The Useless Wife: A Tale of Unfulfilled Expectations

I often think back to that winter when the money seemed to vanish faster than the steam from a tea kettle, and my husband, Simon Clarke, was tugging at his boots while perched on the upstairs stool.

Emma Clarke that was my name then gave a small nod, still polishing the fogged mirror. Simon slipped on an old vinyl record that we both knew.

We need to cut back, he said, his voice flat. And you should consider stopping the help you give your family.

My hand, still holding the cloth, froze. I turned slowly toward him.

Really? Is that all you think should be trimmed?

Simon buttoned his coat, eyes fixed on the floor.

What else?

The door behind him clicked shut.

He walked out of the house as if nothing had changed. A hot, heavy wave of indignation rose in my chest. I tossed the cloth into the basin and drifted into the sitting room.

Buster, Simons massive Labrador, lay on his plush bed, the size of a childs cot. He opened one eye, gave a lazy wag, then sank back into sleep. I stared at him, and my anger grew with each passing second.

Five years of marriage five years of a shared budget where neither of us kept tabs on the others spending. Our salaries were almost identical I was an accountant at a large firm, he a sales manager for a national retailer. There was always enough for the bills and the occasional treat.

Simon never held back on his pastimes. Rock climbing twice a week with a personal trainer cost £200 a session, and boxing with another coach was another £150 a month. On top of that came new gear every few weeks, premium dog food for Buster, regular vet visits, grooming, and toys that the dog shredded within days. Altogether it ran to at least £800 a month.

Me? I helped Mum with her prescriptions her state pension was tiny, and the bloodpressure tablets were pricey. My sister Lucy, with her little girl Molly, received a token childsupport after her husband had left a year before, barely a few pounds a month. My own contributions summed to somewhere between £300 and £400 a month, plus a modest corporate gym membership that cost about £120 a year a laughable sum.

It had worked for us for a long time. Each of us spent on what we deemed essential. Then, two years ago, we took out a mortgage on a twobedroom flat in a new development on the outskirts of Birmingham. This year, Simons sales slumped and his bonuses were slashed. My bonuses were trimmed too. We could still meet the mortgage instalment, but a holiday by the sea or new smartphones were out of the question.

A month earlier, I had gently suggested that we both curb a little of our personal spending. Simon took offense, pouted like a child, but seemed to think it over. And now he had made his decision to trim only my expenses.

I reached for the telephone, ready to call Lucy, but I put it down. There was no point in piling on more anxiety. I turned to a bit of housework physical activity always steadied my nerves.

Two days passed in a tense silence. Simon pretended nothing had changed. I let my anger snowball, rolling it stubbornly forward.

On the third evening, as we dined, Simon finally broached the subject again.

Emma, have you thought about the expenses? he asked.

The fork clinked against the plate. I lifted my eyes to him.

Why should only my side of the budget be cut? Youre not going to touch your rock climbing or your other hobbies, are you?

Thats a different matter! Simon set his cutlery down. I spend money on myself, so its communal. Youre just siphoning it off!

Communal? I gasped, my breath catching. What does my mothers medication have to do with your climbing? And how much do you spend on Buster each month, have you forgotten?

This is my health! And Buster is part of the family!

And my mother and sister with a child arent family?

Theyre not our family! he snapped.

I leaned back in my chair, hands clasped.

Fine. Will you be happy if I start spending £700 a month on spa treatments, cosmetics, massages?

Simon leapt up so sharply his chair nearly toppled.

Thats sabotage! Youve never done that before! Youre saying that just to spite me! I need sport, you understand? Its a need!

My need is to help my relatives! And I still spend less on them than you do on yourself!

Thats different! he retorted.

What do you mean? I rose from the table. Explain why your boxing coach is more important than my nieces schoolbooks.

Dont twist my words! Im simply asking you to be reasonable with the spending!

Reasonable is when only I save? I shot back.

We stood at opposite ends of the table like boxers circling a ring. Buster, sensing the tension, nudged my leg with his nose.

Your spending does nothing for us! I shouted.

And yours? What does it do for the family when you swing from walls like SpiderMan?

Simons face flushed, he turned and stormed into the bedroom, slamming the door behind him. I was left standing over the cooling dinner.

The next morning Lucy called.

Emma, I know everything. Simon rang me last night. He said youre having trouble and asked me not to ask you for money. He wants us to sort it out without fighting.

Its not about the money any more, I said. Its about principle. He wants me to fund the mortgage, the food, his hobbies, and the dog, while my own family is left to fend for itself.

What if you both try to make peace? she suggested.

Make peace about what? Me becoming his free servant? I asked.

After that call I decided the situation could not go on.

When Simon stepped through the front door that evening, I met him in the hallway.

Were now on separate budgets.

What? he blurted, still halfzipped in his coat. Dont be foolish, Emma!

Im tired of arguing. From now on each of us pays half the mortgage, utilities and groceries. The rest we can spend as we wish.

Thats unfair! Weve always had a joint budget! he protested.

And it was long overdue to change it! I replied.

He shouted, accusing me of breaking the family, but I would not bend. The next day I opened a new bank account and transferred my salary into it.

Simon wore his pride like armor for a week. By the second week he was complaining that he had to tighten his belt. By midmonth his funds ran dry he missed two climbing sessions and had to buy cheaper food for Buster.

Emma, cant you ease up? he begged one night as I cooked a simple meal. Youre acting like a child.

Im acting like an adult who controls her own money, I said calmly. We are a family, but that doesnt mean I hand you access to my earnings.

He gritted his teeth and left.

Another month slipped by, and the strain grew. We hardly spoke, sleeping in separate rooms Simon had taken the sofa in the living room. Buster wandered between us, whimpering at night.

On payday Simon erupted.

Enough of this circus! Lets go back to the joint budget as before!

Why? I was painting my nails.

Im short of cash!

Cut your costs.

I cant quit my sport! Its my health!

I cant quit helping my family. My conscience wont allow it.

What conscience? Simon roared. Youre selfish! Only thinking of yourself!

I rose slowly, met his gaze.

Selfish? I share with those who need it. And you think only about your muscles and gadgets thats the altruist now?

Youre useless! All you can do is move money around!

And you? Climbing walls while feeding a dog?

Why did I even marry you?

I turned, gathered my suitcase, and headed to the bedroom. Simon stood frozen in the doorway.

What are you doing?

Im moving in with Lucy. Ive had enough.

Emma, wait, lets talk calmly.

What to talk about? You called me useless. Why keep a useless wife?

I snapped the suitcase shut and walked past him. Buster gave a mournful whine behind me.

Lucys onebedroom flat was cramped Lucy, me and little Molly but it was peaceful. No one demanded a ledger of every pound spent. No one called me useless.

A week later I filed for divorce. Simon called, texted, even turned up at Lucys flat, but Lucy wouldnt let him in. He pleaded, promising to change, but my mind was made.

We sold the house quickly a decent neighbourhood, fresh renovations. We split the proceeds and the furniture evenly. Simon kept Buster.

With my share I took out a modest mortgage on a cosy terraced house in a village near Stratford. The place needed a little cosmetic work, but no one poked around my purse.

In the first month after moving, I sent Mum to a health retreat a promise kept after years of delay. I bought Lucy a new laptop for Mollys schoolwork, and I treated myself to a membership at a nice health club with a pool.

In the evenings I settled with a cup of tea, watching the rain from my window. A message from Simon lingered unread on my phone a note about having realised his mistakes and wanting to change. I deleted it without replying.

That little house was mine alone. The money was mine alone. And now I could spend it however I saw fit, without looking over my shoulder at anyones training schedule, pet food bills or opinions about what was right or wrong.