Ill be home late tonight, meeting runs until nine Simon fastened his jacket, barely glancing at his wife.
Rebecca nodded. Fifteen years and shed mastered the perfect nodneither brisk enough to seem cold, nor slow enough to signal reproach. The ideal gesture of the ideal wife.
The door shut and the flat fell into its familiar hush. Rebecca wandered into the bedroom, the cool blue walls pressing in with quiet, persistent weight. Fifteen years. Five thousand four hundred and seventy-three nights in this spotless mausoleum, a place so sterile that even dust seemed out of place.
Simon called it minimalist. Rebecca, privately, thought of it more as a mortuary for the living, but of course would never say as much out loud.
Their anniversary was coming up. She really ought to buy something, book a table somewhere fancybut theyd long given up on celebrations. What was the point? Fifteen years sounded less like a milestone and more like a sentence. That thought made her snort softly, and she began to get ready for work.
That evening, as she opened the flat door, she was greeted first by the smellpaint. Fresh, biting, clinging to her lungs. Rebecca hesitated at the bedroom doorway, unable to step across.
The walls were cream. A warm, buttery shade replacing the usual cool blue-grey.
Well? Simon jumped out from behind the door. I know youve always fancied cosier colours. Thought Id surprise you for our anniversary.
Rebecca stood silent. Something shifted inside herdeep and slow, like fault lines movingand for a moment she was certain no good would come of it.
Personally, I cant stand this colour Simon pressed on, grinning. But its for you, yeah? Do you like it?
Me? Rebecca leaned against the door frame. Like it?
Well sure. I know you always said you liked blue, but Ive seen the magazines you look at; its creams and taupes everywhere. I made a note.
Five years. Shed lain awake in this room for five years, dreaming of clawing the paint off with her own hands. Five years convincing herself the blue was her little sacrifice for love, for his comfort. Five years of silencing the scream inside her.
Simon, Rebeccas voice cracked. I hate cream.
What?
Ive always hated it. Even more than blue.
Simon blinked.
Hold on. But the magazines…
I looked at them because I wanted a change! Any change at all! I didnt care if it was pink or green, just not this bloody blue that made me feel like I was suffocating every night!
Becca, you said you liked minimalism.
I said that fifteen years ago! On our first date! After you spent half an hour explaining how you love clean lines and no clutter!
Simon took a step back, and something flickered in his eyessomething suspiciously like fear.
I dont get it. Weve never even argued about this…
Because I never said anything! Rebeccas voice rose. I always kept quiet, Simon! Agreed with every word because it was easier. For you. For me. For everyone.
Simon pinched the bridge of his nose. She recognised the move: hed say something reasonable, measuredsomething after which she was expected to calm down and apologise for making a scene.
Rebecca, lets just talk this through. Were civilised, we can
Civilised? Rebecca let out a laugh and it sounded worse than a shout. Your politeness suffocates me more than the paint fumes, Simon!
The cream walls looked on in silence as the perfectly measured world crashed down around them.
A pillow shot across the room and smacked the freshly painted wall, leaving a faint mark on the buttery surface. Rebecca didnt even realise shed thrown ither hand already grabbing at another.
What are you doing?! Simon caught her wrist.
Dont touch me! Rebecca wrenched free so hard she nearly stumbled. Fifteen years and I never once raised my voice, Simon! Fifteen years I ate your bloody over-salted stew and said delicious because you sulked at criticism!
My stew?! Simon practically choked with outrage. Youre bringing up stew now?!
And fishing! And your mates, here every weekend! I loathe the smell of fish, Simon! I feel sick at the sight of your rods by the front door!
And I was just supposed to know?! You were always smiling! Cooking chips for them!
Because you called me a drama queen the one time I asked if they could come round another day! Once in fifteen years!
Simon clutched his head and paced the room, kicking aside the pillow. His face was red, neck veins sticking out; with a strange shock, Rebecca realised shed never seen him like this before.
You want to talk about sacrifices? Lets! Fifteen years Ive dreamed of opening a business but never did, because you were terrified of risk! Because you wanted stability!
I never asked you not to…
Didnt you? You frowned every time I started talking about leaving my job! Got a headache any time I said mortgage!
Rebecca backed away and stumbled over the tangled throw on the floor.
I bent over backwards for you! Simon wouldnt let up. Tiptoed round your sensitivities, your headaches, your constant I need to rest! I crept around in my own home!
You didnt tiptoeyou sneaked! Rebecca nearly shouted. Tiptoed past me because you didnt care! Easier for you if I stayed fragile!
And for you, it was easier seeing me as a heartless brick!
They stood face to face, breathless and shaking. Rebecca noticed Simons lips were tremblinga detail that struck her harder than anything hed said. In fifteen years, shed never seen his lips quiver.
Do you remember Cornwall? she blurted, voice hoarse. I wanted to go eight years ago.
We went to the Lake District Simon smiled, but there was no warmth in it. Because you said you were sick of the sea.
Because you spent a week going on about how you fancy a bit of fishing at Windermere! I just thoughtit would be nice for you!
And I thought itd be nice for you to have a change of scene!
The phrase hung in the air, awkward and heavy. Rebecca wasnt sure whether she wanted to laugh or cry by now.
Were fools, she sighed.
Simon looked at her then, and she saw a storm of real emotions in his eyes at last.
He seemed to be searching for the right words.
Fifteen years, Ive done everything I could to make you happy, he finally said. Guessing what you wanted, because you never said it outright.
Did you ever ask?
I did! Rebecca, I asked a hundred timeswhat do you want for dinner? Where should we go on holiday? What film tonight?
And I said, Whatever you like, darling a hundred times over Rebecca almost spat the words. Because youd wince every time I made a suggestion. Never argued, just winced. So I learnt not to bother.
Simon gripped the edge of the chest of drawers like he might collapse.
Thats not true.
It is, Simon. You cant stand conflict, you go out of your way to avoid it. And I just adapted because I loved you and I wanted you to be comfortable.
Whats wrong with that? he nearly howled. Whats wrong with wanting your partner to be comfortable?
Nothing! Not if youd asked mereally askedand listened to the answer!
Rebecca stepped to the wall and ran her hand across the fresh paint. A smudge of cream stayed on her fingertips.
Do you know whats really frightening? Weve lived with mannequins. I crafted you the perfect agreeable wife, always nodding, always saying yes. You crafted me the caring husband, who never showed frustration. We both lied, Simon. Every day. Every night in this blasted bedroom.
Simon stared at her, thunderstruck. For the first time in fifteen years, she saw himjust a tired man realising his whole life was nothing but stage scenery.
I dont know any other way, he said softly. Thats how I was raised. Dont shout. Dont argue. Always find a compromise.
Rebecca slumped down onto the floor beside him.
Same here. Wife should be easynever cause problems. Fit the mould.
They sat together on the chaos of their ruined bedroompaint splatters and strips of plastic everywhere. The anger subsided as quickly as it came, leaving an odd emptiness behind. Only, this emptiness was light, not heavy. Rebecca reached for his hand. Not the way shed do in public, staking her claim, but tangling her fingers through his. Simon squeezed her hand back.
Lets change, like these walls, Rebecca said quietly. Stains, smudges, mess and all. Let that be our life.
Are you serious?
Deadly.
A month later, plates clattered in their kitchen again. Simon banged a dish into the sink, Rebecca shot back a sharp retort, and they argued for ages about whose turn it was to take the bin out. Silly, trivial. But when Rebecca fell asleep that night, she no longer felt like a ghost in her own home. Lying beside her wasnt some mannequin of a perfect husband but a real, breathing humanand, yes, sometimes he snored and sometimes he grated on her nerves. They were learning to love each other againmessily, clumsily, imperfectly. But perfectly, all the same.
