What You Really Want Isn’t a Wife, But a Live-In Housekeeper

You dont need a wife, you need a housekeeper.

Mum, Mollys chewed my pencil again!

Sophie shot into the kitchen, waving the stub of a coloured pencil, her cheeks red with annoyance. Behind her, Mollya guilty-looking golden Labradorambled in, tail wagging furiously. Jane glanced up from the bubbling stew and spluttering sausages on the stove and sighed. That was the third pencil just today.

Pop it in the bin and grab another from the drawer, Sophie. Oliver, have you finished your maths?
Almost! came the reply from the childrens room.

Jane knew almost from her twelve-year-old son meant he was slouched over his mobile, with an unopened exercise book somewhere nearby. She let it slideright now, she needed to fish the sausages out, stir the soup, catch four-year-old Toby before he reached the dogs bowl, and not forget the laundry cycling in the machine.

Thirty-two years old. Three children. One husband. One husbands grandmother. One golden Labrador. And Jane herselfthe only cog still working in the creaking contraption that was her household.

Jane hardly ever fell illnot from robust health, but sheer necessity. Whod feed this family? Whod get the children washed and dressed, walk Molly, keep everyone ticking along? The answer was always the samenobody but Jane.

Jane darling, is supper nearly ready?

Edith stood in the kitchen doorway, leaning on her walking stick. Eighty-five, as sharp as ever, always with a hearty appetite.

During the five years Jane had shared her home with the old woman, she could count on one hand the times Edith had actually done anything useful about the house.

Ten minutes, Mrs. Gardner, Jane replied.

The old lady gave a brief, satisfied nod and shuffled back to the living room. Occasionallythough only rarelyshed read Toby bedtime stories. The choices were sparse: Goldilocks and the Three Bears or The Gingerbread Man. Still, Toby listened gleefully. The rest of the time, Edith watched daytime television and waited for her next meal.

The clock announced half five when the key turned in the front door. Richard stepped in, looking like someone whod just completed a gruelling London marathon.

Is dinner ready?

Not even a hello. Jane gestured to the table, already set. Richard washed his hands, sat in his chair, and barely looked up as the television flickered to life with the remotealways ready in his palm.

Sophie got top marks in reading today, Jane attempted.
Mm-hmm.
And Oliver needs help with his project on British wildlife.
Mm-hmm.

That mm-hmm was the most engagement she could wring from him. After supper, Richard sprawled on the sofa. His work was done for the day. Hed brought home the moneyand as far as he was concerned, that was job complete.

Later that evening, after the children were tucked up, Jane opened her laptop. Her remote job with an online shopprocessing orders, answering customers, arranging deliverieswasnt lucrative, but it was hers. Plus, she had the income from letting out her old flat these past four years.

We ought to move, the familiar thought drifted in. But it was chased away by the usual protests: Good school for Oliver, Sophie settled at nursery, she couldnt forgo the rental income… She snapped the laptop shut. Tomorrow. Tomorrow, always tomorrow.

December arrived with its whirlwind of Christmas chaosand the flu. Janes temperature shot up to thirty-nine in a blink. Her bones ached, her throat burned, her head cracked open with agony. She barely made it to bed.

Mum, youre poorly, Oliver announced, poking his head in.

Richard followed, his face wearing something like concernbut not for Jane.

Just dont give it to Gran. She cant cope with flu at her age.

Jane closed her eyes and pressed the pillow to her face. Of course. Edith. How could she forget the most important one?

The next three days spun out into a fever-misted carousel. High temperature, sweat-soaked pillow, parched lips. No onea husband, grandmother, or childrenbrought Jane so much as a glass of water. The kettle was in the kitchen, just ten steps away, but Jane took every aching flight across the landing herself, steadying along the wall.

All anyone worried about was Edith. Dont go in there, mums ill. Wear a mask if you go past her room. Shouldnt she stay in another room?
SheJanehad officially become a risk: the source of contamination everyone else needed protection from.

A week later, the virus made its rounds. First Tobysniffling, hot, fretful. Next, Sophie. Then Richard, who made a show of convalescence with a temperature of thirty-seven and a bit. Edith was lastcollapsing with all the drama worthy of a matinee on the telly.

Jane, still shaky herself, got up. Chicken soup, chemists run, thermometer, the mop, the washall the familiar route, but now as if walking through water.

Richard, could you take Toby for an hour? I need to nip to Boots.

Her husband rolled his eyes in martyrdom, but agreed. Exactly sixty minutes laterJane timed ithe returned, depositing Toby into the bedroom.

Im exhausted. Ive got a temperature too.

Thirty-six and a half. Jane checked.

Spring brought no relief. Another virus, more colds, endless wakeful nights. Toby whined, Sophie spat out her medicine, Edith demanded special meals. In the middle of it allremarkably healthy Richard.

Richard, help with the kids?
Jane, I pitched in last timeon the weekend. But I work, you know. Im worn out by the end of the day.

A shrug. That small gesture explained everything. Evenings found him at the table, awaiting supper. Sick kids, tired wife, chaosthey simply werent his concern.

One evening, as Toby finally nodded off and the older two did their homework, Jane approached Richard. The TV droned on about football.

Why wont you help me? Why do you never help me?

He didnt turn. Didnt answer. Just turned the volume up.
Jane stood behind him, watching the back of his head. No more words were needed. She understood, clear as day.

The next morning she fetched the big bags from the wardrobe. Childrens clothes, toys, paperwork. Oliver froze in the doorway.

Mum? Are we going somewhere?
To Granny Irenes.
For how long?
Well see.

Sophie squealed with delightGranny Irene always made her favourite scones. Toby, puzzled, grabbed his soft toy rabbit just in case.

At the last second, Jane remembered another family memberMolly. Shed come too.

Richard lay on the sofa. The bags, the packed belongings, the children in their coatsnone of it lured him away from the telly. As Janes footsteps faded from the hallway, he probably just flicked the channel.

Irene welcomed her daughter and grandchildren without question. Warmed them, wrapped her arms around them. Fifty-eight, a teacher for thirty yearsshe understood everything without explanation.

Stay as long as you need.

The phone started ringing on the third dayRichard.

Jane, come back. Its a tip here. Nothing to eat. Gran keeps bothering me.

No I miss you. No Its awful without you. Just the grumbling of domestic inconvenience.

Richard, you dont need a wifeyou need a housekeeper.
What? Whats that meant to
Have you once told the children you miss them?

Silence. Heavy, resounding.

I bring home the wages, he muttered at last. What more do you want?

Jane hung up. It was over. And with that came a quiet, bewildering relief.

A fortnight later, Janes flat became vacant. The move took one day. New school for Oliver, new nursery for Sophieturns out, it was all far easier to arrange than shed imagined.

The final call was their last ever. Out poured every swallowed retort, every sleepless night spent nursing feverish children by herselfthe dam burst at last.

Twelve years a free maiddo you hear me? Not once did you ask how I was! Not once! Thats it, Im done. Ive had enough!

She blocked his number. Filed for divorce.

The hearing was over in twenty minutes. Richard didnt argue. He signed the child support agreement, nodded at the judge, and left. Perhaps he realised somethingmore likely, he simply didnt want the bother.

That evening, Jane sat in the kitchen of her new-old flat. Oliver read in his room, Sophie drew furiously at the table, tongue poking out in concentration. Toby played with his blocks on the rug.

Quiet. Peaceful. Molly dozed at her feet, chin on her paws.

Jane still had meals to cook, laundry to fold, work to finishbut now, it was for those who truly were her family. And shed do her best to teach them better, so theyd never grow up to become like their father.

Mum, Sophie piped up, glancing up from her drawing, you smile much more now.

Jane smiled again. Sophie, as ever, was right.