The Carer for My Wife — What do you mean? — Lida thought she’d misheard. — Move out? Why? What for? — Oh, come on, don’t start the drama, — he winced. — What’s hard to understand? You’ve got no one left to care for. And where you go is none of my business. — Ed, what are you on about? Weren’t we going to get married? — That was your idea. I never said I was going to do that. At thirty-two, Lida decided to turn her life upside down and leave her tiny English village. After all, what was left for her there? Listening to her mother’s constant nitpicking? Her mum just wouldn’t let up, always blaming Lida for her divorce. “How could you let your husband slip away?” That Vasiliy never deserved a kind word anyway—he was a drunk and a womaniser! How had she ended up marrying him eight years ago, of all people? Lida didn’t even feel sad about the divorce—in fact, she actually felt lighter, as if she could finally breathe. But that didn’t stop her and her mother from fighting over it. And over money, which they never seemed to have enough of. So, she made up her mind to go move to Manchester and start afresh! Look at her schoolmate Sophie—she’d been married for five years to a widower. So what if the man was sixteen years older and no looker, at least he had a flat and some money. And Lida thought, “I’m no worse than Sophie!” “About time you came to your senses!” Sophie encouraged her. “Pack your things—you can stay with us at first, and we’ll sort out a job for you.” “Won’t your Vadim mind?” Lida asked doubtfully. “He does whatever I ask! Don’t worry, we’ll manage!” Still, Lida didn’t stay with her friend too long. A couple of weeks of couch surfing and a bit of cash from odd jobs later, she’d managed to rent a room. And then, barely two months in, luck suddenly smiled on her. “Why is a woman like you working in a market stall?” asked a regular customer, Edward. She already knew all her regulars by name. “It’s freezing and miserable out here, you know… and besides, it’s no place for someone like you.” “What else can I do?” she shrugged. “Gotta earn a living, somehow.” And then, batting her eyelids, she added, “Unless you’ve got a better offer?” Edward hardly looked like Prince Charming—at least twenty years her senior, rounded out, receding hairline, and that calculating businessman’s stare. He was always picky with the groceries and paid the exact penny. But he dressed well and drove a decent car—definitely not some vagrant or a drunk. He wore a wedding ring, though, so Lida never even considered him as husband material. “You seem like a dependable woman, responsible, clean,” Edward said, switching to first names. “Ever cared for someone poorly?” “Once. Looked after my neighbour when she had a stroke—her kids lived too far away and didn’t have the time. So they paid me.” “Brilliant!” Edward perked up, then put on a grave face. “My own wife, Elizabeth, had a stroke too—doctors say there’s not much hope. I’ve brought her home, but I simply haven’t the time. Could you help? I’d pay you, of course.” Lida barely hesitated. It was better to be warm indoors—chamber pot or not—than freezing for ten hours a day, dealing with fussy shoppers! And, Edward offered her a room at their place so she wouldn’t have to pay for rent. “It’s a proper three-bed! Enough space for a football match!” Lida told her friend, giddy. “No kids in the house.” Elizabeth’s mother—a bit of a character herself, still trying to look twenty at 68—had just remarried and was busy with her new husband, so there was no one else to care for Elizabeth. “How poorly is she, then?” asked Sophie. “Oh, she’s proper bedbound—can’t speak, can’t move. Don’t think she’ll ever recover.” “And you’re somehow happy about it?” Sophie gave Lida a piercing look. “’Course not,” Lida answered, eyes down, “but… well, that means Edward’ll be free soon…” “You’re joking, right? Wishing someone dead over a flat?” Sophie couldn’t hide her disgust. “Don’t tell me you’re one of those…” “I’m not wishing ill on anyone! Just not missing my own chance. Easy for you to say—you’re living the dream!” They had a huge row, so it was only months later Lida admitted to her friend she’d become Edward’s lover. They couldn’t live without each other, she said—but obviously, he’d never leave his wife. He wasn’t that kind of man! So, they’d just carry on as secret lovers for now. “So while you’re having fun here, his wife is dying in the next room?” Sophie replied coldly. “Do you even hear yourself? Does his money really mean that much?” “Can’t you ever say a nice word?” Lida shot back, offended. They lost touch again, but Lida hardly felt guilty (well, maybe just a little). It’s always the same—people act so high and mighty! “The full don’t get the empty,” as they say. Well, she’d be fine without her friend. She cared for Elizabeth with all due diligence, and once her affair with Edward began, she took on every bit of housework as well. Pleasing a man isn’t just about the bedroom, but cooking, laundry, clean floors—so he wouldn’t come home to dust. Lida thought her lover was perfectly content, and, truthfully, so was she. She barely realised that Edward had stopped paying her for caring for his wife. But what did money matter, now that they were practically husband and wife? He gave her cash for groceries and a general budget, and she ran the household, hardly noticing he’d tightened the purse strings—strange, as he drew a manager’s salary. But never mind—once they married, everything would be sorted. Their passion faded a bit, and Lida noticed Edward wasn’t in a rush to come home anymore, but she chalked it up to him being drained from dealing with an ill wife. So when Elizabeth died, Lida still couldn’t help crying—even though she’d known it was coming. She’d devoted an entire year and a half to that woman—you can’t just erase that time. She handled all the funeral arrangements; Edward was, as usual, “too grief-stricken.” He gave her just barely enough cash for it, but Lida made sure everything went off properly. No one could accuse her of a thing—not even the neighbours (who had gossiped about her affair) could fault her. Even Elizabeth’s mother was satisfied. So she really didn’t see Edward’s coldness coming. “As you can see, there’s not much need for your services anymore, so I’m giving you a week to move out,” he said flatly, ten days after the funeral. “What do you mean?” Lida felt sure she’d misheard. “Where am I supposed to go? Why? For what?” “Oh, don’t start. Isn’t it obvious? There’s no one to care for anymore. Where you end up is none of my concern.” “Ed, what are you saying? Weren’t we going to get married?” “You just made that up. I never promised anything.” The next morning, after a sleepless night, Lida tried to talk to Edward again, but he stuck to every word he’d said, only pushing her to hurry with her move. “My fiancée wants to do renovations before our wedding,” Edward declared. “Fiancée? Who is she?” “None of your business.” “Oh, really? Well, I’ll go, but not before you pay me for my work. Yes, you promised £2,000 a month, and I only saw it twice. That means you owe me £32,000.” “Oh, look who can do sums now,” Edward sneered. “Don’t get ahead of yourself…” “And there’s more for housekeeping services! I won’t nickel-and-dime you—make it £50,000, and I’ll be gone without a fuss!” “And if not? You’ll sue? You’ve got no contract.” “I’ll tell Mrs Andrews—she bought you this flat, didn’t she? You know what she’s like…” Edward blanched, though he tried to keep his composure. “And you think she’ll believe you? Trying to scare me, are you? You know what, I can’t bear the sight of you—get out now.” “You’ve got three days, darling. No money, there’ll be a scandal,” Lida packed her things and went to a hostel. At least she’d managed to save a little grocery money. On the fourth day, after hearing nothing, she turned up at the flat—and, what luck, Mrs Andrews was there. Lida judged by Edward’s face that she wasn’t getting a penny, so she spilled everything to his mother-in-law. “She’s talking nonsense! She’s off her rocker! Don’t believe a word!” Edward protested. “I’d heard some things at the funeral, didn’t want to believe it,” Mrs Andrews fixed him with a stare. “It’s all clear now. And you, dear son-in-law—remember whose name is on that flat?” Edward froze. “So here’s how it’s going to be: I want you out of here within the week. No. Three days, actually.” Mrs Andrews headed to the door, but paused near Lida. “And you, my dear, why are you still standing here? Waiting for a reward? Off with you!” Lida bolted from the flat. Now she knew for sure she’d never see a penny. She’d have to go back to working the market—there was always work there…

A Carer For the Wife

What do you mean? Lydia thinks she must have misheard. Where am I supposed to go? Why? For what reason?

Oh, come on, lets not have a scene, Edward grimaces. Whats unclear? Youve got no one left to care for. Where you go isnt my concern.

Ed, what are you talking about? We were supposed to get married

That was your idea, not mine. I never said Id do anything like that.

At thirty-two, Lydia decides its time for a fresh start, far away from the sleepy village she grew up in.

And whats there for her? Enduring endless nagging from her mother?

Her mother simply cant let go, always reminding Lydia about her divorce, forever asking how she let her husband go.

But that husband, that Vince, was never worth a kind worda drunk and a cheat! How had Lydia even managed to say I do to him eight years ago?

Truthfully, the divorce didnt even upset herin fact, breathing felt easier afterwards.

But her mother never stopped picking fights over it. And then came the arguments over money, which was always painfully tight.

So Lydia makes up her mind: shell move to London, and everything will be just fine!

Look at Sophieher old school friendmarried five years now to a widower.

So what if hes sixteen years older, and hardly a looker? Hes got a flat and plenty of cash.

Lydia is no worse than Sophie, certainly!

Well thank God! Youve finally woken up! Sophie cheers her on. Get your things together, you can stay with us at first, and well sort out a job for you.

Are you sure your husband Tom wont mind? Lydia hesitates.

Oh, dont be silly! He does whatever I ask! Dont worry. Well manage!

Still, Lydia doesnt want to overstay. She couch-surfs two weeksjust long enough to earn her first wagesthen rents a small room.

Just a few months in, fortune smiles upon her.

So, whats a woman like you doing selling veg at a market? asks Mr Edward Barker, a regular customer, with a note of sympathy.

Lydias known her regulars by name for a while now.

Its cold, its miserable, and besidesthis isnt right.

Needs must, she shrugs. Ive got to earn a living somehow.

Adding, with a teasing smile, Unless youve got another offer?

Edward looked nothing like her dream man. Twenty years her senior, with a pudgy face, receding hair, and a hawks stare.

He always fussed over his choice of potatoes, paying down to the last penny. But he dressed well, drove a nice carcertainly no down-and-out, and not a drunk.

Though, there was a wedding ring on his finger, and Lydia never even considered him husband material.

You seem responsible, reliable, tidy, Edward slid easily into using first names. Ever looked after anyone ill?

I have, actually. Looked after the lady next door when she had a stroke. Her kids live miles away and couldnt be bothered, so they asked me.

Brilliant! Edward perked up, before looking grave. My own wife, Margaret, has taken terribly ill. Stroke as well. The doctors havent given much hope. Ive brought her home, but I dont have time to care for her. Will you help? Ill pay you whats fair.

Lydia barely needed to think. Far better to be in a warm flateven taking a bedpan outthan freezing for ten hours, serving fussy shoppers.

Edward even offers her a place to stay. No need to pay rent.

Theyve got three separate bedrooms! You could play football in there! Lydia gushes to Sophie. No children, either.

Margarets mothera grand old bird of sixty-eightwas busy living it up with a new husband. No one left to look after the invalid.

Is she badly ill, then?

Brutal, poor thing. She cant move or talk. Hardly seems likely shell recover.

And are you honestly pleased about that? Sophie suddenly looks closely at her.

Of course not, Lydia looks away. But once shes well, you know, Edward Barker will be free…

You cant be serious, Lydia. Wishing death on a person for a flat?

Im not wishing anything on anyone. Just not planning to miss my chance! Easy for youyour lifes all roses!

A proper argument follows, and for six months Lydia doesnt tell Sophie about her growing affair with Edward.

They simply cant get enough of each other, though of course, hell never leave his wifehes not that sort! So for now, shell make do as his mistress.

So, let me get this rightyoure fooling around while his wifes dying in the next room? Sophie still refuses to play along. Surely you know how grim this is? Or are you blinded by the hope of richesassuming he has any?

You never have a kind word, do you? Lydia snaps back.

They stop talking, and Lydia hardly feels guiltywell, only a little.

Honestly, who is she hurting? They say the well-fed cant understand the hungry. Never mindshell manage without a friend.

She looks after Margaret with full dedication, and, since starting with Edward, has taken on all the housework too.

A man needs more than just bedroom attention, after allhe wants hot meals, shirts washed and ironed, a spotless home.

Edward seems plenty satisfied, and Lydia is enjoying life, too.

She doesnt even notice when Edward stops paying her for caring for his wife. Why quibble about money, when theyre practically married?

Edward gives her cash for groceries and essentials, and she manages the household budget, somehow just about making it worknever mind his decent salary.

No matteronce theyre married, itll all fall into place.

The passion fades, and Edward isnt as quick to rush home anymore, but Lydia chalks that up to the exhaustion of having a sick wife.

Why hes tired when he barely bothers to check in on Margaret is anyones guess, but Lydia feels sorry for him.

Still, when Margaret finally passes away, Lydia finds herself crying. Despite expecting it, it hurts; shes given a year and a half of her life to this woman. No getting that back.

Lydia handles all the funeral arrangements, since Edward is supposedly paralysed by grief. He barely gives her enough money, but she still manages everything respectfully. No one can blame her.

Even the neighboursonce so ready to judgenod approvingly at the funeral. Margarets mother, too, seems impressed.

Which is why Edwards next words come as such a shock.

As you can imagine, theres no need for your services anymore, so youve got a week to move out, he says coolly, ten days after the funeral.

What do you mean? Lydia thinks she mustve misheard. Move out where? Why?

Oh please, lets not start, Edward sighs. Theres no one for you to look after. Where you gos not my business.

Ed, what are you doing? Werent we getting married?

That was your idea. I never said any such thing.

The next morning, after another sleepless night, Lydia tries one last talkbut Edward repeats himself word for word, urging her to hurry up and go.

My fiancée wants the place redecorated before our wedding, he announces.

Fiancée? Who?

None of your concern.

Oh really? Well, Ill go, but youll pay me for my work. Yesyou heard me! Dont give me that look!

You promised me £1,000 a month. You only actually paid me twice. That leaves £16,000 outstanding.

Look at you, quick with the sums! Edward sneers. Dont get your hopes up

And you owe extra for the housework, too! StillI wont ask for every penny. Give me twenty grand and Ill disappear.

And if not? Going to sue? You havent even got a contract.

Ill tell Mrs Anderson, Lydia says quietly. She paid for this flat you know.

Believe me, one word from me and youll lose your job as well. You know your mother-in-law better than I do.

Edwards face changes, but he quickly regains his composure.

Whos going to believe you? Dont threaten me. You know what? I dont even want to see yougo now.

Youve got three days, love. No money, then youre in for a scandal, Lydia packs her bags and heads to a hostel, having managed to save a bit from the grocery money.

On the fourth day, after being ignored, Lydia goes back to Edwards flatand by chance, Mrs Anderson is there.

One look at Edwards face tells her he isnt paying up, so Lydia spills everything to his mother-in-law.

Shes talking rubbish! Shes lost her mind! Dont listen to her! the widower protests.

I heard whispers at the funeral, but didnt believe them, Mrs Andersons gaze bore into him. Now everythings clear. And you, my dear son-in-law, dont forget whose name is on the deeds for this property.

Edward freezes.

So, make sure youre out within a week. No, three days.

Mrs Anderson heads for the door, but stops next to Lydia.

And you, madam, what are you standing here for? Looking for a reward? Out, now!

Lydia bolts from the flat like shes been stung. No chance of any money now. Looks like its back to the market for hertheres always work to be found thereLydia stands in the chilly corridor, holding her battered suitcase, and wonders how everything managed to unravel so completely. All the bravado she worked up vanishes with the slam of the Barker flats door. She fumbles into her coat pocket for her bus fare, a single silver pound pressing into her palm like a small, cold hope.

Its raining outsideof course it is. Fat droplets pelt down as if the city wants to chase her off as well. She plods toward the nearest café, the overhead bell tinkling as she slips inside, hair dripping over her jacket. The old man behind the counter glances up, unmoved by her wet miseryLondon has seen thousands like her.

Sophies number lurks on her phone, untouched and accusing. Lydia hesitates, then presses call with shaking fingers.

You were right about everything, she blurts out when Sophie answers. I made a mess. I dont know where to go.

For a heartbeat, only crackling silence. Then Sophie sighs: Idiot. I knew youd call. Where are you? Ill put the kettle on.

Lydia sags, relief and humiliation flooding her in equal measure. Im at Annies Caféthe one by the station.

Stay there. Dont let anyone else con you into working for free, all right? Sophies voice softens. You can sleep on our sofa again, but just for a week. This time, promise youll listen to me.

I promise.

As she hangs up, Lydia glances out through the smeared glass. The rain is relentless, but in the streetlamps glow, the city seems less menacing, more alive. All her plans have slipped awaydreams of ready fortunes, husbands, a flat that was never hers. Still, for the first time in years, she feels strangely light. Theres nothing left to lose.

The waitress, seeing her huddled alone, brings over a mug of tea, unasked. Lydia wraps her hands around the warmth, letting gratitude soak through her. Maybe, this time, shell build something realno pretending, no shortcuts.

Whats left of her life is hers alone, unclaimed by anyone else. Outside, the rain begins to ease. Lydia lifts her chin, smiles through her tears, and waits for the world to begin again.