20th March
As I stood by the sink washing up after dinner, the sound of footsteps behind me made me glance back. It was Thomas. He flicked the kitchen light off before entering, his shadow stretching across the tiles.
Its still light outside, he grumbled, eyes narrowed. No sense wasting electricity.
I was just about to put the washing machine on, I replied, keeping my voice calm.
Do it at night, he said curtly. Off-peak rates then. And you dont need to turn the tap on so forcefully, Mary. You use far too much water. Honestly, its like you dont realise youre pouring our money straight down the drain.
He twisted the tap, reducing the water to a trickle. I looked at him, feeling drained. I switched off the tap completely, dried my hands, and sat at the table with a sigh.
Thomas, have you ever really looked at yourself from the outside? I asked.
I look at myself every day, he replied sharply, as if my question was a provocation.
And what do you see? I continued.
As a person, you mean? he asked, incredulous.
No, as a husband and a father.
A husbands a husband, he muttered. A dads a dad. Normal. Typical. No better or worse than any bloke. Stop having a go.
Do you want to say all husbands and fathers are like you? My voice was quiet, but steady.
What are you getting at, eh? Looking for an argument? he said, clearly irritated.
I knew I couldnt turn back nowsomething inside me needed this conversation, even if it hurt.
Do you know why youve not left me? I asked.
Why would I leave you? He forced a grim smile.
Maybe because you dont love me, I said softly. Or the children.
He started to protest, but I pressed on. Dont bother denying it. You dont love anyone, Thomas, and arguing wont change that. Thats not the point. I wanted to say why you havent left. Its your stinginess. Youre too tight to leave, because the idea of splitting our finances terrifies you. Weve been together, what, fifteen years? What have we really achieved, apart from getting married and having kids? What have we gained, Thomas?
Weve got our whole lives ahead of us, he answered.
No, Thomas, not our whole lives. Just whats left. I couldnt help but let the sadness show in my voice. Fifteen years together, and not once have we gone on a beach holiday as a family. Im not even talking about trips abroad. Not anywhere, even within England. Every year, we sit out our holidays in town. We dont even go fruit picking in the countryside. And why? Because its too expensive.
Were saving for our future, Thomas replied.
We? I scoffed. Are you sure its us saving?
Its all for you and the children! he snapped.
Is it really for us? I asked, meeting his eyes. Fifteen years, and each month youve scrimped, taken your pay and mine, and tucked it away for us?
Of coursefor the family, he insisted. Youve no idea how much we have put by!
We? I almost laughed in disbelief. Its your account, Thomasnot mine. But, just for arguments sake, lets test it. Give me some money, so I can buy new clothes for myself and the children. Im still wearing the skirt I wore to our wedding and old jumpers passed down from your brothers wife. The kids are all in their cousins leftovers. And most of all, Id finally rent us a place of our own. Ive had enough of living in your mums flat.
Mum gave us two rooms! he protested. You should be grateful. And as for the clotheswhy bother spending money on that sort of thing when theres perfectly good stuff from my brothers lot?
And what about me? I asked. Am I meant to wear your sister-in-laws hand-me-downs forever?
Whats the point in dressing up? Its ridiculousyoure a thirty-five-year-old mother of two! You shouldnt care about clothes.
So what should I care about, Thomas?
Lifes meaning, he declared, in that grand, self-important way of his. Theres more to life than clothes and other petty things. Much more.
And what, exactly, should I be aspiring to? I prompted, half curious, half exhausted.
Spiritual growth, he pontificated. We should rise above the obsession with shopping and status.
I see, I replied, not surprised. Thats why you keep every penny to yourselfso were forced to grow as people. Is that it?
You cant be trusted with money! he snapped. Youd just spend it all! What would we do if something happened? Have you even thought about that?
What would we live on if something happened? I echoed quietly. Thats a good one, Thomas. When will we actually start living, then? Because its as if that something happening already hasand were just coping with it.
He glared at me in silence.
You even scrimp on soap, toilet paper, and kitchen towels, I went on. You pinch soap and hand cream from work because its free.
Mind the pennies and the pounds will look after themselves, he muttered. Its all about the little things. No point wasting money on posh loo roll or fancy soap.
At least give me an idea of how much longer we have to put up with this, I pleaded. Another ten years? Fifteen? Twenty? When do you plan to have saved enough so we can actually live like normal people? Real toilet paper and all. Im thirty-five. Are we not there yet?
He stayed silent.
Ill take a stab, I continued. Forty, maybe? Start living properly at forty, do we?
Still nothing.
Too soon, is it? I said softly. Of course. Silly me. Who starts living at forty? What about fifty?
Again, silence.
Still too soon, I imagine. Wouldnt want to risk running out of money if we splurge on decent toilet paper. Alrightwhat about sixty? Thats ages away, but maybe then? Well have so much saved by then. Can I finally buy new clothes for the childrenand myself?
No response.
Thomas, I said, my voice trembling, what if we dont make it to sixty? What if we spend all this time, pinching pennies and living poorly, and then its too late? We eat so badly, always cheap rubbish in big portions. That cant be good for us. But more than thatits the constant misery. Havent you noticed how unhappy we are? People dont live long like that.
If we move out and start eating well, we wont be able to save, he mumbled.
Exactly right, I said quietly. Thats why Im leaving, Thomas. Because I dont want to keep saving. You can if you want. But Im done.
How will you live? He seemed genuinely panicked.
Ill manage, I answered. I earn as much as you. Ill rent a place for me and the children. Well have enough for clothes, for food, and above all, I wont have to listen to your lectures on watching the meter, the gas, and the water. Ill use the washing machine whenever I want. I wont fret if I forget to switch off the lights. Ill buy the nicest toilet paper and always have kitchen rolls on the table. Ill shop for what I want, when I want, without hanging about for sales.
But you wont be able to save anything! he cried.
Ill survive without, Thomas. In fact, Ill spend every penny. Including your child support. Ill live from paycheque to paycheque, and Ill take the children to stay with you and your mum at weekends. Imagine the money Ill save! While the children are there, Ill go outto the theatre, the gallery, restaurants. In the summer, Ill take seaside holidays. I havent decided where, but I will decideas soon as Im free of you.
Thomas paled. I could see it: his mind tallying lossesmy share of his savings, the cost of weekends with the children, the devastation of me spending his money on silly things, like holidays to Brighton or Cornwall.
One more thing, I added, the bank accountwell split it. Half each.
How? he stammered.
Evenly. Whatevers there after fifteen yearswe split. And Ill spend every penny. I wont save a thing for myself, Thomas. Ill live, properly, right now.
He just moved his lips, searching for words, but fear kept him quiet.
Do you know my dream, Thomas? I said, standing tall. When my time comes, I hope there isnt a single pound left in my name. Then Ill know I really lived, and didnt leave life waiting.
Two months later, we were divorced.
Looking back on it now, theres one lesson that rings true: sometimes, you have to stop preparing for life and actually start living it.
