Dear Diary,
You’re leaving! she announced to me today. Milly Birch was in the midst of a thorough spring cleaning ahead of the holidays when she stumbled upon a forgotten USB stick.
It lay tucked behind the armchair, in the farright corner by the radiator, practically invisible at first glancemuch like a hidden trouble waiting to be uncovered. Milly was crawling around on all fours, wiping down every nook, so the little gadget finally came to light.
The timing couldn’t have been better; it was the eve of the New Year, the house buzzing with festive anticipation. The tree was still bare, the candles flickered softly, and the whole scene promised unexpected delights.
Milly hadnt even managed to dress the tree yetshe was swamped, and I, being utterly hopeless with decorations, was of little help.
Darling, I said, I wont be able to untangle and hang the lights! I also struggled to space the baubles evenly.
Why not, Len? Milly asked, eyebrows raised. Just treat the trunk as the central axis. Hang ornaments on the left, then on the right, and fill any gaps. Its simple.
But I, ever the clumsy one, could only create a lopsided pile on one side and a barren stretch on the otherwhat an obvious case of sheer nonsense.
Then do it yourself! I snapped, though it was oddly convenient to be offended. The refrain echoed throughout the house: If you dont like it, do it yourself! Cook yourself! Clean yourself! The absurdity spread in every direction.
So Milly took matters into her own hands, sparing us countless redoings later. My own incompetence stemmed from a childhood without a mother to teach me, yet Millys generosity shone throughher happiness hinged on having a loving partner beside her, everything else could be sorted with a little humour.
Her life was simple and unpretentious. Not a fancy kindergarten or church, but a clever girl who worked at a firm dealing in highend property sales and rentals. Nowadays everyone craves penthouses and loft apartments; some have empty stomachs, others a handful of pearls.
We earned our wages by the principle you reap what you sow. Milly spent the whole day hustling to bring home toast with butter, oranges, and a red pikeher favourite treat.
I, on the other hand, have always struggled with work; my parents never pushed me to be industrious. We have no children yetLets live for ourselves, I declared, and began to put that into practice.
Im a sturdy, solid blokethink of the classic English country squire, though my life took a different turn. I was let go three years ago, right after our wedding.
Can you believe they demoted me? I muttered.
And then what? I asked myself, bewildered.
Its a restructuring, not a humiliation, Milly reasoned. At least we still have a job!
So I took a lowerpaid role, rationalising that the loss would be slight. Yet my boss was a nightmare, and I quit in a fit of spite, only to be shunned by my fatherinlaws friend. The commute was a miserable fortyminute bus ride, whilst Milly drove her work carso I was asked simply to move along.
After a couple of days of frantic job hunting, I flopped again.
Back on the sofa? my grandmother teased, having heard of my misadventures.
Two more offers fell through: one interviewer was a bore, the other a tyrantclassic rubbish!
People always expected me to be a gentleman of the manor, a lord even, but I was clearly not cut for the grind. My mother and I both thought Id be a charming figure to delight a lucky ladyMilly, of course.
She loved me despite the sharp words from my gran, who called me General of the Sofa Corps. She defended me: He isnt just lying around in your house, is he?
The state of things is painful, my grandmother sighed, a beautiful, clever girl stuck with a lazy bloke.
So Lenny and his mates headed off to the bathhouse, leaving me alone with the preholiday cleaning. There was no time to examine the USB; we own several housesJust in case the Pedros from Brazil show upso I tucked it into the ashtray. I never look for USB sticks, so it stayed mine. Milly often backs up property listings onto such drives, so it lingered untouched for a couple of weeks.
Then, as my gran liked to say, something tugged at her, and Milly decided to finally see what lay on the stick, just in case it held something useful.
Lenny went for a walkfresh air is always good. The video that started playing was a bizarre mix of tango, Thai massage tutorials, and some indecent contentsomething my gran would label naughty business. The lead role was my own Lenny, accompanied by some synchronised dancer. It all unfolded in an unfamiliar interior.
Its like training, my gran would say, everything is achieved through practice. I laughed, thinking of Pushkin, and turned it off after a few seconds. So thats what hes up to while Im at work, I mused.
The video hinted at blackmail with a prosecutorwhat a scandal! Who would orchestrate that? My husband, after all, held no real value to the state, kept no secrets, and was practically penniless. Yet somehow a charming, idle man could still be useful to someone.
I decided to consult a friend. I took the day off, grabbed the USB, and drove to my clever mate Lucyher mind is as sharp as famed Fima Sobak.
Do you think hes a secret agent? I asked, hopeful.
Lucy laughed, Your uncle was a sailor, so youve got a bit of seatalk in you. Your seal cant be an agentagents move, not lounge!
Find a woman, thats the answer, Lucy said, sipping her tea. Start chasing, love.
She jabbed at me, Who else needs your puffedup turkey? Not a very bright one, either!
I asked, What should I do with this footage?
Upload it online, Lucy suggested.
Why would I do that? I asked, stunned.
Because people love to share, just like Dzuba did with his videos, she replied.
She laid out options: send it, compromise it, forgive and forget, or keep tormenting him with guilt. Which shore will you drift to? she asked, her sailor uncles voice echoing in the background.
Shall we watch till the end? Lucy proposed, and we did. The ending was unexpectedno credit roll, just a female voice saying, If you want to talk about this, call me. A number appeared on a scrap of paper.
Looks like AmericaEurope, Lucy chuckled. That explains the weirdness.
I called the number, arranged to meet at a café, and invited Lucy to come along as my lawyer. She promised to keep me from rash decisions.
At the café the drama unfolded in a classic way:
We love each other, let him go, please! You saw how much we love each other! said a pretty young woman, about my age.
Let go? Why would you think Im holding him? I asked.
The lad said youre taking all his money and wont divorce! the lawyer replied.
My friends exchanged glances, the plot thickening.
Youve been misinformed, dear, I said coolly. Take him, I dont mind.
Can we just take him now? the bewildered woman asked.
The lad said his wife is a …
Take him however you like, Lucy advised.
Expect his things tonight, I added.
The lawyer left, the bewildered lover stayed, hoping for a nights triumph.
That evening my husband slept soundly after a hearty lunch of mushroom soup, beef with prunes, and a pot of compotedelicious comfort. I gathered his belongings and placed a bag by the hallway. When he finally woke, I told him plainly,
Youre leaving!
But you know I cant shop for groceries! he protested, thinking I was sending him to the store. Do it yourself then!
The room was warm, the modestly decorated tree glowed, and the television played a filmour usual postNewYear routine. Baptism day was approaching; the streets were frosty, the thermometer dropping. And soon it would be teatime with crumpets and jam.
Im not sending you to the shop, I replied.
Then where?
Where you can show what you do best.
To mums? he guessed, his mothers house being his favorite retreat.
To thataunt! I snapped.
What aunt? he asked, both his grandmothers already in heaven.
To the one who does her own acrobatics! I said, turning the TV back on.
He stared, stunned, as if the interior belonged to some bizarre set. I slipped a hidden USB into his pocket, perhaps unnoticed, alongside his vintage handkerchiefhe prefers cloth ones, after all.
Come on, say something clever, I urged. Maybe youre not really youmaybe an actor was hired, maybe youre under hypnosis, maybe youve been drugged!
Remember the prosecutor? He fought like a lionIm not me, and that horse isnt mine! I shouted. And you? Youre the real macho man, the alpha male! Look at those legs! The prosecutor was nothing but a baby compared to you.
He stayed silent; he wasnt a fool, and leaving me wasnt an option, not even to move into a council flat.
For a while his presence was usefulespecially for idle eveningsbut not beyond that. I wondered how he could be so beloved on camera.
He lied about divorce obstacles, about taking money, about beating me, while I was a solid man over six foot tall. Lucy proved right: the girl wasnt that bright after all.
I recalled Lucys sailor uncle and said, Seven feet under you, sailor! Swim away, the channels clear!
Will you forgive me? Lenny pleaded.
No! I replied.
Pancakes? he blurted out.
He deserved pancakes only if they were cowflapjack level. Sail without pancakes, Nelsonpaddling on a full stomach is hard! I declared, pulling the USB from my computer.
Bonus from the firm! Take it, show MomStallone! I shouted, and Lenny departed, heading off to whoknowswhere, no longer my concern.
The scene shifted like another poem: the tree twinkled, the telly crackled, the old sofa sat empty. End of the story, as the French would say. The name on the paper was finally found, and everything wrapped up logically.
My motherinlaw called, pleading for compassion, trying to pull me back. Lenny never returned to the council flat; he wasnt mad, after all, and ended up back at his mothers onebed flat.
Feeding a lazy, hefty lad with a hearty appetite and endless demands was impossibleperhaps I should accept him again, Milly?
Heres a little gift for your dear daughter! my grandmother muttered, as I blocked every numbermy husbands mother had never truly liked me.
Thus the tale concluded: I filed for divorce. It truly was the final curtain. The surprise was for Lenny and his mother. What did you expect? Pancakes with jam, of course.
Lesson learned: when duty and love clash, honesty and a clear mind are the only compass worth following.
