You need a housekeeper, not a wife.
Mum, Mollys chewed my pencil again!
Chloe burst into the kitchen, clutching the bitten stub of a coloured pencil while a guilty golden labrador bounded behind her, tail wagging furiously. Jane tore herself from the cooker, where soup bubbled and sausages hissed, and let out a long sigh. Third chewed pencil today.
Toss it in the bin and grab a new one from the drawer. Oliver, have you done your maths homework?
Almost! came the faint reply from the childrens room.
Almost from her twelve-year-old son could only mean that he was on his phone, with the exercise book untouched beside him. Jane knew this, but she simply had too much to juggleturning the sausages, stirring the soup, catching four-year-old Harry before he crawled to the dogs bowl, and remembering the washing machine was whirring away in the background.
Thirty-two years old. Three children. One husband. One husbands grandmother. One labrador. And Janethe sole functioning cog in this entire household contraption.
Jane rarely fell ill. Not because she was especially robust, but because she simply couldnt afford it. Whod feed the family? Get the children to school? Walk Molly? No one. The answer was always the same.
Jane, is supper nearly ready?
Grace Bennett appeared in the kitchen doorway, leaning heavily on her cane. Eighty-five years old, sharp as ever, hearty appetite.
In five years of living together, Jane could count on her fingers the times Grace had done something genuinely helpful around the house.
Ten minutes, Mrs Bennett.
The old lady nodded with satisfaction and shuffled off to the lounge. Sometimes, very occasionally, shed read Harry a bedtime storyThe Little Red Hen or The Gingerbread Mannot much of a selection, but the little boy listened in awe. The rest of the time, Grace sat in her room, glued to daytime dramas, awaiting the next meal.
…The clock in the hallway chimed half past five when the key turned in the lock. David stepped across the threshold, the weary air of a man finishing a grueling marathon.
Dinner ready?
No greeting. Jane silently gestured to the laid table. Her husband washed his hands, took his seat, remote in hand as if it belonged there by birthright.
Chloe got top marks in reading today, Jane tried.
Mmm.
And Oliver needs help with his science project.
Right.
Mmm was the best she ever got. After eating, David retreated to the sofamission accomplished. Hed brought in the money and considered his work done.
Later, after the children fell asleep, Jane opened her laptopremote work for an online shop: processing orders, writing replies, arranging deliveries. Not much money, but at least it was hers. And the rented flat shed been letting out for four years now added a little more security.
We really should move, she thought. But the familiar excuses came: Olivers settled in a good school, Chloe loves her nursery, theyd lose the rental income Jane closed her laptop. Tomorrow. Always tomorrow.
December delivered not just festive chaos but the flu. Her temperature soared to nearly forty degrees in hours. Her whole body ached, throat burning, head throbbing. Jane barely made it to bed.
Mum, youve caught something, Oliver observed, poking his head into the bedroom.
David followed, anxiety flickering on his facebut not about Jane.
Just dont give it to Gran. At her age, thats dangerous.
Jane shut her eyes. Of course. Grace Bennett. How could she forget the priority?
The next three days blurred together: feverish, cold pillows, parched lips. No onehusband, gran, or childrenbrought her a drink of water. The kettle was in the kitchen, only ten steps away, but Jane had to lean on the wall to make the journey herself.
Everyones concern was for Grace: Dont go near theremums not well. Wear a mask if you pass her room. Perhaps she should sleep elsewhere?
She was Jane. In her own home, suddenly she was the contaminantsomeone to be kept at bay while they protected the truly important members.
After a week, the virus made its way through the household. Harry came firstsniffling, shivering, cranky. Chloe next. Then David, who ostentatiously took to bed at a mild thirty-seven point two. Grace succumbed last, in her usual dramatic fashion.
Jane, scarcely recovered herself, got up. Chicken soup, chemists run, thermometer, a round of cleaning and laundry. Same routine, now with legs like jelly.
David, take Harry for an hour. I need to get to Boots.
Her husband rolled his eyes in martyrdom, but agreed. Precisely sixty minutes laterJane had timed ithe returned Harry to her room.
Im worn out. Ive got a fever, you know.
Thirty-six point eight. Jane double-checked.
Spring was no kinder. A new virus, new ill children, more sleepless nights. Harry fretful, Chloe refusing her medicine, Grace demanding her own bespoke menu. And in the midst of all thisa perfectly healthy David.
David, help with the kids.
Jane, I helped last time, but those were the weekend. Got to work, you know. Long day.
He shrugged. A gesture that seemed to explain away everything. At night he came in, sat at the table, waited for supper. Ill children, a worn-out wife, chaos everywherenone of it his problem.
One evening, after Harry had finally fallen asleep and the older two sat working at their homework, Jane approached her husband; the TV mumbled football commentary in the background.
Why wont you help me? Why do you never help?
David didnt turn around. Didnt answer. Only turned up the volume.
Jane lingered for a moment, staring at the back of his head. She understood everything, perfectly, without a single word.
The very next day she reached for the big bags from the top shelf. Kids clothes, toys, important papers. Oliver froze in the doorway.
Mum, are we going away?
To Granny Iriss.
For long?
Well see.
Chloe leapt for joyGranny Iris always baked her favourite scones. Harry, not really understanding, dragged his beloved teddy along just in case.
At the last moment, Jane remembered another important family memberMolly. She, too, would come.
David lay sprawled on the sofa. Suitcases, packed clothes, children already buttoning their coatsnone of it made him look up from the screen. When Jane closed the front door behind her, chances were, he only changed the channel.
Iris Williams welcomed her daughter and grandchildren with no questions, only hugs and a warm meal. At fifty-eight, a primary school teacher for thirty years, she read the whole story without needing words.
Stay as long as you need.
By day three her phone rang. David.
Jane, come back. The place is a mess. Theres nothing to eat. Grans getting demanding.
Not I miss you. Not I cant cope without you. Just the inconvenience of daily life.
David, you dont need a wife, you need a cleaner.
What? Whats that go to do with
Have you once said youve missed the kids?
Silence. Long. Eloquent.
I bring in the moneywhat more do you want?
Jane hung up. It was over, and she felt strangely relieved.
Two weeks later, Janes tenants left her flat. Moving took a single day. New school for Oliver, new nursery for Chloemuch simpler than shed believed.
Their next conversation was their last. Twelve years of unspoken disappointment, all those sleepless nights alone with fevers and fears, came spilling out.
Do you know what, David? I was your unpaid servant for twelve years! Not ONCE did you ask me how I was, whether I was coping. Never! Ive had enough! Im done!
She blocked his number. And filed for divorce.
The court hearing lasted twenty minutes. David didnt object; just signed the agreement for maintenance, nodded at the judge, and left. Maybe he understood something. More likely, he was just tired of fuss.
That night, Jane sat in the kitchen of her new-old flat. Oliver read a book in his room. Chloe doodled at the table, tongue poking out in concentration. Harry played with his bricks on the rug.
It was quiet. Peaceful. Molly lay by her feet, muzzle on her paws.
There was still cooking, cleaning, work to be done in the evenings. But now, it was for those who truly mattered. And shed make sure to raise them well, so theyd never grow up to be like their father.
Mum, Chloe looked up from her picture, you smile a lot more now.
Jane smiled again. Chloe was right.
