So, picture thisIm just sitting at home when theres a knock at the door. I open up, and theres this woman standing there. Shes nothing out of the ordinary, really; just your average lady, around my age. She says to me, Hello, could we have a word about Tom? Im afraid Im your husbands mistress.
Well, cheers to a cracking start to my evening. But, you know meif someones polite, Ill stay civil right to the bitter end, at least until one of us collapses from the stress. So I say, Come on in thenlets have a chat about our dear Tom.
She gives me this relieved grin and goes, Im so glad youre not after me with a saucepanI never did have the constitution for getting whacked by kitchenware. Id heard you were a reasonable woman!
I smile and reply, And Ive heard a thing or two about you. Hang on, let me remember Youre thirty-seven, a single mum, diploma from a technical college…
Actually, Ive finished my university degree now! she corrects, looking a bit bashful.
Right, sorryElizabeth Carter, isnt it? I say, popping the kettle on.
Thats me, she nods, and youre Elizabeth Walker, yes? Were namesakes.
Thats what I was thinking, I say. Why on earth would Tom want a wife and a mistress with the same name? Is this some sort of narrow male logic, or is he just a traditionalist?
I reckon its much simpler, she laughs, so he doesnt risk calling one of us by the wrong name in bed! Toms no fool.
Remarkably clever, I say. And lets not forget about our daughtershes a Lizzie too. Mustve made baby naming a doddle for Tom.
Well, my sons called Alex, says Elizabeth. By the way, also Toms.
I know, I tell her. Word gets around. Tom really doesnt trouble himself over names. Anyway, take a seat and have some tea. I see you brought cake?
Yeah, she says. Dont worry, not poisoned. Were not rivalsmore like sisters in misfortune. Im too civilised for murder.
Got it from Tescos, did you? I ask.
Yep, the one on the corner.
Well, Tesco cakes dont need poisoningtheyll finish you off as they are. Sugar in your tea?
So there we are, me and Toms mistress, having tea and Tesco cake. I ask, So, Elizabeth, what brings you here tonight?
She sighs and says, Look, Im practical, not one for drama. But weve got to sort Tom out somehow. What did you do to him last night?
We were just shifting furniture around the kids room, I say. Nothing dodgy.
Youre not looking after him! she scolds. He told me hed pop round after work and help put in my new kitchen unit, but what happened? He turns up, drops onto the sofa and cant move for love nor money. Had to rub his back with Deep Heat, but hes about as much use as a chocolate teapot now.
I sympathise, I say. How much did your kitchen unit set you back?
Eighteen hundred, she answers. Matches the tiles, though. But seriously, what are we going to do about Tom?
I shrug. He can stay at yours tonightwhat goods he to me, flat out with a dodgy back?
Im not talking about tonight, she says. We need to look further ahead. My boy hardly sees his dad and Im about to start on the garden, plus the kitchen needs finishing
Finish your thought, I prompt her. Youve come this far.
Well, Ive got a business idea, Elizabeth says. How about we go halves on Tom? Share him between us, like.
I let out a snort. What, make a shareholder company called Husband Tom PLC?
Well, why not! Elizabeth laughs. Its a bit unfair, isnt it? Hes at yours five and a half days every week and only with me for one and a half! Be a sport and spare me a couple extra days, will you? Ive got three allotment plotsthats a summers worth of digging all on my own. And Tom only ever seems to show up asking for salad!
You make the one with seaweed for him? I ask, And the one with cheese and garlic?
I cant manage the cheese oneToms said your salads are more exciting. Any chance youll share your recipes?
Well, youve got stuffed chicken in your arsenal, I say. He brags about it to the lads on the estate. How about we trade?
We swap salad and chicken recipes, pour ourselves another cuppa.
I dont want the whole Tom, just my share, Elizabeth says. Sometimes, its nice when a mans left his socks on your pillow and had a sneaky fag on your balconygives you a reason to have a shout and let off steam. Can we sort out a schedule for Tom?
What, like market security guardstwo days on, two days off? I joke.
Tell you what, I dont need him on Wednesdays or Saturdays, she says. But Id love him on Thursdays and Fridays. Got my old school reunion coming upif I show up solo again, everyone will have a laugh.
Deal, I say. Hes yours till Saturday thenjust make sure he doesnt overdo the buffet, and he lines his stomach properly. Oh, and what about Toms wages?
I dont need his money, Elizabeth sniffs. I can look after myself and my boy. If he fancies buying our Alex a jumper or taking him out over half-term, fine. Its not as if hes a stranger to you either.
So together, we draw up Toms rota for his duties between families. We specify that when hes swapped over, he must be shaved, well-fed, in ironed clothes, decent socks, and generally presentableno visible defects.
Oh, and we add a clause that Husband Tom PLC mustnt come trailing after any arguments; he has to be cheerful, well-rested, and up for carrying on with these complicated family arrangements. And satisfied physically, if possible.
Elizabeth suddenly goes a bit pink and asks, Er, and what if, you know, Im out of action forlady reasons? Or you?
No doctors notes needed, I trust your word, I say. Just let me know in advance so I can cover you if necessary. Though to be honest, when Tom is full and got the telly remote, hes about as dangerous to women as a soggy lettuce.
Tell me about it, Elizabeth says, not looking wildly cheery. First year of Husband Tom PLC, night shifts were ahead of schedule. Second yearalready getting a bit slack. And now, well, hes weeks late on his marital duties, only delivering about 30-40% of the expected service. Its nearly June and he still owes me for April! Still, for digging the allotment or escorting me to my school reunion, Toms more than fit for service.
We finish off the Tesco cake and sign our agreement. Copy for me, copy for Elizabeth, handshake all round.
Thank you, she says, rather sincerely. Thank you for not shouting or whacking me with an iron. Youre a wise and civilised woman, Elizabeth Walker! Im off to tell Tom the good news. Hes tired of lying to us both.
After she leaves, I pop the contract into a folder. In there, Ive got another unsigned agreementmy old mate, William Smith, whos fancied me since we were teenagers, is awfully keen to take over Toms marital duties whenever Toms away.
Havent signed anything yet thoughafter all, a womans got to have options, hasnt she?
