The Carer for the Wife — “What do you mean?” Lida thought she’d misheard. “Where am I supposed to go? Why? What for?” — “Oh, let’s have none of your drama, please,” he grimaced. “What’s unclear? There’s no one left for you to look after now. Where you go isn’t my concern.” — “Ed, what’s going on? Weren’t we supposed to get married?..” — “That’s something you imagined. I never planned such a thing.” At 32, Lida decided it was time to change her life completely and leave her small hometown. What was there for her? Endure her mother’s constant criticism? Her mum still wouldn’t stop nagging about the divorce, blaming Lida for losing her husband. But Vas was never worth kind words anyway—a drunk and a cheat! How did she even end up marrying him eight years ago? Honestly, Lida wasn’t upset about the divorce—in fact, she almost breathed easier. Still, it was a frequent reason for arguments with her mum. And of course, they fought about money, which was in desperately short supply. So Lida decided to try her luck in the city and build a better life! Her old school friend, Sue, had married a widower five years ago. So what if he’s sixteen years older and no looker, he’s got a flat and plenty of money. Lida thought she was every bit as good as Sue! — “Thank goodness! You’ve woken up at last!” cheered Sue. “Get packed, you can stay with us for a bit, and we’ll sort you out with a job.” — “Are you sure your Dave won’t mind?” Lida hesitated. — “Not a chance! He does whatever I ask. Don’t worry, we’ll manage!” But in the end, Lida didn’t stay with her friend for long. She found a room to rent after a few weeks once she’d earned her first bit of money. Then, only a couple of months later, she struck lucky. — “Why is a woman like you selling at the market?” asked one of her regulars, Edward. She already knew all the regulars by name. — “It’s cold, it’s miserable, it really isn’t right.” — “But what choice do I have?” she shrugged. “Got to earn somehow.” She added with a little wink, “Unless you have a better offer?” Edward didn’t seem much like the man of her dreams—twenty years her senior, round-faced, hair thinning, sharp eyes. He was always picky about veg and counted his change, but dressed well and drove a nice car—definitely not a tramp or a drunk. He did wear a wedding ring though, so husband material he was not. — “You strike me as responsible, reliable, and tidy,” said Edward, switching to first names. “Ever cared for sick people?” — “I have. Looked after my neighbour when she had a stroke. Her kids live far away and couldn’t be bothered, so they asked me.” — “Perfect!” Edward looked upbeat but then pulled a mournful face. “My wife, Tamara, has taken ill too. Stroke as well. Doctors say it’s unlikely she’ll recover. I’ve brought her home, but I can’t look after her myself. Will you help? I’ll pay you properly.” Lida barely hesitated. Better a warm flat and chamber pots than ten hours in the cold serving picky customers! Plus, Edward offered to let her stay, saving on rent. — “Their flat has three rooms—practically big enough for footie!” Lida told her friend with glee. “No kids around.” Tamara’s mother was quite a number herself—aged 68 and still trying to look young, recently married again, off with her own husband. No one to care for the patient. — “Is Tamara really that ill?” — “Oh, absolutely. The poor dear’s just lying there, barely grunts. Unlikely to recover.” — “You look a bit too pleased about that,” Sue suddenly scrutinised Lida’s face. — “I’m not glad, of course,” Lida looked away, “but maybe there’ll be a chance with Edward…” — “Lida! Are you wishing for someone’s death, just for a flat?” — “I don’t wish anyone harm, but I won’t miss my chance! You’ve got it good—you can talk!” They argued fiercely, so it was months before Lida mentioned to Sue the romance blossoming with Edward. They supposedly couldn’t live without each other, but of course, he wasn’t leaving his wife—not that kind of man! They agreed to be, well, just lovers for now. — “So you two are shacking up while his wife’s dying in the next room?” Sue was once again not on Lida’s side. “Do you see how disgusting that is? Or are you blinded by the promise of his fortune?” — “You never have a kind word!” Lida snapped. They stopped talking again, though Lida barely felt guilty (well, only a little). Everyone acts so holy! It’s easy for the well-fed to judge the hungry. Never mind, she could do without Sue. Lida cared for Tamara with all her energy and dedication. Once her affair with Edward began, she took on all the household chores as well. After all, a man needs more than just satisfaction in the bedroom—he needs good food, clean shirts, a spotless home. Lida thought he was quite satisfied, and she was content too. She barely noticed when Edward stopped paying her for caring for his wife. How could she think of wages when they were almost married? He gave her money for shopping and daily costs, but she seldom had enough, though he was the factory boss and paid well. No matter—once they married, they’d sort things out. The passion slowly faded, Edward stopped hurrying home, but Lida blamed it on stress over his sick wife. She couldn’t say what about a dying wife tired him, since he barely ever checked on Tamara, but she felt sorry for him. Lida still burst into tears when Tamara finally passed away. One and a half years she’d devoted to the poor woman—you can’t just pretend that time never existed. She also arranged the funeral—Edward was “too grief-stricken.” He only just gave her enough money, but she did her best—everything proper. No one could blame her. Even neighbours—who eyed her askance because of her affair with Edward—nodded approvingly at the funeral. Even the mother-in-law seemed satisfied. But Lida never expected what Edward said next. — “You understand, your services aren’t needed any longer, so you’ve got a week to move out,” he said coldly, ten days after the funeral. — “What do you mean?” Lida thought she’d misheard. “Where am I supposed to go? Why? What for?” — “Please, let’s avoid drama?” the lover flinched. “No one left to care for. Where you go is not my problem.” — “Ed, what’s this? Weren’t we supposed to marry?..” — “That was your idea. Never my plan.” The next morning, after a sleepless night, Lida tried again. Edward repeated exactly what he’d said yesterday and urged her to move out soon. — “My fiancée wants to redecorate before the wedding,” he said. — “Fiancée? Who?” — “None of your business.” — “Really? Fine, I’ll leave, but you’ll pay me for my work first. Don’t look at me like that! You promised me £400 a month. I only got that twice—that’s £6,400 you owe me.” — “Look who’s learned to add up!” the lover smirked. “Don’t hold your breath…” — “And don’t forget cleaning services! Fine, I won’t count every penny—just pay me £10,000 and I’ll be out of your hair!” — “Or what? Take me to court? You don’t even have a contract.” — “I’ll tell Mrs Taylor. She bought this flat for you, didn’t she? After I’m done, you’ll be out of a job too, and you know your mother-in-law.” Edward’s face changed but he recovered fast. — “Who’d believe you? Get out—I don’t want to see you!” — “I’ll give you three days, darling. If no money, there’ll be trouble.” Lida packed up for a hostel. She’d saved a little of the housekeeping money. On the fourth day, not having heard from him, Lida went back to his flat. By luck, Mrs Taylor was there. One look at Edward told Lida he wasn’t paying up, so she spilled everything to his mother-in-law. — “She’s making things up! Doesn’t know what she’s saying!” the widower blurted. — “Heard some things at the funeral, didn’t believe it,” the mother-in-law glared. “Now it’s clear. You understand the flat’s in my name?” Edward froze. — “Good. I want you out in a week. No—three days.” She turned to Lida at the door. — “And you, madam, what are you hanging around for? Expecting a medal? Get out!” Lida fled the flat in a hurry. She knew she’d never see the money now. Back to the marketplace—it always needed workers…

Автор Hensley WilburЧас читання 8 хв.Перегляди 26

Diary Entry

I feel completely lost today. What do you mean, I have to go? I asked, thinking I hadnt heard him right. Where am I supposed to go? Why?

Lets not have drama, please, he grimaced, that same old bored look on his face. Whats not to understand? Theres no one left for you to look after. Where you go isnt my problem.

Edward, are you serious? Werent we planning to get married?

That was all in your head. I never said Id do any such thing.

I never imagined my life turning out like this. At 32, I decided I had to leave my little village behind and start over. I was suffocating therealways Mum nagging, never letting me forget the divorce. How could I have let my ex-husband slip away, shed scold, as if he was some prize? Mark was a drunken, useless womanisershouldve known better than to marry him eight years ago. Strangely, our divorce didnt make me sad; if anything, it felt like someone had opened a window and let the fresh air in.

But the fights with Mum arguments about money, which was always running out, and about her disappointment. Id had enough. Id do far better in the city.

My old school friend Sophie had managed well for herselfmarried five years to a widower, sixteen years older, not exactly Tom Hardy but he had a flat and good money. Sophie always says, Well, hes not a looker but who cares? Hes settled, hes kind! If she could do it, so could I.

About time! Youre finally coming to your senses! Sophie encouraged me, “You can crash with us for a while, and well sort a job out later.”

Im not sure your Dave will be pleased, I hesitated. She just waved a hand, He does what I tell him!

Still, I didnt want to overstay my welcome. I lodged with them for a couple of weeks, picked up some temp work, and finally managed to rent a small room of my own.

And then, a lucky break. While I was selling veg at the local marketcold, hungry worka regular customer, Mr Edward Barnes, struck up a conversation.

A woman like you shouldnt be on a market stall, he said, sounding honestly surprised. Its freezing, and hardly fitting.

What choice do I have? I shrugged. Bills wont pay themselves.

I tried to laugh it off, half-teasing: Dyou have a better offer?

Edward didnt look like anyones dream bloketwenty years older than me, soft in the middle, his hair receding. But his eyes were sharp. Always checked every carrot before paying, never a penny short. He drove a good car, dressed wellyou could tell he was quite comfortable. He wore a wedding ring, so I never imagined him as anything but a regular.

You strike me as responsible and tidy, he said, suddenly dropping the formalities. Ever taken care of someone who was ill?

I nodded, I looked after my old neighbour after her stroke. Her kids live far away and dont have the time for her. I did what I could until the end.

Perfect, Edwards face fell, My wife, Margaret, had a stroke as well. Doctor says theres little hope. Ive taken her home, but I cant give her the care she needs. Would you help? Id pay you, properly.

I didnt even hesitate. A warm, safe flateven if I had to empty bedpanswas streets ahead of freezing all day at a market stall.

Plus, Edward said I could live thereno rent to worry about.

Theyve plenty of space! I gushed to Sophie later. Three bedrooms, no children. Margarets mother is only 68 but flutters around like shes twenty and just remarried. She cares more about her husband than her ill daughter.

Is she badly ill, Margaret? Sophie asked.

Couldnt be worseflat on her back, cant speak, just groans. I doubt shell ever get up again.

Sophie eyed me. Are you glad? Her look was sharp.

Of course not, I muttered, looking away. But one day Edward will be on his own

Are you hearing yourself, Rebecca? Are you really wishing her dead for a chance at a flat?

I dont wish anyone harm, but I wont ignore an opportunity. Easy for you to judgeyour lifes all roses!

We argued so bitterly we didnt speak for months. When I finally told her about my romance with Edwardduring Margarets slow declineshe was dismayed.

So youre playing house with him, while his dying wifes in the next room? Doesnt that feel wrong, Rebecca? And is he really all that? Or are you blinded by his supposed wealth?

Can you ever say anything nice? I snapped. We drifted apart again. I didnt feel guiltynot more than a twinge. So easy for others to judge when theyve never been desperate.

And I did my job. I looked after Margaret with care and diligence, running the household as well once Edward and I began our relationship. I cooked, cleaned, washed, ironedeverything he needed.

I thought we were happy. He stopped paying me a wage for caring for his wifewell, we were practically married, werent we? I managed the household budget, though I noticed the money always just barely stretched to cover costs.

Edwards salary as a factory manager was decent. Still, I reasoned, once we tied the knot, wed manage better.

Eventually, the passion faded and Edward spent less time at home. I assumed it was the strain of illness. He hardly visited Margaret, but he always looked exhausted. I pitied him.

When Margaret passed awayafter a year and a halfI cried. However you feel, you cant just wish away all youve lived through. I took care of the funeral, since Edward was too grief-stricken, though he handed me just enough money to cover everything. Still, I made sure it was all done properly.

Even Margarets mother, whod always been a bit suspicious of me, nodded approvingly. Some neighbours, who had gossiped about Edward and me, seemed satisfiedall the boxes ticked.

So I never expected Edwards words, ten days after the funeral.

I wont be needing you any longer. Im giving you a week to move out, he said, eyes cold.

What? Where am I supposed to go? Why now?

Lets not have this nonsense. Theres no one left to look after. Where you go is no concern of mine.

Edward! Didnt you say wed get married?

You must have imagined that. I never said such a thing.

The next morning, after a sleepless night, I tried to reason with him again. He repeated himself, word for word, but pressed me to hurry up.

My fiancée wants to redecorate before our wedding, he announced.

Fiancée? Who?

None of your business.

Fine, but you owe me! You promised £1,000 a month and only paid twice. You owe me £16,000!

Smirking, Edward replied, Never took you for a mathematician. No chance youll see a penny.

Then youll also need to pay for domestic help! I shot back. Lets call it £20,000 and I disappear.

What then? Going to take me to court? You havent got a contract.

Ill tell Mrs Anderson, I said quietly. She bought you this flat, didnt she? I think shell be interested to hear you used me and refused payment. You know your mother-in-law better than I do.

Edwards face changed, but he quickly pulled himself together. Wholl believe you? Youre wasting your breath. I dont want to see you in this flat again.

Three days, Edward. If you dont pay up, youll regret it. I packed up what little Id managed to save and left for a hostel.

On the fourth day, not hearing from him, I went back to the flat. As luck would have it, Mrs Anderson was there. The way Edward looked at me, I knew hed never pay, so I told her everything.

Shes making it up! he protested wildly.

I heard some things at the funeral, but didnt want to believe it, she shot him a glare. Now I see its true. Dont forget, the flats in my nameyoud better be out in three days.

Mrs Anderson turned to leave, but paused beside me.

And you, Rebecca, what are you waiting for? A medal? Get out.

I flew out of there, heart pounding. Therell be no money after all. Looks like Ill have to go back to the market stallat least theres honest work to be found there.