Hed been saving for a rainy day and, well, here it was.
Gwen, what exactly are you doing with those two hundred pounds from the envelope? My voice snapped through the living room like a startled pheasant in autumn.
Gwen nearly dropped her knitting. Oh Pete, I mentioned the other nightI needed to get Henry a birthday gift. That building set hes been on about for ages.
Yes, yes. But whos actually going to pay for that? Who covers the electric, the gas? You think I have a mint in the shed?
I watched her lips thin. Behind her glasses, I caught a flicker of resentment, and then plain exhaustion. The sort of weariness Id started seeing more often.
Weve always decided together how to spend. He is our grandson, you know.
Used to be easier when I was earning a decent wage! I nearly shouted, a shiver prickling my arms. Now, on this pittance they call a pension Ill be short for my heart pills soon, just you wait!
I stalked out. My hands shook as I reached the bedroom, feeling beneath the mattress for my secret stash. Five hundred pounds. My emergency reserve. For that fateful day whenlets face itmy heart finally let me down. For the tablets the NHS never prescribes for free. And I hated myself for hiding money, but couldnt let go of that little packet of banknotes.
Sitting on the bed, heart battering my ribs, I wondered: was this it? Heart attack? No, just nervesthough next time, who knows? Wholl rescue me if I fritter away all my money on grandkids toys and Annies just till payday requests?
It had only been three months since I retired, but it felt like exile. For thirty-six years Id worked for a local building firm. Started on the tools, finished managing sites. Built homes and schools, even the new clinic. I had respectmy word meant something. People listened. Then along comes some whippersnapper boss: Peter Williams, its time you enjoyed a well-deserved retirement.
Well-deserved, they say. It sounds so elegant. The reality? You wake up and havent got the foggiest what to do. Gwens still workingnursing at the GPs surgery, nowhere near retirement herself. Im left on my own, staring at rain on the kitchen window. Meanwhile, I used to be on site by eight, sorting teams, checking on last nights work.
Now, Im surplus to requirements. Thats the worst of itthe realisation that youre no longer needed. Tossed aside. And thats when the anxiety started. Sticky, all-consuming dread: of old age, of aches and breakdowns.
I started to obsess over every niggle. Bit achy in the chest? Must be angina. Dizzy on the stairs? Blood pressure. Mislaid my keys? Well, here comes dementia. Every night now, flat on my back, I pay more attention to my pulse than the shipping forecast. Internet doesnt helptype chest pain and Google will have you booking your plot by morning. And the prices of medicine! How do they expect pensioners to treat a case of the grumps when blood pressure pills swallow up half your income?
Gwen says Ive got post-retirement bluesshe reckons I need to see someone. A psychologist! Fat chance. Tell strangers all my problems and pay for it? No, thank you. Ill muddle through.
Except am I muddling? I hardly recognise myself. I used to be even-tempered. Now I blow my top if Gwen leaves the hallway light on. Dripping tap? It riles me up. Daughter rings? I brace myselfanother bank transfer inbound.
The worst bit: I can see what Im becoming. Gwen flinches. Annie visits less. My grandson Henry looks wary. But I cant stop myselfthis fear of being penniless and helpless eats away at me.
So now Ive become paranoid with money. Started hiding a touch here, a tenner there. The reserve has grown. Under the mattress, Im nudging fifteen hundred pounds. Thats my last line of defence. If anything goes wrong, I can shell out for a private doctor or an ambulancewont have to beg Annie, whos struggling enough herself.
Of course, Gwen doesnt know about the savings. She thinks theres just the two pensions hitting our accounts. Each month, I draw a couple hundred for groceries, then slide the notes under the mattress. Penny by penny, for safety. The financial paranoia of the English pensionerit sounds so quaint, but its pure, raw terror about tomorrow.
Gwens voice filtered in: Pete! You coming in for tea? Its getting cold.
Coming! I grumbled, tucking the mattress precisely.
We sat in silence. She knitted. I stared at the sports page, not taking in a word. Something caught in my throat. I wanted to apologisefor shouting, for everything. But instead I said, You left the bathroom light on. Again.
Gwen didnt even look up. Sorry.
So thats how we talk now: little, spiky sentences. We used to chat for hoursabout her work, about my day on site. Pagan plans for retirement: an allotment, a week in Cornwall, more time with Henry. Now between us, its brick by bricka wall I lay myself with every grumpy remark.
The next day, Annie called.
Hi Dad, how are you?
All right. What do you need?
Oh, Dad! Do I always need something? I just wanted a chat.
Go ahead, then.
Silence. I knew what was comingshe always paused like that when she needed cash.
Its awkward my cars packed in. Garage says its eight hundred to fix. You wouldnt
No, I snapped. Im skint myself.
Dad, Ill pay you back. Next month, after payday.
You say that every time! You borrowed two hundred beforewheres that gone?
I paid Mum back, honestly!
Well, she never told me.
Even though Id seen Gwen hand me the envelope. But I couldnt admit that; the money had to stay under my controlmy fortress in this mad world.
Dad, maybe you just forgot. Mum?
Gwen picked up the phone. Pete, Annie did pay it back. I told you. You just forgot.
I did not! You both think Im losing it! Annieno more loans. Simple as that. Live within your means.
I tossed the handset onto the sofa. My hands shook. My heart was thumping so hard I could almost hear it.
Gwen stared, her face clouded with something more than fatigue. Was that fear? Or worsedisappointment?
Pete, whats happened to you? she said softly. Youre not the man you used to be. We always helped the kids.
It was easier when we had the means, Gwen! Havent you seen what things cost now? Prescription fees, food, heatingthats what eats the pension, not birthdays and cars.
Weve got two pensions. Were alright, really. Not destitute.
Not destitute, I mimicked. So what if I need surgery? Eh? Wheres the money coming from then?
Pete, dont wind yourself up. The GP said youre fit as a fiddle.
She was rightId gone in, moaned about dizziness, chest twinges. Doc peered at me, took a blood sample, recommended vitamins. Told me to get out more. Try to worry less, Mr Williams, she said cheerfully. Easy for her.
But then I visited the chemist. Just pricing upeye-watering. Those tablets the doctor mentioned were almost fifty quid a pack. Decent painkillers cost twenty. Anything stronger, and youd have to remortgage the house. I stood in the pharmacy, quietly panicking. If I got seriously ill, treatment could finish us. And whod help? Annies drowning in overdrafts, Gwens work pays peanuts.
Thats when I started penny-pinching in earnest. No more buying things without thinking. Cheaper ham, bargain-bin cheese, only turning the telly on for the news. Gwen didnt notice at first; later, she started asking. What could I say? That the thought of poverty kept me awake at night? That I lived in constant dread of my body failing?
So instead, I snapped. Just economising. Got to have a bit put aside. For what, I didnt say. Gwen stopped asking. Stopped talking much, really. Wed become little more than flatmates.
But the stash under the mattress kept growing. Up to two grand, then two and a half. Each night, after Gwens bath, Id count it, smooth out the notes. It calmed me. Gave me the illusion I still had some control. As long as I had cash, perhaps I wasnt done for yet.
But that illusion dissolved every time I looked in the mirror. A hunched, grumpy, suspicious old man stared back. Miles away from the Pete Williams who ran building sites, the guy people trusted. Now, I was just another pensioner who barks at the cat and hoards up for an apocalypse.
Months passed. Arguments over money became a running theme. Annie started ringing Gwen instead. Henry came round less. I missed himthe one person who didnt look at me with disappointment. But even with him, I couldnt resist clutching at my pennies. Once, he asked me for a fiver for an ice cream.
Grandad, please! The chocolate one at the shop.
Ask your mum.
She said shes only got notes. But you always have notes!
I reached into my pocket, pulled out a fiverthen, as he tried to take it, closed my fist.
What do you want with ice cream? Its cold out. Youll catch a chill.
Please!
No. No need for ice cream.
He sulked off, lower lip trembling. I just sat there, fiver still in my palm, despising myself. What on earth had I become?
That evening, Gwen sat opposite me at the kitchen table. No drama, just calm and steady, which was somehow worse.
Pete, Im embarrassed. Our grandson asked for a fiver, and you turned him away. Whats happened to us?
Nothings happened. No need to spoil children. Theyll only turn out spoilt.
Is a fiver for an ice cream really spoiling? Pete, listen to yourself!
I dont see why I ought to open my wallet for everyone. Annies got a job, hasnt she?
It isnt about Annie! Its about you. Youre mean, Pete. You count every penny. And I cant live like this anymore.
She stood up and quietly left for the bathroom. I heard her crying through the door. I wanted to go to her, say something. But I stayed rooted to the spot, clutching that cursed fiver.
That night I hardly slept, lying there replaying it all. When did I get so bitter? Maybe when that boss announced my retirement. Or the first time I realised the young ones had more energy. Or was it just the gradual dig of old age?
It was fear, really. The primitive, suffocating terror of losing control, being at the mercy of failing limbs. The money under the mattress? Just a desperate grab at control.
But it was costing me dearlymy family, the people whod always loved me. For what? A few thousand I was too scared to even spend?
Next morning, Gwen left for work without a word. I wandered to the bedroom, pulled out my hoard: three grand. Counted it. Smoothed it. Put it back, not a penny richer for it.
A week later, it finally happenedsort of. In the early hours, I woke clutching my chest, gasping for air. Gwen somethings wrong
She shot out of bed. Pete! Are you all right?
Chest cant breathe ambulance
She dashed for the phone, and I couldnt stop thinking: will my secret savings pay for all this? Will it even be enough? Should I have saved more, spent less?
The ambulance arrived swiftly. ECG, a once-over by the paramedic. She sighed. Its a panic attack, Mr Williams. Your hearts fine. Best see your GP, ask about therapy.
So Im not dying?
Not tonight, sir. But you could make yourself seriously ill if you keep this up. Please, try to relax. And do talk to someoneNHS counselling even does phone appointments these days.
When theyd gone, Gwen just sat by me without a word. Then, quietly:
Pete, is it worth it? Worrying yourself into your grave over money?
Not money. Fear, I croaked.
What fear, love?
That Ill become a burden. Get sick, and youll have to nurse me. That well end up bankrupt and Annie will have to bail us out I just cant bear it.
She took my hand. Silly man. Were a team. I was there when you broke your leg on site, wasnt I? You waited on me after my op. Well manage. But you have to trust metrust us.
I gaped. You knew about the stash?
Of course. Ive seen you fumbling with the mattress often enough. And the mysterious cashpoint withdrawals. I just hoped youd tell me in your own time. Im your wife, Pete. Ive stood by you for forty years. You really think Id walk away now?
Tears welled upmy eyes, usually dry as autumn leaves, suddenly streaming. Im sorry, I whispered. I was just I was so scared.
She cuddled me, as if I were a child, and for the first time in ages I let myself just be tired.
Yet, as soon as shed left for work the next morning, my hand crept under the mattress by automatic habit. I counted again, stuffed the notes away. Realising, bleakly, that understanding the problem and fixing it are entirely different things.
A week drifted by. I tried. I really did. Held my tongue, forced smiles. Even gave Henry a tenner when he visitedhe nearly knocked me over with excitement. For a flash, I felt something almost forgotten: the small thrill of making someone happy.
Then Annie rang again. More money woesthis time, for Henrys school kit. Uniform, books. I exploded:
Again! First the car, now this! Whats next, the cat needs braces?
Dad, for goodness sake, Im not spending it on myself!
So where am I supposed to magic it from?
Gwen took the phone from me: Annie, its fine, Ill transfer it tomorrow, dont listen to him.
Transfer what? I bellowed. With what money?
Ill use my pension. Thats my moneyIll spend it as I like.
For the first time in four decades, it was my and your money. The air between us was ice cold.
That evening I sat at the kitchen table alone. Gwen shut herself in the bedroom, packing a bag. Was she seriousleaving me?
I hovered outside the door. Knocked.
Gwen? May I come in?
Suit yourself, she called, world-weary.
She looked up from the bed, rucksack ready.
Where are you going?
To Annies. Just a few days. I need a break, Pete. From this.
Dont go, I heard myself say. Please.
I have to. Youre hard work, these days. Always cross, always suspicious. Counting every penny, freezing everyone out. I cant carry on if you wont let me in.
I sank beside her. Speechlessbecause really, what could I say? She was right.
I didnt mean I started. Im just Gwen, Im frightened. Frightened to get ill, to be helpless, to see things slip away. I wanted to protect us, thats all.
She turned to me. And stuffing cash under the bed will help? Pete, you have to stop running. Youve locked yourself upand your very own family outside with you.
What am I supposed to do? How do I live with this fear? Every morning I wake up convinced todays the day. The day it all collapses. No more work, daughter always needing help, grandson scared of grumpy old me.
Henrys not scared, hes confused. Annie rings for a chat sometimes, not always for a loanbut you dont listen. Pete, you built half this town. Your legacy isnt just money. Your life still matters.
But how do I accept it? Slowing down, aches and pains the slow winding down?
We do it together, as always. Supporting each othernot stockpiling cash and mistrust. I havent bitten you yet, have I? Maybe just start by talking to me properly.
I looked at her: older, silver-haired. Shes frightened too, and yet doesnt lash out. Doesnt hide. She keeps going. Me, Im the one walling us both off.
And what are we supposed to talk about? I croaked. Funeral plans? Bankruptcy? Cant even afford a decent send-off anymore.
She sighed: There you gomoney and death, always. Pete, were still alive. We might not be rich, but were not destitute either. This could be good yearsif we let ourselves live them.
I dont know how, I whispered. Never have.
Youll learn. Well both learn. Just let me in. Promise me youll try to talk, see the doctor, try not to bottle it all.
In my dressing-gown pocket, a battered twenty-pound note. Reflextook it from the mattress in the morning, just in case. Now, I placed it between us on the bed.
I carry it everywhere. Habit.
She nodded. I get it.
And somehow, I felt more seen in that moment than I had for months. She didnt scold me. She just understood. Really understood.
Keep it, she said gently. For now, if it helps. But promisedoctor, and talk to me when its all too much. Dont keep it all locked up.
I looked at herthe woman whod put up with me for forty years, raised our daughter, packed my lunchbox every morning, waited up late, weathered every storm. Still there, still hoping for me.
I promise, I rasped out. Ill try.
She smiledexhausted, but real. She shoved her bag back in the cupboard.
Im not going anywhere. Well get by, like always.
That night, we went to bed quietly. I lay back, staring at the dark ceiling. Gwens hand rested on my chest, warm, steady.
That battered twenty sat in my pocket, the rest still under the mattress. I knew tomorrow Id want to count them again. Fear doesnt vanish like that. But for the first time, something else shimmered around the edgesa faint, wobbly kind of hope.
Maybe I wasnt completely lost. Maybe, if I tried, things could get even a little bit brighter. Just a chink in the storm clouds.
I squeezed Gwens hand. Thank you, I murmured.
And where do you think Id go, you silly old fool? she whispered back.
And, just for once, I fell asleep not dreading the morning, but almost looking forward to it. Because I wouldnt be facing it alone.
