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My Husband Asked Me to Move Out and Make Room for His Friend
My husband, Simon, asked me to pack my things and vacate the flat so his old schoolmate could stay.
Should I really leave so your friend can have the room? I whispered, halflaughing, Simon, are you sane?
He flailed his arms in the tiny studenthall bedroom we shared, the only space in the building.
Where will he sleep? Theres only one bed, and youll feel out of place. Come on, Poppy, whats the matter? he shouted. I cant turn Victor away, you understand! Hes a mate from years ago you know the story! Just two weeks, Poppyonly two weeks!
I perched on the edge of the sofa wed bought on hire purchase three years ago, after spending two hours choosing its fabric, and twirled a strand of hair round my fingera habit from childhood. Whenever I had to make a decision, Id fiddle with my hair. Mother used to warn, Stop, youll go bald by thirty. Im thirtytwo and still have a head of hair.
Seeing Simon now felt like looking at him for the first time: the mole above his left brow, the small line by his mouth that appeared last year when the factory let him go, his big hands with stubby fingershands that could mend a lift and assemble a cupboard.
Are you going to see Mum? he asked, sitting beside me, reaching for my hand, which I tucked behind my thigh. Mum would be thrilled. She hasnt seen you in ages. And its easier thereno waiting for the shower.
Two months, I corrected automatically.
What?
Two months ago I was at Mums for her birthday in August.
Right, of course Poppy, why are you resisting? Its only temporary! Victor is looking for work in London, has nowhere to stay, and hotels are absurdly pricey. I owe him, Poppy, I really do.
Simon, I said softly, and he flinched; I only use his full name on rare occasions. Tell me honestlyare you doing all this for Victor, or have you just found an excuse to get a break from me?
He sprang from the sofa, paced three steps forward, three back, never leaving the cramped eighteenmetre area. I watched his restless shuffle, breath held, as if tracking a tennis ball.
No, Poppy! Of course its for Victor! You think IdId neverPoppy!
And in that instant I knew he was lying. Not about Victorhe would indeed arrive, I wasnt doubting that. But about something else he didnt even fully grasp. I saw it in his shifty eyes, the way he avoided my gaze, the trembling of his neck. He always did that when he fibbed.
I rushed to the wardrobe and grabbed my bag.
Youre really leaving now? Simon asked, his face surprised.
Whats the point of dragging this out? Victor arrives tomorrow, didnt you say?
Yes, but Poppy, dont be foolish! Its just two weeks!
***
Mum opened the door in a robe, a towel draped over her head. She spotted me with my bag and understood without a word. Mothers dont need explanations.
Come in, love, she said, gesturing to the kitchen. Make yourself at home.
For two weeks I slept in my little girls room, still plastered with schoolyear posters and photographs of classmates. It felt as if I had slipped back to seventeen, life stretched out ahead. Mum never pried, just served my favourite ricotta pancakes in the morning and shared tea with jam in the evenings while we watched the telly.
Simon called constantlytwenty missed calls, then thirty, forty The line finally died, and I didnt bother to recharge it.
On the fifth day I met Lucy, a former classmate, at a café.
Hey, I saw you yesterday, she said, stirring sugar into her cappuccino. You were with some tall bloke in a leather jacket.
Thats Victor, my childhood friend, I replied automatically. Hes staying for a bit, Im at Mums temporarily.
Oh Lucy tilted her head, eyes strange. A friend, then.
I didnt press her for more; I didnt want to know.
Exactly two weeks later, the day Simon had promised, he called Mums landline because my mobile was still switched off. I had no desire to switch it on.
Poppy, you can come back now, he said, his voice weary. Victors left.
Alright, I replied calmly. Ill be back tomorrow.
Really? he asked, delighted. The flat is a mess beyond beliefempty fridge, shirts all wrinkled, Ive been surviving on instant noodles for two weeks
Ill be there tomorrow, I repeated, hanging up.
Mum stood in the kitchen doorway.
Coming back, really? she asked, holding back a smile.
Yes, to collect my things. Im filing for divorce, thats it.
She nodded and turned to finish dinner.
Simon met me at the entrance, looking dishevelledredcheeked, fiveday stubble. The flat truly was a chaos of empty bottles, cigarette butts, pizza boxes, and noodle packets, smelling of cheap booze and something sour.
Poppy, he lunged, trying to hug me, but I stepped back. Poppy, its over! Lets forget this, like a bad dream. I swear Ill never bring anyone into our home again!
I walked to the wardrobe and opened the doors.
Help? he begged, fussing. Let me take the bag Why is it so light? Empty?
Im filing for divorce, I said, folding my dresses neatly. In a month itll be final.
He collapsed onto the floor where the bag had been, folding himself in half.
Poppy he whispered. Because of two weeks? Because of Victor?
Its not because of him.
Then why?
Simon lifted his eyes to mine, bewildered, a raw innocence that made me feel a pang of pity.
Explain, please! What did I do wrong? We had good times, didnt we?
I zipped up my bag, turned to him. Simon sat on the floor in dirty jeans and a crumpled tee, looking as lost as a stray dog.
Simon, I said slowly, choosing each word, you asked me to leave our own home for two weeks so your friend could stay. You didnt ask, you just told me it was a fact. And you know whats scarier? I actually left. Like a dog forced out the door because I didnt know what else to do. And for those two weeks I wonderedwill another friend come and youll kick me out again? Or will you just want some peace and send me back to Mums?
You said youd never again
Its not about that, I cut in. Its about you deciding it was okay to ask your wife to go so a mate could move in. If I dont walk out now, Ill keep being the one who leaves whenever you decide, only to be allowed back when you allow it. Im not a dog, Simon. Im a person.
His lips trembled like a child on the brink of tears.
But I love you, he whispered. Poppy, I love you
I loved you, I replied, taking my bag and heading for the door. Sell the flat, give me half the proceeds. I have nothing left to share with you.
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