**Diary Entry 14th March**
Bloody hell, that woman next door complained about the noise again. The music was on till half eleven last night, she said, arms crossed like Id committed a crime.
Well, wasnt it? Claire barely glanced up from her magazine. Your mates were belting out songs like it was karaoke night.
So what? It was Saturday. Ive got a right to relax in my own bloody flat.
Claire said nothing. Arguing with me after last nights pub crawl was pointlessmy head was pounding, and my temper was shot.
By the way, lads are coming over tonight, I added, heading to the loo. Watching the match.
How many? she sighed.
Five or six. Didnt count.
Claire snapped her magazine shut and checked the clock. Half two. That meant chaos in a couple of hoursshouting, beer fumes, fag smoke everywhere. And tomorrow? A mountain of dishes and ashtrays stuffed with dog-ends.
Tim, maybe no booze tonight? she tried. Just tea and biscuits?
I stepped out, towelling my face. Are you serious? What kind of match-day is that? The ladsll be starving after work.
Whos cooking, then?
I gave her a look like shed asked if grass was green. Who dyou think? Youre the missus.
Ive been at the GPs all morning, then running errands, cleaning, she said, that edge creeping into her voice. Im knackered, Tim.
Take an hour, then crack on. Not asking for a banquetjust fry some chips, slice some cheese and ham.
Claire shoved off the sofa and trudged to the kitchen. Lunch dishes still cluttered the table; the sink was a tower of pans. Now she had to sort that *and* lay out a spread for my mates.
Why not order in? she called. Pizza or kebabs?
With what money? I shot back. Its cheaper if you do it.
She started scrubbing plates hard, like theyd wronged her. Twenty-three years married, and not once had I asked if she fancied a night off or a pint with her own friends.
Back when we wed, I was differentsteady job, barely touched a drink. Promised Id take care of her. First few years, I did. Worked construction, came home tired but chuffed. She had her library job, kept house. We got by.
Then I made foreman. More pay, new mates, new habits. First it was the odd after-work pint, then lads round ours. Occasionally, then every weekend.
Claire, wheres the whiskey? I yelled from the living room.
Top shelf in the cabinet.
Only one bottle. Not enough.
Then go buy more.
No time. Youre already shoppinggrab it.
She exhaled sharp, stacking plates. Again, her running about, spending house money on booze for my mates.
What if we skip the spirits? she tried again. Just a few beers?
Dont be daft! I marched in. Its the derby! Lads took the night offI cant serve them *beer*.
I gripped her shoulders. Cheer upits one night. Youll rest tomorrow.
Every weekends one night, she muttered. Match days, birthdays, any excuse.
We work hard. Need to unwind. You get that.
And I dont work?
I dropped my hands. Come off itlibrarys hardly graft. Shelving books, chatting with pensioners. Try hauling bricks all day.
Her face went tight. Always the samelike her job was a hobby. Never got that dealing with people, running kids clubs, fixing IT for OAPs was work too.
Fine, she said flatly. How many, exactly?
Saidfive or six. Dunno whos turning up.
What time?
Kick-offs six, so half-five.
She checked the clock again. Three now. Barely time to sort a decent spread.
Give us cash for food. And write a list.
I fished a crumpled twenty from my jeans. Enough?
For six? Hardly.
Then use whats in the freezer.
She snatched the note and went to dress. Freezer had meat, yeahbut that was for the week. Now tomorrows dinner was gone too.
The shop was ten minutes away. Claire walked slow, stewing. When had she become a skivvy in her own home? When did wife turn into maid?
At the till, the total outstripped the twenty. Put the crisps back, she told the cashier. Then the nuts. Barely scraped basics.
Back home, I was sprawled watching telly. Quick trip, I said. Whatd you get?
She dumped bags on the table, silent. Time was tight.
Peeling spuds, frying them. Slicing ham and cheese. Chopping veg for salad.
Wheres the hot food? I peered in.
What dyou want?
Dunnoburgers? Steak? Ladsll be hungry.
She checked the clock. Half four. Burgers now, shed barely manage.
Fine. But help set the table.
Cant. Need a showercant greet them looking rough.
She yanked mince from the freezer, grinding it fast. Hands aching, but no choice. Guests at half-five, and only cold cuts out.
I sang in the shower, water sloshing. Easy for melads coming, beers flowing, footy on. Her? Run between kitchen and lounge, fetching, clearing.
Out the shower, burgers were sizzling. On track? I asked, pulling a fresh tee on.
Yes. *Help with the table*.
Right after a shave.
Shaved, I flopped into the armchair. Vic, you *promised*! she called.
In a sec. News is on.
At six AM, shed be up for work. Librarys new digital course for pensionersprepping guides, setting up PCs.
Flipping burgers, she wondered how many more years of this. Id never change. Used to her doing it all, never complaining.
Claire, wheres the glasses? I shouted.
Bottom shelf in the cabinet!
Cant see em!
She wiped her hands, stomped in. Right where shed said.
Oh. Cheers.
Back to the kitchen. Burgers done, just table left. She laid the good linensaved for special. Though what was special about my mates gawping at telly?
Half-five, the buzzer went. Theyre here! I grinned. Let em in!
She hit the button, swapped to a clean dress. Had to look decent for guests.
First in were Dave and Robregulars. Three blokes behind them shed never seen.
Come in, lads! I boomed. Make yourselves at home!
Coats off, they piled round the table. Claire brought burgers, salad, cold cuts. I hauled out whiskey and beers.
Rightto the match! I raised a glass.
Glasses clinked. They drank, dug in. Claire lingered by the kitchen door.
Claire, not joining us? Davealways the polite oneasked.
Kitchens still a mess, she said.
Ah, sit down, I waved. You cooked, didnt you?
She moved to sit, but one of the new lads smirked. She can stay if she cooks for us all, I chuckled, grabbing fags for the balcony.
The room froze. Dave went red, stared at his plate. Rob coughed. Tim, mate
But I was already outside, door shut.
Awkward silence. Blokes chewed, eyes down. Claire stood stiff, gut churning.
Ignore him, she forced out. Nerves over the match.
Yeah, course, Dave mumbled.
But did they get it? That Id just treated her like staff in her own home?
She retreated to the kitchen, hands shaking. Twenty-three years, and thats how I spoke of her. In front of strangers.
Muffled talk from the loungedoubtless about *that*.
I came back in, plonked down like nowt happened. Kick-off! I cranked the volume.
Screen lit upplayers running. Lads cheered, bantered. Moment buried.
Claire sat at the kitchen table, their laughs ringing. Drinking *her* booze, eating *her* food. A stranger in her own house.
Half-time, Dave came for seconds. He didnt mean
