I still recall the day my husband, Peter Whitaker, a longhaul lorry driver, came home with a stranger in tow. Shell be living with us now, he announced, and I, Gwen Whitaker, burst into tears. I stared at the woman, Ivy Clarke, whose swagger left me stunned: she barged into the bathroom without a word, emerged in my own bathrobe, a favourite towel perched on her head, and declared, Dont just stand there! Im famished, and your man will be back any minute.
I wanted to scream, to fling her out the front door, but I held my tongue. The flat belonged to Peter; it was property he had acquired before we married. Nothing had hinted at trouble, and I had lived comfortablyno work for me, the money flowed in, and Peter earned well. I was known for my capricious temper, and friends often joked that Peter had taken up the lorry trade just to keep his eyes off me for a while. Yet everyone, myself included, believed he loved me fiercely. On the morning of his return I wondered what he might have brought this time.
Reality surpassed my wildest fears. Peter introduced Ivy, insisting I should not object. He had met her somewhere on the motorway. I, at thirtyfour, still felt young and attractive, while Ivy, looking no younger than fifty, was unkempt and blunt. Could such a woman truly enchant my handsome husband? Some men do fancy older dames, but not like this.
From the kitchen Ivy shouted, Are you going to stand there forever? Im starving! I set about cooking potato dumplings. She watched in silence. When I placed a plate in front of her and reached for the cabbage rolls Id saved for Peter, she lifted an eyebrow and snapped, What, are you feeding your husband with halfcooked scraps? And youre dumping them on me? I replied with a cold stare, and Ivy flung the dumplings out the open window.
What are you doing? I yelled. The cat will eat them! You, dear, make a soup or fry some potatoes! Understand? she retorted, then turned to the television.
When Peter finally walked through the door, I hauled him into the kitchen and vented, Get her out! Why did you bring her? Who is she? She threw away the dumplings! Ivy appeared, scowling, Peter, why are you tolerating her? A respectable man with a house and money, and she cant even cook a proper meal. Shes a spoiled, whinging daughter of a mother. I shot back, I live here. Im the lady of the house! Ivy replied coolly, Very well.
Peter, Ivy, and I later went to the corner shop together. Ivy cooked for herself; I had no appetite that day, but the next I found myself eating a hearty beef stew and a plate of spaghetti bolognese shed prepared. I had never liked cooking, but I resolved to learn. I scoured recipes online, failed at first, and then gradually found my footing. I stopped nagging Peter at every turn, though a small fear lingered that Ivy would remain and I would be the one to go.
I said nothing to my mother, though I usually called her daily. I confided only in my dearest friend, Kate. Kick her out! Shes an impostor! I urged. Kate scoffed, You have a shared flat, and Peter earns a decent wage. Ive got nothing but my own troubles. Youre crying over a man whos still my Peter! I burst into tears, Everythings changed! Its all Peters fault! Kate retorted, I tried to support you, and she turned on me! Off you go, back to your Peter and his Ivy!
Life seemed unchanged on the surface. Peter still adored me, and I kept probing why hed brought Ivy into our home and how long she would stay, but he refused to discuss it. Ivy found work in a local shop, and I realized I could survive this impostor by becoming pregnant. I had never wanted children; Id told Peter I didnt wish to be a mother, fearing it would ruin my figure and that I had no love for babies.
Then the idea struck me as a solution. Friends marveled at my transformation: I began cooking, no longer threw tantrums, and gradually turned into the ideal wife. One evening I announced to Peter that I was expecting a child. He beamed, At last! Raise them well, so they dont cast you out like they did me! Ivy sighed, What do you mean, cast out? She recounted how she had raised Peters sons as her own, only to be thrown out after one died. Tears welled in her eyes, and for the first time I felt genuine sympathy, asking, And then? Ivy spoke of her own hardships, how a strangers kindness had finally steadied her life.
That night we dined together, the three of us, and I no longer felt the urge to evict Ivy. She smiled, believing she had reshaped the troublesome wife. The following day Uncle Thomas, Peters elderly uncle from the countryside, arrived for a visit, his eyes lingering on Ivy. After a week he left, taking Ivy with him. At our age we must seize the moment, accept proposals, she said brightly, thanks for the hospitality. I found myself missing her already.
Life altered irrevocably. I gave birth to a daughter, Lucy, and asked Ivy to be her godmother. They are now inseparable. Each summer I travel to the village, the fresh air doing Lucy good, while Peter watches in amazement at how unrecognizable his wife has become. He credits Ivy for the change. So it was fates tangled skein that brought us together, and now we each depend on the other more than ever.
