April 26
Ive been trying not to think about what Dave might do. My wifes as wooden as a plank, she wont mind a thing, he said. Dont worry, Ive already lined up a buyer for her flat.
I froze in the hallway, two grocery bags in each hand. The frontdoor key was still jingling in the lockI hadnt even managed to shut the door behind me. Inside the bags were potatoes, onions, chicken legs, a bag of discount buckwheat and three yoghurts for Tommyonly the plain, sugarfree ones. I was already calculating whether Id have time to defrost the meat or if Id have to throw it straight into the pan, ending up steamed rather than fried.
Dave leaned against the doorway, phone pressed to his ear, stirring his instant coffee with three teaspoons of sugar. He never bothered to wash his dishes.
She wont notice a thing, he muttered, taking a sip and letting the liquid splash over the rim. Ill say its paperwork for a transfer, you sign, and she trusts me. Shes woodenno feelings, no character. The housekeepers on the house.
He laughed. I recognized that laugh from the evenings he spent with his mates in the garage while I washed up after their gettogethers, from the times hed snort when Tommy fell off his bike and I ran with a bottle of antiseptic, while Dave stood there saying, What, you think youre a hen? Let the lad get up on his own.
My ears rang like before a thunderstorm. My fingers clenched the bag handles, the plastic cutting into my palms until white lines appeared. I set the groceries down slowly, fished my phone out, and turned on the voice recorder.
From the kitchen came the low murmur of Dave already chatting with Simon about fishing hooks and tomorrows trip to the lake. He always does thatspits out the venom first, then slides into idle chatter as if nothing had happened. As if I were really just a wooden piece of furniture.
I held the phone up to the crack of the ajar door and waited until he finished his call with Simon and promised to wrap up the deal next week.
When he finally hung up, he shuffled to the fridge with his slippers clacking. I stopped the recording, slipped the phone into my pocket, grabbed the bags and slipped past the kitchen, closing the door behind me. I pressed my back against the jamb.
A cold fire burned under my tongueshould I scream, or should I howl like a dog? Twentyfour years of marriage. Tommy, school, university, his loans that Id been paying off from my holiday pay. His mother, whom I drove to the hospital three times a week until she passed. His socks, his meatballs, his constant, Love, wheres my blue shirt? And now I was the wooden wife. The buyer was already waiting.
I sank onto the bed, stared at my handscoated with a dusting of buckwheat flour. I looked at my wedding band, thin and worn, the one hed given me when we were still sharing a tiny flat and eating spaghetti with ketchup. I felt the urge to fling it out the window, but I didnt. I inhaled deeply, just as Mum used to say: Liza, if someone hurts you, count to ten first, then decide what to do.
I counted to twenty, then rose, splashed my face with icy water and pulled an old notebook from the drawer. I found the phone number for the Citizens Advice Bureau and scribbled the date Id last arranged my mothers disability claim.
A womans voice on the line explained that a restriction on any registration action could be placed online, but it was better to appear in person. I told her Id be thereright now.
It was about three in the afternoon. The kitchen was alive with the sizzle of a frying panDave was probably making an omelette. I slipped into the hallway, pulled on my coat.
You going somewhere? he asked without turning, the pan hissing.
Out for some bread. Nothing for dinner yet.
Alright, grab a pack of cigarettes for me too.
I left. The lift shivered as it rose; not from fear, but from the realization that I was finally doing something on my own. For twentyfour years Id never acted without his approval. Even the wallpaper colour was a joint decisionhim insisting, Beige is drab, we needed green. I had stayed silent.
The Citizens Advice office was empty. A clerk behind a glass window stared at my papers.
Youre sure you want to place a restriction? Without your personal presence, no one, even with a power of attorney, can sell, gift or exchange the flat.
Absolutely.
She tapped the keyboard. Fifteen minutes later I walked out onto the street with a tiny slip of paper, tucked it into the inner pocket of my coat where the recorder lay.
I came home with a baguette and a pack of his favourite cigarettes. Dave was sprawled on the sofa watching a war film. I went to the kitchen, turned the kettle on, and washed the burnt remnants of yesterdays eggsout of habit.
Around seven, someone knocked. Dave leapt up, tugging at his Tshirt.
This ones for me. Love, put the kettle on, a nice persons coming.
I nodded.
A man in his fifties, welldressed, with a leather briefcase, entered the hallway. Dave brightened, flashing a smile.
Allow me to introduce Mr. Oliver Hart, estate agent. Well sort the flat today.
I left the kitchen, drying my hands on a towel, and glanced at Daves smug expression.
Dave, remember you were on the phone with Simon this afternoon?
His smile faltered, the grin sliding off like poorly glued wallpaper.
What? Just what?
You called me a wooden wife, said youd found a buyer for my flat, and that Id never find out.
A heavy pause. Oliver shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Daves face turned pale, then his cheeks mottled with uneven colour.
What are you talking about, Love? he began, but I raised a hand.
No, Ive heard everything. Listen.
I pressed play. His voice filled the room: My wifes wooden Ive already found a buyer she trusts me the housekeepers free
Oliver stepped back toward the door.
Mr. Hart, you didnt mention there were any complications.
Dave stared at me as if I were a stranger.
Were you recording? Watching me? he snarled.
I was standing in the doorway with the groceries I bought on my wages, so you, Tommy and his girlfriend could have dinner. Meanwhile you were selling my house. My house, Dave. Not ours. Moms.
He took a step toward me, but I continued calmly:
Also, I went to the Citizens Advice Bureau today and placed a restriction on any action concerning the flat unless Im personally present. So your buyer I nodded at Olivercan look elsewhere. This flat is no longer for sale.
Oliver hesitated, then said, Ill be on my way then. Dave, well talk later. Sorry. He slipped out the door.
We were left alone. Dave stood in the middle of the room, gulping air like a fish stranded on a beach.
What have you done? Youve ruined everything! We had plans!
I had plans. I had faith. You smashed it today, called me wooden. Well, wood burns, Dave, and Ive burned.
He collapsed onto the sofa, clutching his head.
Love, Im sorry. It just slipped. I didnt mean it. Simon pushed me
Simon, I said with a dry chuckle. Always someone else to blame, isnt it? Not you, the man who lived off my salary for twentyfour years, drank my tea, slept in my sheets and treated me like décor.
I slipped the wedding ring off and placed it on the coffee table.
Ill file for divorce tomorrow. The flat stays with meMoms inheritance, you have no rights. Pack your things in a week. Ill explain everything to Tommy; hes an adult.
Liza
No. You dont know how light I feel right now. For the first time in years Im not worrying about dinner. I have a home, and I have myself.
I retreated to the bedroom, shut the door, and my phone buzzeda message from a friend: How was your day?
I typed back: Great. Im no longer wooden.
I woke at seven the next morning. Instead of rushing to make tea for Dave, I pulled on a robe and brewed coffee for myselfground beans with a dash of cinnamon. Dave only ever drank instant.
He shuffled out, his face crumpled, and glanced at the Turkishstyle pot in my hand.
What about me?
Its time you find a new housekeeper, Dave. Even wooden ones can spring to life.
I took a sip. The coffee scalded my throat, my hands still trembled, and the mug clinked against my teeth. Yet it was the best coffee Id ever tasted, because Id made it for me.
A knock at the door. I set the cup down and opened it. Oliver Hart stood there again, briefcase swapped for a messenger bag, looking bewildered.
Sorry to bother you so early. Your husband mentioned the flat was yours, but I didnt know If you ever decide to buy or sell anything, Im here. Honest, no strings attached.
I stared at him, then at Dave, whose face was twisted with impotent rage, then at Olivers practiced smile.
You know what, Mr. Hart? Ill think about it. Not today. Im planning to get a cat. Maybe a new frying pan, too.
He nodded, handed me his card, and left. Dave muttered something and disappeared into the other room. I leaned against the door, laughedsoft, almost inaudible. For the first time in many years I laughed in my own hallway.
I finished my coffee with a smile, thinking of the cat Id name Martha, after the one we once had as kids before Dad gave her away because she shed everywhere. Now Martha would be mine, and no one would complain about the fur.
