The Carer for the Wife — What do you mean? — Lida thought she must have misheard. — Where am I supposed to go? Why? What for? — Oh, can we just skip the dramatics, please? — he grimaced. — What’s not clear here? There’s no one left for you to take care of. Where you go is none of my concern. — Ed, what’s wrong with you? Weren’t we planning to get married…? — That was your idea. I never said any such thing. At 32, Lida decided to turn her life around and leave her small hometown. What was left for her there? Endure her mother’s nagging? Her mother simply couldn’t stop scolding Lida about the divorce, constantly asking how she managed to “lose” her husband. Yet Vas’ka wasn’t worth a kind word—drunk and a womaniser! How did she end up marrying him all those eight years ago? Lida wasn’t at all upset about the divorce—in fact, she felt she could finally breathe again. But she argued constantly with her mum about it, and they also fought about money, which was always in short supply. So, she’d head off to the county town and land a great job there! Look at Svetka—her old school friend—she’d been married for five years to a widower. Who cares if he’s 16 years older and hardly a heartthrob, at least he has a flat and a decent income. And Lida reckoned she was just as good as Svetka! — Well, thank heavens! You’ve come to your senses! — Svetka encouraged her. — Pack your things, you can stay with us for a bit, and we’ll sort out the job situation. — Won’t your Vadim Petrovich mind? — Lida was unsure. — Don’t be silly! He does whatever I ask! Don’t worry, we’ll get by! Still, Lida didn’t want to stay long at her friend’s place. After just a couple of weeks and her first wages, she rented her own room. And just a couple of months later, she had a stroke of luck. — Why is a woman like you working in the market? — said one of her regulars, Edward Boris, with concern. Lida knew all her regulars by name by now. — It’s cold, it’s hard work—not ideal. — Gotta earn money somehow, — she shrugged, — unless you have another offer? Edward Boris wasn’t exactly a dreamboat in her eyes—twenty years older, a bit pudgy, starting to bald, and with a shrewd look in his eye. He was always particular about choosing his vegetables and paid to the penny. But he dressed well and drove a nice car—definitely not a down-and-out, not a drunk. He also had a wedding ring, so she never considered him as husband material. — You strike me as responsible, steady, and clean, — Edward Boris switched to a familiar tone, — have you ever cared for anyone who was ill? — I used to look after a neighbour, actually. She had a stroke, her children live far away, so they paid me to help. — That’s great! — he exclaimed, and then put on a somber face: — My wife, Tamara, has had a stroke too. The doctors say she has little chance of recovery. I’ve brought her home, but I haven’t got time to look after her. Will you help? I’ll pay you properly. Lida didn’t have to think long—much better to be in a warm flat changing bedpans than freezing on the market for ten hours a day serving picky customers! He even suggested she live there, so no more rent. — They’ve got three spare rooms! You could play football in there! — she delightedly told her friend. — No children either. Tamara’s mother was a real madam—even at 68, she acted half her age. She’d just remarried and was busy with her husband. No one else to care for the invalid. — Is she really that sick? — Oh yes, poor thing can’t move or speak. She won’t get better. — You almost sound happy about it, — Svetka eyed her. — Of course not, — Lida looked down, — but once Tamara’s gone, Edward Boris would be free… — Are you for real, Lida? Wishing someone dead for a flat?! — I’m not wishing anyone dead—I’m just not going to miss my chance! Easy for you to say, you’ve got it made! They had a huge fight and didn’t speak for half a year—until Lida confessed to Svetka her romance with Edward Boris. They couldn’t live without each other, but of course, he’d never leave his wife—not that type! So for now, she’d remain his lover. — So you’re shacking up with him while his wife is dying in the next room? — her friend was appalled. — Do you even see how vile that is? Or are you that blinded by his money—if he’s even got it? — Trust you to never say a kind word, — Lida retorted. They stopped talking again, but she barely felt guilty—well, perhaps just a bit. She cared for Tamara with real diligence, and since her affair with Edward Boris began, she took on all the housework too. After all, a man needs more than just a woman in his bed—he wants a good meal, crisp shirts, a clean flat. Lida thought her lover was very content, and she was enjoying her life too. She barely noticed Edward had stopped paying her for caring for his wife. Not that it mattered now—they were almost like husband and wife! He gave her money for shopping, and she managed the budget, not realising it was tight. And his job paid well enough—but never mind, once they got married it would all become clear. With time, the spark between them dulled, and Edward lingered less at home, but Lida put it down to the strain of having a sick wife. She pitied him, even though he barely spent a minute a day checking on Tamara. Even so, Lida wept when Tamara finally passed away. She’d given a year and a half of her life to that woman—you can’t get that time back. She organised the funeral too—Edward was “too grief-stricken.” He gave her the bare minimum for expenses, but she did everything properly. No one could accuse her of a thing. Even the neighbours, gossiping about her and Edward—nothing escapes them!—nodded approvingly at the funeral. His mother-in-law too seemed satisfied. So Lida never expected what Edward said next. — You understand there’s no need for your services anymore, so I’m giving you a week to move out, — he said on the tenth day after the funeral. — What do you mean? — Lida’s voice faltered. — Where should I go? Why? — Please, do we have to have this scene? — he sighed. — There’s no one left for you to care for, and where you go is none of my business. — Ed, what’s wrong with you? We were supposed to get married… — That’s your fantasy. I never said anything of the sort. Next morning, after a sleepless night, Lida tried to talk again, but he just repeated the same words and urged her to move quickly. — My fiancée wants to renovate before the wedding, — was all he said. — Fiancée? Who’s that? — None of your business. — Oh, none of my business?! Well, I’ll move out, but you’ll pay me for my work first. You were meant to pay forty grand a month. I only got paid twice. So you owe me £8,000. — You can do the sums, can’t you! — he snorted. — Don’t get carried away… — And you owe for cleaning too! I won’t nit-pick, just pay me ten grand and we’ll call it even. — Or what? You’ll go to court? There’s no contract. — I’ll tell Tamila—remember, your mother-in-law owns this flat. Edward’s face changed, but he recovered quickly. — Who’d believe you? — he huffed. — You know what? I don’t want to see you. Get out now. — You’ve got three days, darling. No ten grand, and there’ll be a scandal, — Lida replied, heading for a cheap hostel. She’d managed to save some of the housekeeping money. On the fourth day, having had no answer, Lida went back to the flat. Tamila, the mother-in-law, was there. Lida could see from Edward’s face she’d never get paid. So she told Tamila everything. — She’s making it all up! Don’t listen! — the widower protested. — Well, well, I’d heard rumours at the funeral, but I didn’t believe them — Tamila’s stare was fierce. — Now it all makes sense. And you, my dear son-in-law, don’t forget who owns this flat? Edward froze. — So, I want you out of here within the week. No—within three days. Tamila turned to leave, then paused at Lida. — And you, standing there like you expect a prize? Get out! Lida bolted from the flat, realising there’d be no money for her—not now. Back to the market again; there’d always be work there… **The Carer’s Devotion: Betrayal Behind Closed Doors in Suburban England**

A Carer for My Wife

What do you mean? Linda could hardly believe what she was hearing. Where am I supposed to go? Why? For what reason?

Oh, please, spare me the drama, will you? Edward grimaced. Whats not to get? Youve no one left to look after. Where you move to next is none of my business.

Ed, seriously? We were supposed to get married, werent we?

That was your idea. I never made any such promise.

At thirty-two, I decided it was time to change my life completely and leave my small hometown behind.

What was there left for me? My mothers relentless nagging?

She simply couldnt let go of my divorce, always finding new ways to remind me how Id managed to lose my husband.

But that Vince wasnt even worth a kind wordan alcoholic and a two-timing layabout! How on earth did I ever end up marrying him eight years ago?

To be honest, the divorce didnt bother me; if anything, I felt lighter, like I could breathe again.

The only issue was the constant rows with my mother about it. That and arguments over moneywe never had enough.

I made up my mind: Id move to Manchester and make a fresh start there!

My old school friend Sarah had married a widower five years ago.

So what, he was sixteen years her senior and hardly a looker, but he had a flat and wasnt short of cash.

And why shouldnt I do as well as Sarah?

Well, thank goodness! Youve come to your senses, Sarah said encouragingly. Pack up quickly, you can stay with us a bit while you get on your feet. Well sort out work.

Is your James going to be alright with that? I hesitated.

Oh, hell do whatever I ask! Dont worry, well manage!

In the end, I didnt want to stay with my friend for long.

A couple of weeks sofa-surfing, just enough to earn my first bit of cash, then I found myself a room.

A stroke of fortune came just after a couple of months.

Whats a lady like you doing selling veg at the market? asked one of my regulars, Edward Barnes, with a note of pity.

Id learned all my customers names over time.

Cold, miserable, and hardly dignified.

Well, what choice do I have? I shrugged. I need to make a living somehow.

Then I added, with a teasing smile, Or do you have a better offer?

Edward Barnes was hardly a dreamboat. About twenty years older, puffy-faced, balding, with a sharp, scrutinising stare.

Always picky with his fruit and veg, paying to the penny. He dressed well though, drove a nice carclearly no tramp, and certainly not a drunk.

He wore a wedding ring too, so Id never considered him as husband material.

You seem reliable, dependable, tidy, Edward soon switched to a familiar tone. Ever cared for ill people before?

I have. I looked after my neighbour once. She had a stroke, her kids lived far away and didnt have time for her. They asked me.

Splendid! he said, suddenly looking mournful. My wife, Ruth, has taken ill. Stroke, too.

The doctors said there wasnt much hope. Id taken her home, but I had no time to care for her. Would you help? Ill pay you properly.

Without much hesitation, I agreed. Anything was better than standing at the market ten hours in the cold for fussy customers!

Plus, Edward offered for me to live with them, so I wouldnt have to pay rent.

Their place has three bedrooms! You could play football in there! I excitedly told Sarah. No kids, either.

Ruths mother, Barbara, was a piece of worksixty-eight going on forty, and newly remarried herself. She hardly had the time to look after a sick daughter.

Is she very ill? asked Sarah.

Oh, terribly, I said. The poor woman is just lying there, barely able to make a sound. I doubt shell recover.

Are you actually glad about that, Linda? Sarah looked hard at me.

Of course not, I dropped my gaze. But once Ruths gone, Edward will be free

You are unbelievable! Wishing someone dead over a flat? Sarah exclaimed.

Im not wishing anything! Just saying I wont miss my chance. Easy for you to judge, living the good life!

That was our first real falling out, and weeks went by before I admitted to Sarah that I was having an affair with Edward.

We couldnt get enough of each other, but of course, he wasnt the sort to leave his wifeso we remained lovers, for the time being.

So let me get this straight, you two are carrying on while his wife is dying in the next room? Sarah said, shaking her head. Dont you see how wrong that is? Or are you blinded by visions of his supposed riches?

Do you have to be so heartless? I snapped.

We stopped speaking again for a while. But I didnt feel guiltywell, maybe just a tiny bit.

Everyone pretends to be a saint, but as the saying goes, those whove never been hungry dont understand the starving. Id manage just fine without my friend, I thought.

I cared for Ruth with complete dedication. Once I began sleeping with Ed, I took on all the housework too.

Its not enough to keep a man happy in the bedroomyou need to feed him properly, wash and iron his shirts, mop the floors so he isnt sneezing from the dust.

I felt that Ed was perfectly content, and for a while, so was I.

I didnt even notice when he stopped paying me for caring for his wife. What money? We were almost husband and wife, werent we?

Ed would give me cash for groceries and so forth, and I managed the household budget, not noticing how close it always was to the amount allocated.

His salary as a factory manager had to be good. But never mindonce we married, it would all be sorted.

Our passion cooled, and Ed wasnt in such a rush to come home anymore, but I blamed that on the stress of having a sick wife.

I couldnt say exactly what tired him outafter all, he rarely spent a minute a day with Ruthbut I still felt sorry for him.

I expected it, and yet I still cried when Ruth finally passed away.

Id devoted a year and a half to that poor womanyou cant just erase that time. I even arranged the funeral, as Ed was too grief-stricken.

He only gave me enough money to scrape by with the arrangements, but I made sure it was done properly. No one could accuse me of anything.

Even the neighbours, whod looked at me askance for my affair with Ednothing gets past them!nodded in approval at the funeral. His mother-in-law, Barbara, was satisfied too.

There was one thing I didnt expect, though.

Look, theres no need for you here anymore, Ed said, ten days after the funeral. So youve got a week to move out.

What? I couldnt believe it. Where am I supposed to go? Why?

Oh, please, not again with the drama, he replied coldly. Youve nothing left to look after here. Where you end up is none of my concern.

Ed, butwe were supposed to get married

That was all in your head. I never agreed to anything like that.

The next morning, after a sleepless night, I tried once more to speak to Ed. He just repeated what hed said before, urging me to hurry up with my move.

My fiancée wants to redecorate before the wedding, Ed announced.

Fiancée? Whos she?

None of your business.

Oh, not my concern? Fine, Ill leavebut only if you pay me for my work. Yes, dont look at me like that!

You promised £1,000 a month. I only received payment from you twice. That means you owe me £16,000.

Youre quick with numbers, Ed smirked. Dont get your hopes up

And you owe extra for the housekeeping! I wont nickel-and-dime, but pay me twenty grand and well go our separate ways!

Or what? Youll take me to court? You havent got a contract.

Ill tell Barbara, I said quietly. She did buy you this flat, remember.

Trust me, after what Ill tell her, youll be out of a job as well. You know your mother-in-law better than I do.

Edwards face changed, but he regained composure quickly.

No one will believe you, he said. I dont want to see you hereclear out, now.

Three days, Ed. If I dont get my money, therell be a scandal. I packed my things and moved into a hostel. Id managed to put a little aside from the house money.

On the fourth day, with no word from Ed, I turned up at his flatBarbara happened to be there.

From the look on Eds face, I saw he wasnt intending to pay, so I told his mother-in-law everything.

Shes making it all up! Talking nonsense, dont listen to her! Ed blustered.

I heard plenty of whispers at the funeral, I just didnt want to believe them, Barbara glared at him. But now I see everything clearly. And I hope you do too, Edward. Or have you forgotten who owns this flat?

He froze.

Right, youve got until the end of the week. Nothree days. I dont want to see you here then.

Barbara headed for the door, but paused by me.

And you, darling, what are you hanging around here for? Waiting for a medal? Out!

I fled the flat like a scalded cat. Thered be no money now, that was certain. It was back to the market for meat least theres always work thereSo there I was, pushing my battered suitcase down the street, the grey drizzle soaking my hopes as well as my hair. I paused on the curb, a mix of fury and humiliation boiling in my gut.

But after a lifetime of bad luck, tears were a luxury Id learned to ration. Life, I realized, wasnt going to hand me anythingnot love, not security, not even the smallest apology.

The next morning I went back to the market. The stalls felt familiar, and old customers greeted me with warmth I hadnt earned in my time away. It surprised me, but maybe I shouldnt have been shocked; everyone there had taken a knock or two themselves.

After serving Mrs. Patel her usual carrots and spring onions, I found myself grinning for the first time in months. Not everything had been lostthough Id traded comfort for dignity, Id finally chosen for myself.

Sarah rang that evening, hesitant but genuine. You alright? she asked. I heard what happened.

Im fine, I replied, heart swelling at the sound of her voice. Starting over again, thats all. I seem to be getting rather good at it.

Sarah laughed, and I did too. Not bitter, not sadfree. My story wasnt what Id dreamt, but it was mine, mess and all.

By nightfall, I realized I didnt need anyone to rescue me. I would be my own carerand that would be enough.