than enough.
Tom, ever serious, sawed away at one plate, then took the meatball from the other and plopped it back into the pan.
Seriously?
Dont you think so?
No, Tom.
Well, were just like them, arent we? he said, and started cutting my meatball too. Beefs expensive. And besides, too much meats not even healthy especially fried. Next time, steam them!
The boys dont like steamed food.
Theyll learn to. Its healthier, Tom declared, and off he went. I stared at the hacked meatballs and realised my patience truly wasnt boundless
End of the week, Toms mother, Margaret, came back. Compared to her, Tom was the height of generosity.
Sophie, sweetheart, look what Ive brought! New clothes for the boys youre lucky to have a grandma who never arrives empty-handed!
I had just come home from work, offered a resigned sigh, muttered under my breath, and went to greet her.
Margaret handed me a bag.
Margaret These are for a girl. I peered inside. Tom and I have boys.
Oh, whats the difference, she waved it off, rummaging for a pink Hello Kitty t-shirt. Alex loves cats. Besides, the children are little, does colour really matter? Pink, red, or blue
Its fine, Margaret, thanks. Well look through it all later.
I smiled, put the bag aside. Later, Id throw it out. The clothes werent only for girls they were battered and tatty. Id be embarrassed to tend my roses in them.
Tom, when are we moving out? I cant bear another minute with your mum, I said quietly, shutting our bedroom door.
Silly question. When weve saved enough for a house.
Why not get a mortgage? At this rate, well only buy a place when were pensioners.
Weve talked about this. Mortgages are a trap all that interest! And living with Mum is practical she cooks, cleans, does the preserves for winter
Are you even listening? I snapped, before lowering my voice. Our kids still sleep in with your mum! Its fine now, theyre five. What about as they get older? What then? Its not just privacy we cant do a thing. There are no locks on the doors, and Margaret refuses to let us fit any. Because, you know, its impractical.
Calm down and put the lights out. Wait till you see the electricity bill at the end of the month.
I groaned into my pillow. That was it. I was done.
The next day, it all exploded. Tom refused to let the boys watch Bedtime Stories. Too much screen time, apparently. Too expensive, too. That was the final straw.
Thats enough, I wept. I cant do this anymore! Im leaving and the boys are coming with me. Well stay with my mum, at least they get their own room.
I snatched a suitcase, herded my sons towards the door.
Alex, Sam, come on.
Soph Where are you going? Tom just stood there. What about our family? I thought things were fine you always seemed happy.
Ive put up with this for six years. You and your mother. Shampoo only in industrial bottles, cheapest toilet paper, the boys play with whatevers leftover from you and your brother! Im done. I want a normal life for my kids. Id rather be wasteful than live like this.
Margaret clutched her chest, melodramatically stopping Tom from following.
Oh, Tom, my heart Dont chase after her. Shell come to her senses. Come back, she will. Like who else would want her, baggage and all?
And Tom, he believed it. He really did.
Soph, what are you doing? Mum (thats Linda) asked, catching me as I absentmindedly brewed my third cup of tea with the same teabag.
I snapped out of my trance and looked down at my hands.
How did you even live like that? Ive been telling you for ages to leave. Thats not life, thats just survival. The whole things pathological, love.
Yeah, I nodded briskly, stood gazing into the fridge. Proper cheese, not that processed stuff. Sausage, meat, yogurts Got to hide the chocolates, or the boys will polish the lot.
Let them, love. Thats why I buy them.
You might want to hide them theyre not used to having chocolate around, youll see a rash.
Mum nodded, patted my arm, looked at me with such gentle pity.
Night fell. I got out of bed and wandered into the kitchen. I couldnt sleep, not on a bed so soft, without creaks. The bed Tom and I used at his mothers house was ancient, always groaning.
The fridge gleamed in the darkness. I stared at the contents in awe. At Toms, we had the cheapest milk, no yogurt allowed just sour milk and homemade curds. I sliced some bread, loaded it with proper cheese and sausage. It barely fit in my mouth, but heaven, it was good No one lecturing me on slice thickness, or cheese being for breakfast only
I grabbed a yogurt and slurped it, straight from the pot. Divine.
Good grief, how did I stand it? How lovely it is to not count every penny
How did I manage almost six years, living by his rules? Unfinished home, hand-me-downs from his mum, one pair of boots for five years How?
A few weeks passed. Mum took the boys to the park, let me have a lie-in. Then, the doorbell.
Whos there? Tom? What are you even doing here?
There stood my husband.
Sophie, come back. Mum and I, well stop being so stingy. Waste is a sin, but but well listen to you more, I promise. I love you, Soph. Please, come home. For the kids, for us.
No! No, and again, no! Im not coming back. My boys have their own room now, and so do I. They watch cartoons as much as they like, and me too. Theyre not splitting meatballs in half. They can just help themselves to a chocolate. And we never reuse old plastic bags for washing! And I finally, finally, have my own dressing gown. Hear that? I want a normal life. Its my money; Ill spend it as I wish. Thats that. Goodbye. Youll get the divorce papers soon!
I slammed the door and started to cry. I didnt know why. Maybe it was regret. Probably for myself. Yes, now Id have to work harder to support the boys, but I was ready. Ready for anything except ever going back to that life. It simply wasnt mine.
