The Crocodile Handbag
It was a quiet Saturday, the sort that lingers in memory long after. A soft rain traced delicate patterns down the windowpanes, and the flat carried the comforting blend of freshly steeped tea and the hushed stillness of a weekend free from work. Emily nestled into the threadbare armchairthe one passed down from her grandmother, its cushions sagging with ageand cradled her favourite mug. The warmth seeped into her palms, a small but certain comfort.
This, she thought, was peace. No chatter about jobs, no endless fretting over money, no muttered remarks about how it was “high time” for one thing or another. Just her, the tea, and a new series on her tablet.
These quiet moments had become her refuge in recent months. Thomas, her husband, had been out of work for three months, and the house had slowly become a battleground of unspoken resentments. He spent his days glued to the computerplaying war games, watching football, “supposedly” job-hunting, though more often than not, the screen showed anything but employment listings.
“Darling!” Thomas’s voice shattered the silence like a firework. “You wont believe it! Mums picked out her own anniversary present!”
He bounded into the room, grinning like a schoolboy whod just won the spelling bee. Emily reluctantly peeled her eyes from the screen. Something in his tone set her nerves on edge.
“A crocodile-skin handbag!” he announced, oblivious to her unease. “Shes wanted one for ages!”
Emily set her mug down carefully, her eyes narrowing.
“A crocodile-skin handbag? Did she choose it herself, or was she nudged in that direction? And has she considered what animal rights activists might say?”
The sarcasm sailed right past him.
“Shes my mother! She deserves it!”
“Deserves it?” Emily felt something hot and sharp twist inside her. “Tell me, what exactly has she done to earn it? She raised you, finebut Ive got my own parents. And how much does this gift cost?”
Thomas coughed, suddenly fascinated by the floor.
“Oh, nothing much About five of your paycheques.”
Emilys stomach dropped.
“Five of my paycheques?” she repeated, her voice eerily calm.
“Well, its Nile crocodile, not some cheap imitation,” he said, as if that explained everything.
“And why are you telling me this? Im not remotely interested.”
Thomas shifted uncomfortably, avoiding her gaze.
“Well I put it on credit.”
“On credit?” Her voice was dangerously quiet.
“Yeah. Big thanks to my sister Lucyshe works at the bank, sorted it all out in no time”
“And in whose name?”
A horrible suspicion crept over Emily.
“Well, whose do you think yours. I just used your paperwork”
Emily stood slowly, her hands clenched. For a moment, she wanted to throttle him. Or at least hurl something heavy in his direction.
“So, Thomas darling, youve been jobless for three months, decided to spoil your mother, and now Im stuck with the bill?”
Thomas took an involuntary step back, sensing the storm brewing.
“Emily, its just how it worked out Youre the only one bringing in money”
“I *am* working! And instead of pulling your weight, instead of providing like any decent husband, you sit around like a schoolboy on holiday and think I dont have enough problems without your debt?”
“Emily, dont make a fuss! Its just a loanno harm done!”
At that moment, his mother, Margaret, swept in with her usual air of authority. She always claimed to be “visiting the children,” though her real purpose seemed to be dispensing criticism.
“Whats all this racket?” she demanded, settling into a chair as if it were her throne.
“Nothing, Mum. Emilys just a bit cross about the loan,” Thomas muttered sheepishly.
“And why should she be?” Margaret folded her arms. “Family helps familythats how it should be.”
“Really?” Emilys voice was icy. “So its my duty to fund expensive gifts, is it?”
“Whats so odd about that? Youve a good salary,” Margaret said dismissively.
“I see. And Thomas? What exactly does *he* contribute?”
“Thomas is my sonand your husband. You should stand by him.”
“Husband?” Emily laughed. “Is that what you call a man who takes loans in his wifes name because he cantor wontdo anything himself? Whos leeching off me like some petty thief?”
“Emily!” Thomas protested. “Thats uncalled for! Were a family!”
“Right,” Emily said tightly. “Well, Ill sort it myself tomorrow. And I promise, everything will be just fine.”
She smiled then, a strange little smile that made Thomas distinctly uneasy. In truth, she already knew exactly how to settle the matter.
“Good girl,” Margaret said approvingly, entirely missing the danger in Emilys tone.
The next day, Emily worked steadily, making a few discreet calls in between. By evening, shed arranged a meeting with someone from the classifieds.
When she returned home that night, she greeted Thomas with a sweet smile.
“Darling! Ive got news!”
“Oh?” He looked up from the sofa, utterly unsuspecting.
“Ive paid off that loan for the crocodile handbag.”
“What? No!” He nearly leaped from his seat. “Youre brilliant! Howd you manage it? Whered you get the money?”
“Simple. I sold your car.”
Thomas went utterly still, as if struck.
“Youwhat? My *car*?”
“Thats right. Quick sale, decent pricejust enough to clear that wretched debt.”
“Have you lost your mind? How am I supposed to get about?”
Emily smiled sweetly.
“Ride the crocodile handbag like a pony. I read online that some are made from leather taken from the creatures delicate bits, and if you stroke them just right, they turn into suitcases. Your mothers bag isnt one of those, by any chance?”
She nearly laughed as Thomas turned puce.
“You cant be serious! That was *my* car! And you sold it for *peanuts*thats mad!”
“Well, now youre carless, and Im debt-free. Fairs fair. And your mothers got her handbag. Lovely arrangement, dont you think?”
Margaret burst in at the sound of her sons shouting.
“Whats all this?”
“Can you believe it, Mum? Emilys sold my car! Its a disaster!”
“So what?” Emily shrugged. “A loans a family matterisnt that what you said?”
“That was different! You had no rightits *his* property!” Margaret planted her hands on her hips. “And now, with no carwhat were you thinking?”
“Did you ask *me* before buying that handbag? Before taking a loan in my name?” Emily lifted her chin. “Im just keeping things even.”
“This is outrageous! The cheek of her!” Margaret spat, glaring as if Emily had robbed them blind.
“Outrageous is the pair of you treating me like a walking wallet,” Emily shot back.
Thomas tried to interject.
“Emily, think! Were a familywe stick together!”
“A family, you say? Then heres my offer: since youre the least useful member of it, pack your things and move in with your mother. Let *her* feed you and pay your bills. Ill finally live for myself.”
Emily sat back on the sofa, picking up her tablet with deliberate finality. After a beat, she added,
“And Margaretgive that crocodile bag a gentle stroke. You never know what might happen.”
Two days later, worn down by the tension, Thomas moved in with his mother. Margaret made no secret of her outrage. Emily ignored her entirely.
For the first time in ages, she felt light. And she knew one thing for certaintheyd finally understood: she wasnt someone to be trifled with.
Outside, the rain still fell, but now the quiet of that Saturday belonged to her alone.
