Came Home Early: A Heavily Pregnant Wife Surprises Her Husband, but Instead of a Warm Welcome, She’s Sent Shopping for Beef and Left Waiting on the Street While He Cleans the Flat

Returned Home Early

Tuesday, 7th March

Are you at the bus stop? Toms voice shot up sharply on the phone. Right now? Why didnt you give me a heads up? We agreed on Thursday!

I wanted it to be a surprise, I frowned, phone pressed to my ear. Tom, why dont you sound happy? Im knackered. Come and get me, will you?

Wait! he suddenly yelled. Dont come up yet. I mean, you can, but Listen, theres nothing in the house. I finished off the last of it last night. Do me a favour: nip into the Tesco Express on the corner and pick up some beef, decent quality if you can.

Outside, my shoulder protested from the weight of my mothers shopping bags. The pain shot through my lower backmy unwelcome companion these last two monthsstraight down to my tailbone.

I eased the bags onto the cracked pavement by the bus stop, taking a slow, steady breath, hand laid over the top of my rounded belly.

The baby fidgeted, making his displeasure known. Six months along is no joke, especially when youre trying to surprise your husband by coming back from your parents three days early.

Id missed him so much. On the coach, I measured the miles obsessively, barely able to sit still.

I wondered what Tom was doing at that moment. He probably hadnt a clue I was so near, just ten minutes walk from our flat.

The walk from the bus stop to the building felt endless. Mums jars of homemade jam, a tub of her famous pork pie, and a bag brimming with apples made the bags weigh a ton.

After barely fifty metres, I realised Id never manage. My back might just snap in two.

I got my phone and dialled Tom.

All right, love, he answered, startled. Everything okay? Whats wrong?

Nothings wrong, you daft bugger. Im here!

Ive arrived. Im outsideliterally next to our building. Please come and get me, these bags are impossible, Mums sent me with a four-course meal…

There was a heavy pause on the line. I checked my phone, thinking the call might have dropped.

Youre outside now? Tom squawked. Why didnt you warn me? We said Thursday!

I wanted to surprise you, I said, annoyed. Arent you pleased? Im tired as anything. Come on, please.

Wait! he cried again. Dont come yet. I meando come, but not yet Look, I was going to clean the house for when you got back. Theres nothing to eat, I finished everything off. Please, just go to Tesco. Grab some beefdecent stuff.

What beef, Tom?! I nearly laughed. Can you hear me? Im nearly seven months pregnant, carting two massive bags down the high street. My back is killing me! Buy beef yourself. Theres potatoes and eggs in the kitchen. Just come and meet me, I need a cuppa and a lie down.

You dont get it, Mary, he spoke faster, cutting across me. I want it all to be perfect! The shops right there. Please, just get the beefmaybe some fresh potatoes? Ours have gone soft. Ask someone for help, or take it slowly, all right?

For us. Ill get everything else ready meanwhile.

I stared at my raw, red palms where the bag handles had bitten in. Frustration rose hot and bitter in my chest.

Are you being serious? my voice quivered. You want your pregnant wife to lug groceries because you fancy a Sunday roast?

You cant just pop out?

Im in the middle of prepping. If I go now, Ill ruin the surprise. Please, Mary Ive been waiting for you.

Long as its not mucharound 800g of beef. And a little sack of potatoes, the ones in the net.

He hung up before I could answer. I stared at the black screen, disbelief swimming in my head. It took all my will not to burst into tears on the spot, beneath the cold glow of the streetlamp. Instead of a hug and a soft bed a trek to the meat aisle.

Could he really be up to something extraordinary? I wondered for the briefest moment.

Sighing, I hoisted the bags and shuffled towards the shop.

***

I steered a trolley up and down the Tesco aisles, feeling the eyes of the weary cashier on me.

The beef was heavy, and the netted potatoes even more so. By the time I was out, my hands had gone numb, fingers hooked like claws.

My phone buzzed again.

You got everything? Tom asked brightly.

Yeah, I growled, trying not to grit my teeth. Im at the building. Open the door.

Wait! Dont come up! Sit on the bench for ten minutes. Please, Mary.

Are you taking the mick? I snapped, not caring who else heard. Im about to give birth from sheer rage! Ten minutes? My feet are swollen, I cant even stand.

The surprise isnt ready! If you come now, itll all be ruined. Just have a bit of fresh airplease, five minutes, I promise.

He hung up before I could protest.

I collapsed onto the wooden bench outside the stairs, the shopping thumping down at my feet.

If Id had the energy, I might have hurled the beef through our third-floor window.

Ten minutes crawled by. Then twenty. I sat clutching my belly, tempers boiling.

Would I walk in to a sea of flowers? A candlelit breakfast? A violinist tucked in the corner?

There was nothing that could make all that waiting and struggle worthwhile.

On the thirty-fifth minute, the door creaked open.

Tom burst out, wild-eyedt-shirt on inside out, sweat on his brow, hair like hed been electrocuted.

Youre still here! He forced a grin, grabbing my bags, Why are you so grumpy? Lovely weatheroh, right. Lets get up, come on.

Why are you sweatingand why do you smell of bleach from a mile off?

Youll see! he bounced to the lift, giddy.

Inside, Tom threw open the door, bracing for applause.

I stepped in, immediately hit by a punchy mix of bleach and cheap sea breeze air freshener.

I peered into the lounge. Into the kitchen. Even the bathroom.

The flat was spotless. Or, more accurately, unnervingly bare.

The usual piles of clothes gone; carpet vacuumed, faintly damp in places, dust all but disappeared.

My little ornaments had been shunted sadly into the corner.

Well? Tom beamed. Hows that for a surprise?

I turned to him slowly.

Thats it? I said quietly.

What do you mean thats it? he huffed, almost collapsing with offence. Mary, Ive been scrubbing for three hours! Floors done, even under the sofa. Washed up, loos sparkling. Wanted you back to a fresh flat so you wouldnt have to lift a finger. I barely finished while you were at the shop.

A lump rose in my throat.

So you made me haul groceries, you left me waiting on a bench, all so you could mop the floors?

I did it for you! Youre always moaning I dont lift a finger round here, so I thought Id show you! You came back early, I wasnt finished. I needed more timehad to stall you.

And youre standing there like Ive ruined your birthday because I dared expect a hug.

Are you honestly thick? I couldnt help the crack in my voice. I dont care about your floors. My back is killing me, those bags were murder. Im pregnant, Tom! Preg-nant! All I wanted was you to meet me, carry the bags, wrap me up at home.

Tom flushed crimson, hurling the mop into the sink.

Oh, here we go! he barked. You cant be pleased! Ive spent hours crawling around here so youd feel welcome, and what do I get? Yelling! Have you seen this place? Cleaner than on our wedding day! Some women would be over the moon their husband bothered.

Not if it meant I had to suffer, I shot back, choking on my own anger. I was freezing on that bench, my legs throbbing! I had to shop for you, lug meat up three flights of stairs. This isnt a surprise, its a joke!

A joke?! Tom stormed around the kitchen. Sorry Im not perfect. Another woman would be delighted! Youre always oh, my bump, oh, my back. Im tired too! I spent all night fussing about how to impress you!

Face in hands, I sobbed, You dont even understand. You put tidy skirting boards ahead of me and our baby.

Oh, its the skirting boards now, is it? Tom snapped, pounding the table. You turned up early! You ruined the surprise! Thursday would have worked, but no, you had to barge in early and pin it all on me! Youre just ungrateful, Mary. Simply ungrateful.

He stormed from the kitchen, slamming the bedroom door.

The baby kicked painfully inside. I slumped onto a chair, staring at the packet of beef Tom hadnt even bothered to put away. My stomach churned.

Ten minutes later, Tom poked his head in.

Are you going to cook the beef, then? Or are you on some sort of hunger protest to get at me?

Dont bother, I said quietly, not looking up. Just leave me alone. I need to sleep.

Fine! Suit yourself! The door thudded again.

I dragged myself into the bathroom, catching a ghost in the mirrorpale, with dark circles, hair a fright.

I remembered the journey home on the coach, picturing Toms arms folded around me at the door, whispering, Thank God youre back.

As if.

When I emerged, bedraggled, the row resumed.

Tom shouted, threw a lump of beef at me. In the end, I left as I wasgood thing I hadnt changed yet.

Mum opened the door, no questions asked.

***

Everyone tried to talk me out of divorcehis parents, my sisters, even distant cousins. Tom rang for weeks.

But Id made up my mind: I didnt want a husband like this. Divorce it would be.

I dont need a man who values a polished loo above the health of his wife and child.

Today, I learnt the hard way: the smallest acts of carelike meeting someone at the doorend up meaning more than any shining, empty flat.