Emily, get the house ready for the Nevill family today make something special or order in, but no boring stuff! she says, tying a silk scarf around her neck and putting the finishing touches on her powerdressed look. She barks orders at her husband, James, as she surveys the kitchen. Theres a layer of dust on the balcony; the laptops going to disappear under it. Wipe it down.
James replies calmly, stepping out of the kitchen. He has a kitchen towel draped over one shoulder, a fresh childs mug from the dishwasher in his hand, and a cotton apron over his Tshirt. He leans in to plant a quick kiss on her cheek now that shes done her makeup, but Emily pulls away, irritated.
Do I have to do the housework too? Isnt the office enough? she snaps.
Youve stopped working from home, so the dust builds up, James says, unruffled.
When you were home we could actually see you, Emily retorts.
Thank heavens thats over, she declares, slinging her handbag over her shoulder with a selfsatisfied smile. Clean, wash, vacuum, tidy the toys, cook satisfy everyone! And a thank you, maybe?
Come off it! No need to lug laundry to the River Thames, the dishwasher does its job, the robot vacuum does the rest, and the girls theyre just being kids, James sighs, trying to keep his tone light.
If thats how you see it, fine. Im more useful at work than at home. Someone has to earn the money, Emily says and storms out, slamming the door behind her.
Emilys mornings are scheduled to the minute: up at six, a quick run (shes taken up jogging), contrast shower, breakfast, makeup and hair on the go. London traffic is notorious, but she leaves early enough that nothing holds her up today.
A year ago Jamess mornings looked similar, except he skipped the workout and lingered a few minutes longer in the warm bed with his wife. His office is a short drive away, so traffic never bothered him. By six or seven hes home, helping Emily with dinner or tidying up, then playing with the girls. He often puts the children to bed and then helps Emily put away toys or straighten the living room.
Everything changes a year ago. The younger daughter, Molly, turns two and starts nursery, leaving the endless runnynose phase behind. The older, Lucy, is in Year4 and walks to the nearby primary school on her own; she even catches the tram to ballet lessons by herself after James taught her how. Emily is offered a return to her old corporate job; she hesitates, liking home life but craving the buzz of a office. A swift promotion is promised, and she accepts.
Three months later Emily lands her first raise, then another, plus extra perks and a flexible schedule she loves. Shes rarely seen at home, but James explains everything to the kids. Emily cant keep up as homemaker, mother and wife; she arrives home exhausted and late.
James and Emily discuss the situation. James never intends to complain; he understands theres no talk of her quitting. They decide to swap roles: Emily will work without worrying about household chores, and James will quit his job and take on the thankless domestic duties.
Eventually youll find something remote, Emily urges James at first, embarrassed that he, a man, will have to make porridge, hang and iron laundry, pick up the girls from nursery, drive them to the dentist and the speech therapist. Youll manage, I know it.
Youre brilliant, James kisses Emilys crown. Those will be the last family evenings we share, so keep everything smooth at work and at home, he says, praising her.
James throws himself into the new routine. The constant texts from Emily about whats dirty, what needs washing, who to collect and when cease. He handles the chores effortlessly; the household tasks dont weigh him down, and the girls dont get irritable like they do with a tired mother. Meanwhile, Emilys career soars; colleagues and bosses trust her with any assignment. The family compromise lets her flourish professionally, and she beams with pride as her career skyrockets.
Youre late, dinners getting cold, the girls greet her at the door after work. She unties the silk scarf again, still feeling the days pressure stack up. The Nevill family not coming?
What? she snaps, annoyed with James.
You said
Emily glares at James as if he were a subordinate whos overstepped.
I told you it was for the weekend!
You mentioned today, though.
James, have you forgotten how to listen to me? she hisses, marching into the living room. Whats this mess? Why didnt you change Mollys outfit? Who pulled the curtain? Was it the kids playing ball inside again? Cant they do that outside?
James, Lucy and Molly stand mute, unsure how to defend themselves. This has become a common pattern lately.
Is this how you expected guests to see the house? Emily points at the chaos.
They have kids too, theyll understand. We were just playing.
Come on, James! Look at yourself unshaven, stretched Tshirt, vacant stare.
James, still in a cheery mood, winks at the girls: Mums joking, shes tired, trying not to react to his wifes provocations.
Lets go to the kitchen, well feed you. Done with the day? he asks gently.
Yes! Im furious! Is it really that hard to do what I ask? Even a fool could manage. You cant earn money, and you cant handle a mop and dirty plates.
A flash of anger crosses Jamess face, but he refuses to argue in front of the children. Emily moves to the kitchen and finds another grievance.
You ordered dinner, didnt you think of me? I dont like spicy, greasy food. Make me tea, Im hungry.
Make it yourself! James snaps, hoisting the youngest on his back, lifting the older with one hand as if she were a feather. Were off to brush teeth, its late, time for bed. Tomorrow school and nursery. By the way, Molly had a photo shoot last week; the pictures have been on the mantel for two days. You never noticed.
They leave, giggling. In the bathroom, the childrens chatter fades into water splashing. After a few minutes the bedroom door shuts and silence settles. Ten minutes later James returns to the kitchen. Emily still sits at the table, simmering with resentment, her tea still cold.
Calmed down? he asks. Whats wrong? Work trouble?
No! Works fine, its home
Emily, youre losing it! James leans in, eyes hard. Im not your assistant, not your secretary, not your subordinate. I never nitpicked when you were at home, even when there was cause. Youre not a robot; you can miss things thats okay, well do it together.
Its easy for you to say! I used to juggle the girls and work from home. Now theyre older, they understand. You always said the dishwasher, washing machine, and food delivery cover everything. Why cant you handle the basics?
Jamess mouth twitches with fury, but he holds back. What have you become? A lazy loafer, a housekeeper. Youll soon grow a belly from all that sitting.
Emily!
Dont shout, I know what youre saying.
James storms off to the bedroom. When Emily follows, he grabs a pillow and heads for the living room, shouting, Tomorrow Im back at work! Find yourself another househelp.
Coward! Giving up over a few dirty plates, Emily retorts.
James, pillow under his arm, shuffles to the lounge. Emilys anger burns, then she realises James cant start work tomorrow not yet. She doesnt chase him that night, apologises in the morning, agrees that he needs time to find someone to pick up Molly, drive the girls, etc. Her wait a bit stretches to three months; his bosslike tone at home becomes the norm. She leaves a list of chores each day and checks them at night, punishing James and the girls if anything is missed.
Tomorrow youll pick up Molly yourself, James declares one evening.
What about you?
I cant. Im meeting friends.
Are you serious? Im grinding till nine or ten at the office, and youre out for drinks! I wont let you leave! I have a planning meeting at seven tonight.
Im not asking permission, Im informing you. You have meetings every day, then emergencies.
I said no!
James heads to the hallway, putting on his coat and shoes.
Where are you going? Emily yells down the corridor. Im not letting you leave!
Im not your employee or housekeeper. Goodbye.
He slams the door; Emily hurls a string of insults after him.
That night James doesnt return home. In the morning Emily sends him a message with a checklist of what to do, who to collect, where to go. He doesnt reply. Later, an unexpected call comes from Mollys nursery; they need her picked up urgently. Emily drops everything, darts across London to the nursery, firing angry texts at James. He stays silent. He doesnt come back that night.
Emily is furious. She isnt jealous; she just cant understand why hes disappearing. She keeps sending hostile messages, and eventually has to manage everything herself. After two weeks shes exhausted, her nerves frayed, sleepless, her boss unhappy, and nannies keep turning down the jobs.
She calls James, demanding he come home.
Ill collect the girls on the weekend, but Im not coming back, James says, hanging up before she can protest. Emily is left speechless, unable to believe he would resort to such cruelty. The children hear her screaming into the phone, calling him a loser.
Later, their mother, Margaret, asks Lucy about a stain on a school blouse. How did he get those marks on the sleeves? I forgot the proper way to wear it, she asks. Lucy pulls a blue packet of oxygen bleach from the washing machine. First soak in hot water, then a fortyminute wash at forty degrees. It always leaves my shirts spotless.
Wow, a wizard, Margaret says. He cleans my white trainers, stains on Mollys dresses I wanted to throw it away.
Lucy shrugs. Margaret reads the instructions, recalling all the tiny household tasks she still has to handle, and how much James does to keep those from distracting her career.
Emily and James eventually divorce. Emily sets a schedule for the childrens time with each parent. James still has to collect Molly from nursery and drive Lucy where needed, doing it calmly, never hearing his exwifes complaints behind his back.
Mom, is Dad ever coming back? Lucy asks one day.
Where would he go? Hell sit at Mums place and pop in. Who needs him besides us? Emily replies confidently.
Lucy walks away, understanding that Dad wont return under these circumstances and that Mum wont change.
James goes back to his old job, and a year after the split he marries again which means hell need a new mop, Emily thinks. He often has the girls for a week or two, and Emily is fine with that. The only irritation is that her exhusband, now a contented but unambitious man, quickly finds decent work. Shes successful, smart, attractive, and rarely meets men who stay beyond a first date; most disappear after the initial encounter, leaving no phone numbers. She begins to wonder whats wrong with herself.
