Ive already packed your things, announced the husband, his voice arriving like mist on the stairs.
Son, why her? his mother had asked, tea cooling by her hand.
Because I love her, Mum! hed replied, blinking as if hed just awoken and everything was self-evident.
Youll have a bumpy ride, lad. That one only sees herself in the glass!
Rosy-cheeked, biscuit-blonde Daisy fancied giving her husband a truly majestic gift for their fifth wedding anniversary. Who started that business about blondes being dolts? Daisy, or Daisy-May as her husband called her, carried herself with regal opinions on her own intellect and was intent on proving the lot.
Truth be told, Oliver adored his pretty wife without all the showmanship. They were coming up on five years of marriageto them, this was their first proper milestone.
No strange or mysterious beginnings for their courtship: friends invited them to a birthday in Brighton. They danced until midnight, walked along the pebbled beach, exchanged numbers under the sodium moon, and before long were careering towards domestic harmony, planning their anniversary at last.
Lately, though, Daisy-May found her husband a tad dull. It comes from the same root as every trouble: a modern woman sighing at the window, the day stretching out like weak tea.
Oliver did work terribly long hoursleaving almost no time or energy for chatter at days end. Daisy-May preferred not to tire herself with paid employment; influencer experiments on Instagram certainly didnt count. So everythingmortgage, bills, daily breadfell onto Olivers lap. Her digital adventures brought nothing in pounds: people simply werent desperate to subscribe to filtered photos of a half-clad beauty. The web was stuffed with such stuff.
She kept on rearranging her angles and the lighting, searching for the elusive viral shotthus her days dissolved like sugar in tea.
Of course, there were breaks for a fry-up, for shopping, for nattering with girlfriends, face masks, and the perpetual quest for self-betterment.
Modern life for modern beauties: dispensing the radiance of her existence to a mere man permitted to orbit her.
Oliver loved Daisy-May, not in spite of, but alongside every flaw. He was no fool; he saw the empty efforts at internet fame, the self-regard overflowing, the aversion to anything that didnt stroke her own vanity.
But so what? That was his Daisy-May. People are marbled with crackshe loved all of hers.
Son, please, why her? Mum clung to her doubts, but he just shook his head.
Shes just right, Mum. Even if the world doesnt see it.
So what if Daisy-May hadnt managed a job since finishing university? Lots of young folk were adrift without workshed hardly start as a Deliveroo cyclist now, would she?
His salary was enough. Any day now, theyd plan for a little one, and hed sort it.
Eventually Mum shrugged away her protests.
Their fifth anniversary arrivedhurrah, hurrah!
Both had gifts at the ready: he, a glinting pair of diamond earrings for his dear, she, ta-da!the latest high-tech car dashcam, full HD, microphone and all. Use it, darling! And dont you dare say I know nothing about gadgets!
They celebrated at a London brasserie, everything top notchOliver thanked her, beaming: Youre something else!
Daisy-May basked in the envious glances of Olivers mates and their wives: You picked a winner there, Ol!
Especially jealous was his old schoolmate, Barryhis Imogen wasnt exactly a rose.
Daisy-May practically shimmered in her triumphwho needs monogrammed wallets or posh boxers? Try beating this!
After the party, life slipped back into its gentle rut. Oliver began thinking about babies at last.
But Daisy-May took another swing at self-improvementonly now shed do it properly. She insisted in-person classes worked far better than anything online.
Im off to proper workshops! she proclaimed that evening over Dominos pizza, lips pursed in a plea: Will you cover the fees, honey?
Course, sweetheart! came Olivers reply, how could he say no?
Classes were twice a week, mid-dayjust as well, he was hard at work then.
No telling if her new skills would ever come in handy, but at least she was doing something productive. Better finding herself than hanging herself, as they say.
Though Oliver felt a pang of embarrassment for Daisy-May whenever he met his mother. He didnt mind, but Mums eyes said what words didnt: Is this really your wife?
Not a whiff of helpno cooking, no cleaning, even the washing, hanging and folding fell to Oliver. The buttons are all so silly, pet!
Mum suffered in silence. It reminded her of an old Saki tale, where a mother watched her son do the chores, the wife oblivious.
In the end, in that story the wife ran off with the cousin.
But Oliver was satisfied! Once Daisy-May finished her courses, theyd get moving on bringing a baby into the world. A tiny girl in a straw hat and red wellies.
Then his Mum would mellow, cooing over her grandchild.
Except, Daisy-May started another course: Want-want-want!
And Oliver, soft hearted, paid up again. Her journey to perfection was, by now, flowing out the windows.
Nothing really tragicfor she was only twenty-seven, he thirty, and people these days could wait till grey-haired retirement before worrying about children.
Even the House of Commons had ruled; the nation was full of sprightly pensioners birthing babies, why not?
Soon, Christmas approachedOlivers favourite. Spirits rose. Barry and Imogen would come round for festivitiesa family tradition.
Oliver went to tidy up the recordings on his dashcam gift.
He scrolled through the images, and what should pop up but his best mate Barry, and Daisy-May in a wild embrace on the back seat, exploring new self-improvementsover and over, week after week, during Daisy-Mays so-called lessons, driving Olivers car while he slogged on the Tube to work.
And the soundevery moan and giggle recorded. They even chuckled together afterwards, swapping mean jokes about their other halvesDaisy-May mocking Oliver, Barry sneering at Imogen.
Turns out, neither Oliver nor Imogen matched world standards in the art of intimacy.
Would you believe, he cant even snog right! Daisy-May giggled. Like kissing a goldfishso sloppy! Unlike you, darling!
Turns out I wasnt the only darling, thought Oliver bitterly. Daisy had always seemed satisfied in bed. Liar? Liar everywhere else, too.
Alright, Daisy was a cheatbut Barry, what about him? Had he forgotten that dashcams could record? A lifelong car fanatic, of all people!
Oliver froze. His wife, cheating with his best mate, and for almost a year. In his own car, under his nose.
And now Barry had gall to come round for Christmas dinner. What was the world coming to?
All just like some old M.R. James ghost story, where an unfaithful wife betrays her man.
Staggered, Oliver waited for Daisy-May to come inshe was out, meeting with a friend.
She waltzed home, giddy, voice bouncing around the hall.
You wont believe, love! Tanias recommended new workshops! Imagine the horizons opening for me now!
Oliver gazed at her pouting lips, thinking his mum was right all along: Why her?
All her horizons had opened already, thanks to his so-called mate.
You dont even listen! Daisy-May grumbled, lips out. Did you even hear me?
Yes. About my rubbish kissing.
She froze. Where did you get that?
From your chat with darling Barry.
Her beautiful face clouded scarlet. Panic. How did he know?
Given I dont meet world standards, Oliver said icily, I think its time we separated. Your things are packed. Off you go, maybe someone else will appreciate all that self-improvement!
Ollie, please forgive me! sobbed Daisy-May. It was an accident!
Oh yes, nearly a year of accidental affairs? Accidentally hopped in my car, accidentally did the deed, accidentally insulted me behind my backalmost a year?
Were you under general anaesthetic all that time?
His expression was changed, carved from stone. Shed never seen him like this.
And thanks for the gift, continued Oliver. If not for your dashcam, Id have lived, horns and all, forever.
Dashcam? Daisy stammered through her tears. What dashcam? Whats that got to do with anything?
Oh, it records here too, Daisy! Even inside the car! Just like those adverts. Dashcam records here, too. Plain as day.
So that was itthe dashcam had caught it all. Daisy-Mays heart crashed to her painted toenails. What now? Hell never forgive menot in a million years. And Barry? What was he thinking? Oh Lord, please help! she pleaded silently, even as shed never really believed.
But no help came. Daisy-May, tears and apologies ignored, was usherednearly bootedout, bag in hand, down the corridor. Though it broke Olivers heart.
She vanished into the festive dusk. Where to? Who cared? Probably to her mum in a cramped council flat across town.
Later, Oliver sent Barry a message with the recordingthough he was sorely tempted to send it to Imogen as well. He had the number.
But no, he wouldnt stoop to that. Let them sort themselves out.
Barry tried calling, but was swiftly blocked. Brothers shouldnt betray brothers.
So the years end came. Divorce was straightforwardthey had nothing to divide. Flat and car were Olivers, Daisy had no pennies to her name, and wasnt likely to any time soon.
With all those skills her best chance was the nightclubthere, perhaps, her talents would fetch a price.
That New Years Eve, Oliver spent quietly with his mum; elsewhere he’d just have to pretend. And right now, putting on a face was more than a wounded man could manage.
In the end, Daisy-May proved herself clever after all: shed changed Olivers lifeutterly and, curiously, for the better. But that, friends, is another dreamy tale.
The world, they say, never changes. But it does, oh it doesonly the classics stay the same. And in some dreams, you just blink and tumble out the other side.
