No, Gerry, whats she going to do? My wifes as solid as a doorstop, she couldnt care less. Dont worry, Ive already found a buyer for her flat.
I froze in the hallway, two grocery bags in each hand. The keys were still jangling in the lockI hadnt even managed to shut the door behind me. Inside the bags lay potatoes, onions, chicken legs, a bargain bag of buckwheat, and three plain yoghurts for Charlieonly the white, sugarfree kind. I was already calculating whether Id have time to defrost the meat or if Id have to throw it straight onto the pan as a frozen slab, turning it into steam rather than a proper roast.
Dave stood with his back to the entrance, phone pressed to his ear, stirring a mug of instant coffee with three scoops of sugar. He never bothered to wash the dishes after himself.
She wont notice a thing, he continued, slurping from the mug. Ill say its paperwork for a transfer, you sign. She trusts me. Shes as wooden as a plank. No feelings, no character. The housekeepers free of charge.
He laughed. I recognized that laughit was the one he shared with his mates in the garage while I was washing up after their evenings. The same chuckle when little Charlie fell off his bike and I rushed with a bottle of antiseptic while Dave stood there saying, Come on, love, let him get up himself.
A rush of pressure hit my ears, like the buildup before a storm. My fingers clenched the bag handles, the plastic biting my palms until white lines appeared. I set the purchases down slowly, fished out my phone, and hit record.
From the kitchen came the murmur of Dave already haggling with Gerry about fishing hooks and tomorrows trip to the lake. He always did it that way: first hed spew venom, then hed drift onto idle chatter as if nothing had happened, as if I were truly a wooden thing.
I held the phone up to the crack of the ajar door and waited until he finished his farewell to Gerry and promised to finalise the deal next week.
When Dave hung up, he let out a guttural sigh and shuffled, slipperclad, toward the fridge. I stopped the recording, slipped the phone into my pocket, grabbed the bags, and slipped past the kitchen into the bedroom without a sound. I closed the door and leaned my back against the jamb.
A cold fire pressed at the back of my throatshould I roar, or howl like a dog? Twentyfour years of marriage. Charlie, school, university, his debts that I paid off from my own holiday pay. His mother, whom I drove to the hospital three times a week until she passed. His socks, his meatballs, the endless Love, wheres my blue shirt? And now I was the wooden wife. A buyer was already waiting.
I sat on the bed, staring at my hands. Buckwheat dust clung to my fingertips. I looked at the wedding bandthin, faded. Hed given it to me when we were still sharing a cramped flat, eating spaghetti with ketchup. I felt an urge to fling it out the window, but I didnt. I breathed in deeply, recalling my mothers advice: Ethel, if someone hurts you, count to ten before you decide what to do.
I counted to twenty. Then I rose, splashed my face with icy water, and pulled an old notebook from the bedside drawer. Inside was a note about the municipal officean entry Id made when arranging my mothers disability paperwork.
A womans voice drifted over the line, explaining that a restriction on any registration could be set online, but it was better to appear in person. I told her I would come right away.
It was about three oclock. The kitchen was a hubbubDave was probably frying an omelette. I slipped into the corridor, shrugged on my coat.
Where are you off to? he called without turning, the pan hissing.
To the shop for bread. Nothing for dinner yet.
Right, grab me a packet of cigarettes too.
I left. The lift jolted as it rose, not from fear but from the realisation that I was finally doing something without his nod. For twentyfour years I hadnt taken a single step without his approval. Even the colour of the wallpaper was a joint decision, only for him to mutter later, Beige is drab, we should have gone green, and I kept quiet.
The municipal office was empty. A clerk stared at my papers from behind a glass pane.
Are you certain you want to place a restriction? Without your personal presence, no onenot even a power of attorneycan sell, gift, or exchange the flat.
Absolutely.
She tapped the keys. Fifteen minutes later I emerged onto the street, a slip of paper tucked into the inner pocket of my coat where the recorded phone lay.
I returned home with a loaf of bread and a pack of Daves favourite cigarettes. Dave was slumped on the sofa, watching a war film. I went to the kitchen, turned the kettle on, and washed the burnton bits of yesterdays omelette, as I always did.
Around seven, there was a knock at the door. Dave leapt up, tugging at his Tshirt.
Oh, thats for me. Love, put the kettle on, a nice chap is coming.
I nodded.
A man in his fifties, dressed in a smart overcoat and carrying a leather briefcase, stepped into the hallway. Dave brightened, a grin spreading across his face.
Meet Oliver Grant, a property solicitor. About the flat.
I emerged from the kitchen, drying my hands on a towel, and looked at Daves smug expression.
Dave, remember you were talking to Gerry this afternoon?
He froze. The smile slipped away like poorly glued wallpaper.
What? Oh it was just a thing, whats it to you?
You called me a wooden wife. You said youd found a buyer for my flat and that Id never find out.
A heavy pause fell. Oliver shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Daves face turned pale, his cheeks splintering with uneven patches.
What are you on about, Love? he began, but I raised a hand.
No, Ive heard everything. Listen.
I pulled the phone from my pocket and pressed play. Daves voice filled the room: My wifes as wooden as a plank Ive already found a buyer she trusts me the housekeepers free
Oliver stepped back toward the door.
Mr. Davies, you didnt mention any complications.
Dave stared at me as if I were a stranger.
You recorded me? Kept tabs on me? he hissed.
I was standing by the door with the groceries I bought on my wages, so you, Charlie, and his girlfriend could have dinner. Meanwhile you were trading my house. My house, Dave. Not ours. My mothers.
He lunged forward, but I stayed calm.
And another thing. I went to the municipal office today and placed a restriction on any dealings with the flat unless Im there in person. So your buyer I gestured toward Olivercan look elsewhere. This property isnt for sale any more.
Oliver hesitated.
I suppose Ill be on my way then. Mr. Davies, well be in touch. Apologies.
He slipped out the door.
We were left alone. Dave stood in the middle of the room, breathing like a fish stranded on the shore.
What have you done? Youve ruined everything! We had plans!
You had plans. I had faith. And you melted it today, calling me wooden. Well, wood burns, Dave, and Ive been set alight. Im ash now.
He collapsed onto the sofa, pulling his head into his hands.
Love, Im sorry. It just slipped. I didnt mean it. Gerry pushed me
Gerry, I smirked, of course. Always someone else to blame. Not you, the man who lived off my wages for twentyfour years, drank my tea, slept in my sheets, and treated me like décor.
I slipped off my wedding band and placed it on the coffee table.
Tomorrow Ill file for divorce. The flat will stay with meits my mothers inheritance, you have no rights. Pack your things within a week. Ill explain everything to Charlie; hes an adult now.
Ethel he started.
Dont. You cant imagine how light I feel now. For the first time in years Im not thinking about dinner. Im thinking I have a home, and I have myself.
I slipped into the bedroom, closed the door, and felt my phone buzza message from a friend: So, how was your day?
I typed back: Brilliant. Im no longer wooden.
Morning found me up at seven. Instead of scurrying to boil water for Dave, I stretched, wrapped a robe around me, and set about making coffeefor myself. Ground beans, a pinch of cinnamon. Dave only ever drank instant. Id always loved a proper brew.
Dave shuffled out, his face crumpled, and stared at the Turkishstyle pot in my hand.
And me?
Dave, its time you found a new housekeeper. Wooden things sometimes awaken.
I took a sip. The coffee was scorchingly hot; my hands still trembled, and the cup clinked against my teeth. Yet it was the most delicious coffee Id ever tasted, because Id made it for me alone.
A knock sounded at the door. I set the cup down and opened it. Oliver Grant stood there again, coat still immaculate, but his expression bewildered.
Sorry to bother you so early. Your husband mentioned the flat was yours, but I wasnt aware Id like to offer my services as a solicitor, should you ever decide to buy, sell, or purchase anything. Honestly, no strings attached.
I stared, stunned. From the kitchen Dave emerged, his face twisted in a grimace.
What are you doing here? he barked.
Working, Oliver replied placidly. I have a new client now.
He handed me a card. I turned it over, looked at Daves frantic fury, then at Olivers professional smile.
You know what, Oliver, Ill think about it. Not today. I have plansIm getting a cat. And perhaps a new frying pan.
Oliver nodded, said goodbye, and left. Dave muttered something indecipherable and slipped back into the room. I shut the door, leaned against it, and laugheda soft, almost inaudible chuckle. For the first time in many years I laughed in my own hallway at sunrise.
I finished my coffee with a grin, thinking of the name for my new felineMolly, after the cat that roamed our home when I was a child, before Father gave her away to the neighbours because her fur covered every carpet. This time it would be my Molly, and no one could claim that a bit of fur was a problem.
