You’re leaving! the wife announced to her husband.
Daisy Whitmore was doing a deepclean for NewYears and stumbled upon a USB stick. It lay hidden behind the armchair, in the far corner to the right of the radiator, almost invisiblelike a secret mission disguised as ordinary clutter.
She crawled on the carpet, dusting every nook, and finally the little gadget surfaced. The timing was perfect: the years end was upon them, the house buzzing with festive anticipation. The tree stood bare, lights unstrung, bubbles of champagne perched in crystal glasses, a lamp throwing a soft glow, and an air of unexpected delight.
Daisy hadnt yet decorated the pine; she was too busy. Her husband, Ollie Hart, was hopeless with tinsel.
You know, love, I cant untangle the fairy lights! he complained.
Its simple, Daisy teased. The trunk is the axis; the branches stretch left and right. Hang one side, then the other, and fill any gaps. Whats the trouble?
But handsome Ollie saw only chaos: a pile of ornaments on one side, a barren stretch on the other. He called it sheer foolishness.
If you dont like it, do it yourself! he snapped, finding it oddly convenient to be offended. The theme was clearif you dont like something, you do it yourself, clean up yourself, and the nonsense spreads in all directions.
So Daisy took charge, sparing herself the hassle of redoing things a hundred times later. Ollie, after all, had never been taught by a caring mother how to handle a home, but he was generous enough to admit he wasnt the only one who could be kind.
Her greatest happiness was simply having a dear companion nearby; the rest could be sorted with an umbrella if need be, as the witty poets of old might say.
Daisys life was plain and uncomplicated. She worked for a prestigious lettings firm in London, dealing in luxury flats and penthouses that everyone seemed to need these days. Money came in the oldfashioned spend what you earn way, and Daisy toiled all day to earn buttered bread, oranges, and a redscaled fish for her belovedI adore you, love!
Ollie, meanwhile, was chronically unemployed; his parents hadnt taught him the value of work. They had no children yet, and Ollie muttered, Well live for ourselves, as he began to act on that very thought.
Ollie was a handsome, solid fellowalmost a caricature of a rugged English gentleman, once a soldier, now a wanderer. Hed been let go three years ago, right after their wedding.
Can you believe it? They demoted me! he huffed.
Demoted, not disgraced, Daisy replied rationally. Its just a business decision. At least we have a job.
She urged him to take any reduced position, reminding him that a few fewer pounds would not crush them. Yet Ollie quit out of spite, claiming hed freeze the ears off the aunt. His fatherinlaw tried to set him up with a friend, but the commute was a full forty minutes by bus. Daisy drove, as she needed the car for work, and shouted, Move aside, please!
After two days of hard labor, Ollie faded away.
What, back on the sofa? his grandmother, ever sarcastic, asked Daisys inquisitive grandmother.
Two more job offers fell flat: one interviewer was disagreeable, the other a tyrannical boss. Ollie was meant to be a lord, a squire, perhaps a modernday Sultan, but his demeanor clearly wasnt built for toilonly for charming a lonely woman, in this case, Daisy.
Even his mother believed he should have been born a gentleman of an estate. The old woman called him General of the Couch Forces, a title that made Daisy laugh.
The old ladys right, Daisy defended, he doesnt just sit around at home!
Its an insult to the nation, the grandmother retorted, a beautiful, clever girl forced to shoulder a lazy mans burdens!
Soon Ollie left for the sauna with his mates, leaving Daisy to finish the preholiday cleaning alone. Youll manage, love, she muttered, Im terrible at this anyway.
She had no time to wrestle with the USBher house was a maze of rooms, and she tucked the stick into an ashtray. Ollie never searched for USB drives, so it belonged to her; she used them to store property listings.
The gadget sat untouched for a couple of weeks until a sudden impulsewhat the old woman called a twingemade her decide to see what was on it. Perhaps something useful lay within.
Meanwhile, Ollie went for a walk; fresh air, she thought, was good for the soul. The mysterious video that began to play was a bizarre mashup of hot tango, Thai massage, and lessons titled From Dawn to Dusk, plus something decidedly risqué.
The star of the show? Ollie himself, with a synchronised partner, performing on a set that was foreign to Daisys eyes. It felt like a day of successful training; after all, exercise makes perfect, as the wise old granny would say.
Aye, Puck! What a lad! Daisy whispered after a few seconds, turning off the screen. So thats what hes up to while Im at work.
She imagined the footage being leaked by a notorious prosecutor, a blackmail scenario. Who would think to blackmail a harmless, penniless man? Yet somehow he was useful to someone.
Daisy took a day off, grabbed the USB, and drove to her clever friend Lucy Bennett, whose mind was as sharp as famed detective F.M.H.Grant.
Do you think hes a secret agent? Daisy asked, hope trembling in her voice. Theyll try to extort him.
Did a wave wash over you? Lucy replied, noting that her uncle was a sailor, so maritime slang floated in her speech. Your seal is an agent? The best thing hes good at is lying in the sun! Agents move, you know.
Lucy sipped a herbal brew and said, You need a woman, dear. She urged Daisy to start digging or search for that lady.
Whats the point of posting this online? Daisy asked.
Why do people post everything? Lucy retorted, mentioning a famous footballer whod posted everything.
What would I gain? Daisy sighed.
Lucy listed options: send him away, compromise him, forgive and forget, or keep nagging him, feeding his guilty conscience. Which shore will you dock at? she asked, as if an unseen sailor whispered directions.
Shall we watch the rest? Lucy suggested, noting that the mysterious mans face had revealed something unexpected, using techniques neither of them knew.
They watched till the end. The climax was not a rollcall of actors but a womans voice offering a phone number on a scrap of paper. If you want to talk, call me, it said. A note appearedAmericaEurope: the dogs got a clue!
Right, theres your explanation, Lucy said, satisfied. Well pretend you have a lawyer, and Ill keep you from rash choices.
Daisy agreed, already planning to give Ollie a swift kick and send him packing with his belongings to his mothers flat, letting her polish her own skills.
At a café they met the lawyera pretty girl of Daisys agewho declared, We love each other, let him go! You saw how we adore each other.
The lawbreaker? Daisy asked, confused.
The lady said youre taking his money, so you wont divorce, the lawyer replied.
The friends stared, the scene turning ever more surreal.
Youve been misinformed, dear! Daisy said coldly. Take himI’m fine with that!
Can I just take him now? the frightened girl asked.
The lady said the wife is a monster, Lucy added, smirking.
Take him however you like, Lucy advised.
Tonight, bring his things! Daisy ordered.
The friends left, and the bewildered lover lingered, wondering if her nighttime fantasy would materialise.
Ollie slept, snoring after a hearty lunch of mushroom soup, beef with prunes, and fruit compotedelicious. Daisy gathered his belongings, placed his bag in the hallway, and, when he awoke, announced, Youre leaving!
But you know I cant shop for groceries! Ollie protested, thinking she was sending him to the shop. Then go yourself!
The room was warm, a modest Christmas tree glimmered, and a TV showed classic filmsjust as it always did after NewYear.
The Epiphany approached; the streets were frosty, the thermometer slipping down. A snack time loomedcrepes with berry sauceso, no, go yourself! Daisy said.
Where am I sending you? Ollie asked.
Anywhere you can show what youre best at! Daisy replied.
To Mums? he suggested, as his mothers house was his favourite refuge.
At theb****! she snapped, though her grandparents were already in a better place.
At the one where you perform those miraculous balancing acts! she added, flipping on the TV.
Ollie stared, bewildered, as if the scene were a set from an old sitcom. He hadnt noticed that Daisy had slipped a USB into his coat pocket, hidden beneath a handkerchiefhe always preferred a cloth one.
Come on, say something clever, Daisy prompted. Pretend youre an actor hired to replace you, that youre under hypnosis or drugged.
Remember the prosecutor? she reminded him. He roared like a lion, but Im not him, and the horse isnt mine!
Youre the real macho, alpha male! she laughed. Look at those legs, the way you swing them! The prosecutor is just a baby compared to you!
Ollie fell silent; he wasnt a fool, and leaving Daisy wasnt part of his planespecially not for a cramped council flat.
The night stretched on, the TV buzzed, the tree twinkled, and the old sofa sat empty. The end, whispered a French voice. A name emerged, and everything fell into place.
His motherinlaw called, tugging at his conscience, pleading for the boy shed once admired. Ollie, not a lunatic, finally returned to his mothers onebed flat.
Feeding a healthy, idle man with a big appetite proved a problem. Will you take him back, Daisy? his mother asked.
A fine piece of nonsense for your dear boy! Daisy muttered, having blocked all numbers; his mother had never truly liked her.
And so Daisy filed for divorce. It was truly the end. The surprise was that Ollie, craving crepes with berry sauce, would never get them. The moral? Even in a dream, the kitchens leftovers become the final act.
