A week alone would soften her like silk, yet the sight of what had unfolded while she was absent left him frozen at the very doorway.
Poppy had not been herself of late. Cracks were beginning to spider across her marriage to Tom, and she felt trapped in a tormenting limbo. It all started with tiny irritations, as it always does.
After work Tom began to pepper her with venomous remarks. His jokes curdled with anger, each word cutting deeper than any blow. Day by day his demeanor grew harsher, even when he was on holiday he offered her no respite.
Look at you, you look like an old hag! he barked, never lifting his gaze from his mobile. Other blokes have wives who are still their wives, and Ive got a shriveled prune!
Indeed, Poppy seemed older than her years. The grind of her job left lines on her face, and the sting of those words from the man she had pledged to love cut the deepest. She earned twice as much as Tom, so he had no obvious excuse to complain.
Tom spent his money however he liked, never asking anyone: Where I want, I spend! He had no children to plan for.
Poppy endured that as well. They managed to scrape a living together. They were not married in any registry, yet they lived as a couple and showed no hurry to formalise. Toms mother, Mrs. Whitaker, had long called Poppy a daughterinlaw, and Poppy, in turn, called her a motherinlaw.
Mrs. Whitaker proved meddlesome and perpetually dissatisfied, constantly inserting herself into the young couples affairs, and most of her nitpicking landed on Poppy.
They occupied a detached house on the outskirts of York. Though the town was close, the garden demanded constant attention. Frequently Poppy begged Tom for help:
I simply cant keep up Im at work from dawn till dusk!
And whats it to me? Tom would retort. Its your house, youre the mistress here, what do I have to do with it?
In winter the yard was buried under snow until Poppy grabbed a spade herself. In summer weeds crept up to the windowsills. She hired labourers to tidy up, then after her shift she finished the chores herself, while Tom lounged on the sofa, only occasionally checking on progress.
Poppy forgave many things, but the final straw came when she returned home after an exhausting day. Her legs dragged like dead weight, her handbag throbbed from the heavy groceries shed picked up en route. She hoped Tom would meet her at the door she even called, but he stayed silent.
Breathing heavily, she swiped sweat from her brow and heard music drifting from the back garden. She left her bag by the fence and hurried inside, where a raucous disco was in full swing. Anger and resentment swirled inside her; tonight she would let the pentup flood out.
The house was a riot of sound: blaring speakers rattled the windows, a table groaned under platters and snacks Poppy had prepared earlier to avoid evening fuss. Tom, oblivious to his wife, twirled with a flamboyantly dressed woman whose cheeks were flushed from too much drink.
Without a word, Poppy crossed the room and switched the music off.
Toms glazed stare cleared slightly. What are you doing? he stammered, swaying.
I was going to ask you that! Whats happening? Whos that woman?
His partner kept dancing as if nothing had changed.
Whats it to you? Tom sneered. Just an old schoolmate, thats all. Or am I not allowed to relax in my own home?
If you remember, you said this is my house and you have no claim over it. So clear out now, see your guest away, then well talk!
Never! Tom tried to stand, but his legs gave way.
Poppys disgust had turned to outright revulsion. He was no longer a man to her, merely a burden. Living with him out of fear of solitude? No, she thought.
Seizing the other woman by the elbow, she ushered her toward the gate. Its time for you to leave!
She turned back to the house. Are you staying, or are you going yourself?
Tom shrugged, snatched a salad and a bottle from the table, swayed, and headed for the door.
Youll manage without me, you hysteric! he shouted.
Oh, dear! cried Mrs. Whitaker, clutching her head. My skull is splitting!
Mother, stop shouting! Poppy shooed me away because I didnt meet her, Tom lied, hoping his mother would side with him.
Whats all this about meeting? she asked, bewildered.
Who knows! Shes always finding fault: this, that! Im tired of it! Do you think my job is easy? Why should I help in someone elses home?
Exactly! Mrs. Whitaker encouraged. Let her sort out the house, claim her share, then she can ask! Shes getting bigheaded, thinking I should welcome her! Shes healthy, she should manage!
Thats what I told her! And she got offended!
Let her be offended! Dont give in! She wants marriage? Shell endure! Shes no longer a child to stick her nose where it doesnt belong!
What now? Tom asked, head bowed.
Be patient, son! his mother urged. Shell crawl back like a sweet little thing, calling you again! Shell spend a week alone, realise what shes done! And you must not bend when she returns, demand the tenancy. Otherwise shell be left without you!
Thus his mother, dispensing advice on handling Poppy, watched him nod in rhythm with her words.
Youre right, Mum! I wont tolerate her whims! Who does she think she is, ordering me around? Im not a slave, Im a grown man, my own master!
Following his mothers counsel, Tom truly vanished. He didnt appear at home, didnt call Poppy, and waited exactly one week.
Meanwhile his mothers own life was no picnic. She clung to him, demanding this and that. When he tried to object, she reminded him of oldfashioned discipline with a swift flogging of a wooden rod:
Youre here not for your wife but for your mother! If you dont work, youll go without lunch!
No more words. Dispute was futile.
At last, after seven grueling days, Tom gathered his resolve: Im going back, Mum! Ill see how she manages without me. Shell be crawling, begging for my return!
Go, go! Dont surrender! Speak clearly youll return on your own terms!
He left the house with a victorious swagger, chin lifted, back straight, steps confident, as if a hero about to claim his throne.
He approached the gate, entered the yard and froze.
Something felt wrong.
He looked around: the garden was immaculate, grass trimmed like a ruler, windows glittered, flower beds were neat, paths spotless, no wild growth in sight.
Even the gate was newsolid, sturdy, not the creaky old one he remembered.
Tom pulled out his key, only to find it no longer fit. He lingered a moment, then, with resolve, knocked on the door.
Footsteps paused inside, the door opened.
But it wasnt the Poppy he knew. Not the tired woman with dark circles. Before him stood a fresh, smiling figure, eyes sparkling.
I thought you were here alone, suffering At least you could have called! she said, tilting her head playfully.
Why would I? the new Poppy replied, softening. Husband disappears for a week, and you expect what?
I have no husband, she said calmly.
Where will he come from? the other laughed. Just one visitor, and he was a flop. No need to dwell on that!
Tom turned a shade crimson. Is that about me? Youll get a slap and then speak differently! I should have raised you better! I only felt sorry before!
He stepped forward, but she didnt flinch.
From the doorway emerged a tall man, placed a firm hand on her shoulder and said, Hey, mate, head off. And do it peacefully.
Whats this? A lover? Tom demanded. If you chase him away, Ill forgive you and return! I even promise not to hit!
Then gravity seemed to betray him, time hiccupedhe was standing one moment, now sprinting as if demons chased him, propelled by unseen forces.
Poppy stood on the porch laughing until tears streamed, watching her older brother shove the former lodger toward the gate. He flew, while her brother gave him a couple of sharp kicks.
As Tom vanished past the threshold, the brother slammed the gate shut and turned to his sister:
Poppy, dont you dare take that fool back! I cant understand how you ever put up with him!
Poppy sighed deeply. I was a fool, thats why I endured. I kept hoping hed change.
You cant change a man, you just put a knot around his neck! Need help around the house? Call me, Ill come. Let him learn hes not welcome here.
What if he doesnt get it?
Then Ill explain again, the brother winked, entering the house with his sister.
Inside, guests were already celebrating, watching the drama through the windows.
Heres to the birthday girl! someone shouted.
To the birthday girl! echoed the room, glasses chiming.
Poppy smiled. How wonderful it was to have such a caring, strong older brother, always there in the strange, dreamfilled night.
