17th October
I got back home today, earlier than expected, arms weighed down with treats from Mum and Dad. Id been away for a week, three days longer than planned, just so I could surprise Tom. I imagined his delight, those warm arms Id missed every mile of the train ride from Manchester, counting down lampposts as we neared London. But my surprise Well, everything turned out quite differently.
The carrier bags weight dragged so hard on my shoulder that I groaned out loud, unable to help myself. My lower back acheda constant companion for nearly two months now, and at six months pregnant, it was no wonder. I eased my bagsbrimming with homemade jam, Dads famous pork pies, and enough Bramley apples to fill the kitchenonto the cracked pavement outside the estate.
I exhaled, wincing as the baby gave a little kick inside. Only ten minutes walk from home, but each step felt like an eternity with those bags. Id so wanted Tom to be happy, to feel special. Instead, I could barely move.
I thought about calling him from the platform, but I wanted to preserve the surprise. By the time Id trudged another fifty yards along the shadowy street, I had no choice. I simply couldnt manage another step with my back.
So I fished my phone from my pocket and rang him.
“Tom, hi,” I breathed when he finally picked up.
“Sophie? What are you doing? Whats happened?” His voice was tinged with panic.
“Nothing at all, love. Im here! Im outside our block. Could you come down and give me a hand? The bags are a bit much, Mums been her generous self”
An odd silence stretched between us. I glanced at my phone to check the connection.
“Youre outside? Now? But you said Thursday! Why on earth didnt you tell me?” Toms voice shot up an octave.
“I wanted to surprise you,” I admitted, a little bruised. “Arent you glad Im back? Im shattered, Tom. Please, just come meet me.”
“Hang on Dont come up yet. I mean, do, but also dont,” he rambled. “Honestly, Soph, theres nothing in the flat. I finished the last of the food yesterday. Look, why dont you duck into the mini-mart round the corner? Pick up some decent beef, yeah? I took the day off, wanted to make a proper lunch, treat you right.”
“What? Tom, have you been listening? Im pregnantsix months! Stood out here with two massive bags, creased with pain, and you want me to shop for beef?”
“Theres nothing in the house,” he pleaded, talking over me. “Just grab some beef, and get a sack of potatoes toothe lot in the cupboards practically sprouting. Ask someone for help, or do it bit by bit. Please? I just want things to be perfect. Ill get everything ready here.”
I looked at my sore, red hands. Frustration surged hot through my chest.
“Are you serious?” My voice shook. “You want me to drag these bags to the shop for beef because youre preparing something? You cant come down yourself?”
He gave a vague excuse about having started something I shouldnt see and insisted. He genuinely couldnt understand.
My eyes prickled as I stared into the street. Instead of hugs and a warm bed, hed sent me shopping. Maybe he really had planned something special. I sighed, hauled my bags up, and limped off to the shop.
The fluorescent aisles were empty, only a dreary-eyed cashier glancing at me with mild pity. The beef was heavy, the net of potatoes almost impossible, and by the time I left I couldnt feel my hands at all.
The phone rang again outside, almost as soon as I stumbled back to the estate entrance.
“You got it?” Tom chirped.
“Yes,” I said through gritted teeth. “Im outside now. Open up.”
“No, wait! Dont come in yet. Sit on the bench for a bit, ten minutesdont come up,” he begged. “Surprise isnt ready. Five minutes, Soph, I swear!”
Against my every instinct, I collapsed onto the old wooden bench outside, shopping bags thudding grimly beside me. I wanted to hurl the wretched bag of mince straight at our window on the third floor.
Ten minutes passed, then twenty. I sat, boiling inside, imagining what on earth would greet me above. Flowers? Candles? A violinist in the corner? But nothing could justify making me, in my condition, wait out here with my legs throbbing after a six-hour journey.
Thirty-five minutes later, the door creaked open. Tom appeared, flushed, a t-shirt inside out, hair sticking up at all angles, damp with sweat and reeking of cleaning products.
“There you are!” He beamed, grabbing my bags. “Why so cross? Lovely evening out here Oh. Right. Lets get inside!”
“Why are you soaking wet?” I grunted as I stood, clinging to the banister. “And whats that chemical smell?”
“Youll see!” he said, almost bouncing in anticipation.
The lift creaked us up and Tom ushered me through our front door with a flourish, standing back for applause. A pungent waft of bleach and Mountain Fresh air freshener hit me instantly.
I wandered through each room, the kitchen, even the bathroom. The place was sparklingand eerily empty. The usual clutter was gone, everything wiped and mopped, even the rug was still damp in spots, and my little porcelain cats huddled together on the windowsill.
“Well?” Tom was beaming, proud as punch. “Surprise!”
I turned to him. “Is that it?” I whispered.
“What do you mean, is that it?” he bristled, genuinely affronted. “Three hours Ive slogged, Soph! Look at the floors! I did under the sofa! Washed every dish, scrubbed the looit shines. I wanted you to get back to a proper home, no chores. Ive been racing round while you ran to the shops.”
I could feel a lump rising in my throat.
“You mean to say You had me shop and wait outside just so you could mop?” My voice was taut with hurt. “You couldnt meet me because you were cleaning?!”
“Yeah! I wanted everything just right! You always say I never help round here, so I proved I can. You came back too early, I had to stall you somehow. And now, instead of thank you, I get this look, like Ive spat on your dinner.”
I snapped, my voice leaping with outrage. “Are you mad? I dont care about sparkling floors! My backs ruined, the bags were killing me; Im creating life, Tom, in case youve forgotten! All I wanted was for you to hold my hand and help me home, not for you to wave a mop around!”
Red-faced, he flung his cloth into the sink with a crash.
“Oh here we go! Youre never happy. Five in the morning I started, knackered myself, hoping to make you smile, and you walk in and have a go! Dyou even see how clean it is? Cleaner than on our wedding day!”
“And for what?” My words were a blur of tears. “I sat outside, freezing, legs numb, doing the big shop when I could barely walk! This isnt a surprise, Tom, its just mean!”
“Mean, is it?” He started pacing the tiny kitchen, arms flapping. “Sorry Im not perfect! Most women would be thrilled. Not youyou just care about yourself! Ooh, my back, my legs. What about me? Im shattered too. Been awake all night waiting, thinking of how to please you!”
I covered my face with my hands.
“You really dont get it You traded how I feel for a clean skirting board.”
“Thats not fairif youd come back when you said, everything would have been spot on! You had to turn up early and blame me! Youre just being ungrateful, Sophie. Utterly ungrateful!”
He stormed from the kitchen, slamming the bedroom door.
The baby twisted inside me again, my body aching in every way. I slumped onto a chair, staring at the bag of meat he couldnt be bothered to store. Nausea rolled through me.
After ten minutes, Tom appeared at the kitchen door.
“So, dyou want me to cook the meat or not? Or are you going to starve out of spite?”
“No, Tom,” I murmured, still turned away. “Leave it. I need to rest.”
“Fine! Suit yourself,” he muttered, slamming the door once more.
I dragged myself to the bathroom, gazing at my pale, hollow-eyed reflection in the mirror, hair wild. On the train, Id imagined Toms arms around me, “Thank God youre home, Soph.” Well. He certainly wrapped me up.
When I came out, yet another row erupted over something trivial. In the end, I left, right there and thenhadnt even unpacked yetand took a taxi back to my parents.
Everyone tried to talk me out of leavinghis parents, his sister, distant relatives. Tom kept calling, begging me to come back, promising he understood now. But I knew, truly, I did. I couldnt live with someone who put shining the loo above our childs health. Divorce, definitely. Why stay with a man who cares more about housework than his wife and their baby?
