No, Simon, whats she going to do? My wifes as solid as a wooden plank, she couldnt care less. Dont worry, Ive already found a buyer for her flat.
I froze in the hallway, bags in both hands. The keys were still jangling on the lockI hadnt even managed to shut the door behind me. Inside the sacks were potatoes, onions, chicken legs, a bargainprice packet of groats, and three yogurts for Charlieplain, sugarfree, just the way he likes them. I was already calculating whether Id have time to defrost the meat or if Id have to throw a frozen chunk onto the pan and end up steaming it instead of frying.
Dave stood with his back to the entrance, phone pressed to his ear, stirring something in a mughis instant coffee with three teaspoons of sugar. He never washed the dishes after himself.
She wont notice a thing, he went on, slurping from the mug. Ill say its paperwork for a transfer, you sign. She trusts me. Shes as wooden as a statue. No emotions, no character. The housekeepers on the house.
He laughed. I recognised that laughit was the one he used when he was joking with his mates in the garage while I was washing up after their barbecues. It was the laugh hed make when young Charlie fell off his bike and I ran in with a bandaid, while Dave just stood there saying, Come on, toughie, get up yourself.
A rush of pressure hit my ears like a sudden storm. My fingers clenched the bag handles, the plastic biting into my palms until the skin turned white. I set the groceries down slowly, fished my phone out, and hit record.
From the kitchen came the low murmur of Dave already talking to Simon about fishing hooks and tomorrows trip to the lake. He always does thatspits out venom first, then drifts back to nonsense, as if nothing had happened, as if I were really just a wooden figure.
I held the phone up to the cracked gap of the door and waited until he finished his chat with Simon and promised, Ill sort the deal next week.
When Dave finally hung up, he snarled, flapped his slippers, and stalked to the fridge. I stopped the recording, slipped the phone into my pocket, grabbed the bags, and slipped silently past the kitchen into the bedroom, closing the door behind me. I leaned my back against the frame.
A cold fire burned under my tongueshould I scream or howl like a dog? Twentyfour years of marriage. Charlie, school, university, his loans 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, the meatloaves, the endless Love, wheres my blue shirt? And now I was wooden. And the buyer was already lined up.
I sat on the bed, stared at my hands. Buckwheat dust clung to my fingertips. I looked at my wedding bandthin, worn. Hed given it to me when we were still sharing a flat and eating spaghetti with ketchup. I wanted to fling it out the window, but I didnt. I breathed in deep, just as Mum used to say: If someone hurts you, count to ten before you decide what to do.
I counted to twenty. Then I stood, splashed my face with icy water, and pulled an old diary from the bedside drawer. Inside I found the number for the local councils citizen services officeI had once used it to arrange my mothers disability paperwork.
A womans voice answered after a long musical hold. She explained that a restriction on any registration action could be placed online, but it was better to come in person. I told her Id be there right away.
It was about three in the afternoon. Dave was booming in the kitchenprobably frying an egg. I slipped into the hallway, pulled on my coat.
Where are you off to? he called without turning, the pan hissing.
To the shop for bread. Nothing for tonights dinner.
Right, and grab me a packet of cigarettes too.
I left. The lift jolted as it moved, not from fear but from the realization of what I was doing. For twentyfour years Id never acted without his approval. Wed even chosen paint colour together, only for him to declare, Beige is boring, we should have gone with green. I said nothing.
The council office was empty except for a clerk looking over some paperwork at her window.
Are you sure you want to place a restriction? she asked. Without your personal presence, no oneno proxycan sell, gift, or swap the flat.
Absolutely, I replied.
She typed, her fingers clicking. Fifteen minutes later I was back on the street, a slip of paper tucked into the inner pocket of my coat, beside the phone with the recording.
I returned home with a loaf and a pack of Daves favourite cigarettes. Dave was sprawled on the sofa, watching an action film. I drifted into the kitchen, turned on the kettle, and wiped the burnt egg remnants off the panhabit.
Around seven, someone knocked at the door. Dave leapt up, tugged at his Tshirt.
Thats me. Put the kettle on, someone nice is coming.
I nodded.
A man in his fifties, wearing a smart coat and carrying a briefcase, stepped in. Daves face lit up with a grin.
Meet Oliver Benson, estate agent. Were sorting the flat.
I emerged from the kitchen, drying my hands on a towel, and fixed my gaze on Daves smug expression.
Dave, remember you were on the phone with Simon this afternoon? I asked.
He froze. The smile slipped off his face like badly stuck wallpaper.
What? There was what?
You called me a wooden wife and said you already had a buyer for my flat, that Id know nothing.
A heavy pause followed. Oliver shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Daves complexion went pale, his cheeks turning blotchy.
What are you talking about, Love? he began, but I raised a hand.
Enough. I heard everything. Listen.
I pressed play. Daves voice filled the room: My wifes wooden Ive already found a buyer she trusts me the housekeepers free
Oliver stepped back toward the door.
Dave, you didnt mention any complications, he said.
Dave stared at me, as if I were a stranger.
Did you record this? Were you spying on me? he hissed.
I was standing in the hallway with the groceries I bought on my wages, so you, Charlie and his girlfriend could have dinner. While you were trading my flat. My flat, Dave. Not ours. My mothers.
He took a step toward me, but I kept my voice steady.
And another thing. Today I went to the council and placed a restriction on any action involving the flat without my being there. So your buyer I gestured at Olivercan look elsewhere. This apartment is no longer for sale.
Oliver backed away.
I think Ill be leaving. Dave, well be in touch. Sorry.
He slipped out the door.
We were alone. Dave stood in the centre of the room, his mouth open like a fish out of water.
What have you done? Youve ruined everything! We had plans!
You had plans. I had belief. And you smashed it, calling me wooden. Wood burns, Dave. And Ive burnt down.
He collapsed onto the sofa, his hands covering his face.
Love, Im sorry. It was a mistake. I didnt mean it. Simon pushed me
Simon, I chuckled. 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 as décor.
I slipped my wedding band off and placed it on the coffee table.
Im filing for divorce tomorrow. The flat stays with memy mothers inheritance. You have no rights. Pack your things within a week. Ill explain everything to Charlie; hes an adult now.
Love he began.
No, thank you. You have no idea how light I feel. For the first time in years Im not thinking about cooking dinner. I know I have a home. I know I have myself.
I retreated to the bedroom, closed the door, and a message buzzed on my phone: So, how was your day?
I typed back: Great. Im no longer wooden.
Morning found me up at seven. Instead of scrambling to make tea for Dave, I stretched, slipped on a robe, and brewed coffee for myselfground beans with a dash of cinnamon. Dave only ever had instant. Id always loved real coffee.
He shuffled out, his face crumpled, and eyed the Turkishstyle pot in my hand.
And me?
Its time you find a new housekeeper, Dave. Even wooden things can catch fire and turn to ash.
I took a sip. The coffee was scorchingly hot; my hands still trembled, and the cup clinked against my teeth. Yet it was the best coffee Id ever tasted, because Id made it for me.
A knock sounded at the door. I set the cup down and opened it. Oliver Benson stood there again, coat still immaculate, but his expression now uneasy.
Sorry to bother you so early. Your husband mentioned the flat was yours, but he didnt tell me Id like to offer my services as an agent, just in case you ever decide to buy or sell again. Honestly, no strings attached.
I stared, stunned. From the kitchen, Dave emerged, his face twisted in frustration.
What are you doing here? he barked.
Im working, Oliver replied calmly. I have a new client now.
He handed me his card. I turned it over, looked back at Daves angry stare, then at Olivers professional smile.
You know what, Oliver? Ill think about it. Not today. Today Im getting a cat. And maybe a new frying pan.
Oliver nodded, said goodbye, and left. Dave muttered something and slipped away into another room. I closed the door, leaned my back against it, and laugheda quiet, almost inaudible laugh. For the first time in years I laughed in my own hallway.
I finished my coffee with a smile, already deciding to name the cat Marta, after the one that lived with us as a child before Dad gave her away because she shed everywhere. Now Marta would be mine, and no one could complain about shedding being a problem.
And as the steam rose from my cup, I realised that the hardest thing to break isnt a wooden wall or a stubborn husbandits the belief that youre invisible. Once you find your voice, you discover that even the toughest timber can be set alight, and you can walk away, free and unfrozen, into a life you choose for yourself.
