You dont live here anymore.
Lizzie, come on Weve been together for twenty years
Exactly. Twenty years Ive spent raising my third child, who never grew up. Off you go, George. Go on!
How much longer are you planning to warm the sofa with your backside, George? Im talking to you!
Lizzie stood in the bedroom doorway, children wailing behind her.
The youngest was begging loudly for new Play-Doh, while her eldest bemoaned the mysterious loss of a single trainer.
George didnt even glance up. He lay on his side, his back turned to his wife, scrolling steadily through daft video clips with his thumb.
Tinny, inane music leaked from his phones loudspeaker, making Lizzie grind her teeth.
George, I saw yesterday on the apptwelve hundred pounds gone from our joint account. What is that? Fishing and Tackle Superstore? You havent seen a fish outside a tin since 2021!
Silence. Someone cackled on his screen.
We agreed: until you find a job, we only spend on the essentials. That money could feed us for a week! Do you hear me? George!
He turned sharply.
Why are you shouting first thing in the morning? So I bought itso what? Havent I got the right? Am I not the man of this house?
The man who hasnt spoken to his wife in two months and wont fix the upstairs socket? You bought a fish-finder. Why? We dont even own a boat, George! Lizzie moved into the room. Was it for some magical future?
Its for later, George sniffed, glued once more to his phone. Just leave it, Liz. Ive got a headache. Youre driving me mad with all your nagging!
You dont want to talk? You havent said a word to me for eight weeks! You ignore the children. We live like flatmates!
Your own fault, he muttered, eyes never leaving the screen. Always trying to be clever, collecting qualificationsnever supported your own husband.
Just get out! Shut the door behind you.
Lizzies hands shook.
Theyd been together twenty years. Married young: shed just turned seventeen, him nineteen.
George drove lorries; Lizzie always thought shed be secure with a man like him.
While she slaved over textbooks for her first and then second diploma, George was content with his lorry.
What do I need books for? hed laugh. Im good with my hands. Didnt I build your mums fence? Itll outlast all of us!
The fence did stand firm, once. But now, his talk of being handy was only thatwords. Hed grown bone-idle.
The old stone house, Lizzies inheritance from her granny, needed constant care: a creaky step here, a leaky tap there.
Over time, shed learnt to change a washer and hammer a nail herselfwaiting for George was pointless.
Tomorrow, hed say, collapsing on the sofa. Tomorrow never came.
Two months ago, George got himself sackedmouthy with the depot manager, stormed out, slammed the door.
Lizzie bit her tongue, said she believed hed find better, called him a professional.
His job hunt lasted one night of browsing magazines.
Then George went into a hibernation of the soul.
He stopped replyingat all.
Dinner? shed ask.
Silence.
Did you pick up Charlie from nursery?
Hed drift by like a ghost.
It wasnt newfive years back, George had shut down the same way. Lizzie had been scared then, worried about depression, hovering over him.
But George had simply enjoyed the attention.
***
That evening, Lizzie staggered in from work, drained.
Her bag weighed heavy with textbooksshed started management courses, hoping for promotion.
The house smelled unpleasant.
Children were glued to the telly, husband
George sat at the table, fondling his brand new fish-finder.
He polished its shiny screen, a silly smile on his face.
Did the kids have lunch? Lizzie asked, chucking her bag on a chair.
No answer. He didnt even look up.
George. Im talking to you. Have you fed them?
Slowly, he stood, cradled the gadget, and slipped out of the kitchen.
Right, Lizzie blocked his path. So were playing the silent treatment again? Tell mehow are we paying next months bills? My salary cant stretch, especially when you blow money on toys.
He stopped.
I dont see the point in us anymore, he said suddenly. Youre unbearablealways pecking and moaning. I need space
Space? Lizzie gave a bitter laugh. You live in my house! You eat food Ive bought! You sleep on sheets Ive washed! What bloody space do you need? Perhaps the bus station? Lovely and open there.
Exactly, he sneered. Your houseand you never let me forget it. You love lording it up.
So what am Iyour hanger-on, your lodger?
Youre my husbandsupposed to be. You picked the role of furniture that nicks money from our budget.
George didnt answer. He shrugged her off and returned upstairs. Moments later, the sound of those idiotic videos drifted down.
***
A week passed. The house became unbearable.
The children whispered in corners: Is Daddy cross with us? Why wont he fix my toy car?
Lizzies heart ached for them; she tried to make up for their fathers silence with trips to the park, bedtime stories, letting them have friends over.
But her strength ebbed day by day.
The final straw came when the front step gave waythe old wood rotted through. Her eldest daughter stumbled home, leg gashed and bleeding.
Hearing her cry, Lizzie rushed outside. Her girl sat sniffling on the steps.
Mum, it hurts! the child whimpered.
Lizzie patched her up.
George, meanwhile, sat in the garden shed, glued to his phone, having seen everything, but didnt so much as glance their way.
George, fetch me the toolbox, Lizzie said quietly. We need to patch that step before anyone else takes a tumble.
George glanced at the hole, heaved himself upthen wandered back inside.
And something inside Lizzie broke. She fetched the toolbox herself, found a scrap of board, and banged it over the hole.
The last nail was the last straw.
That night, once the children had fallen asleep, Lizzie entered the bedroom.
George sprawled on the bed, fiddling with his phone.
Up, she said.
What now? he grumbled.
Pack your things. Right now.
George leapt up, indignant.
Have you gone mad? Where do you expect me to go at this hour?
Anywhere you like. You can go to your mums, stay in the garage, or take your fish-finder to the woods. You dont live here anymore.
Lizzie, enough with the theatrics, he tried to sneer, but his lip trembled. You wont last a month without me. Whos going to fix that fence, eh? Wholl tinker with the car?
Anyone I pay for it. And much cheaper than housing and feeding you and all your nonsense.
Ive been shouldering this house, these children, and carrying youa prize layaboutfor years.
Im done. I dont want to live with you, I wont feed you. Pack up and shove off. You have one hour.
George had never seen his wife like this.
When he wanted to feel like the man, hed play the silent game; shed try anything to cheer him up while he soaked up the power.
But now, what had changed?
Ill find a job tomorrow! George blurted, waving his arms. Just give me time! Isnt a man allowed a rough patch?
Youve been having a rough patch your whole life, George. Your unemployment isnt bad luckits convenience. You expect me to carry you, to guilt me with your sulks. Wellno more.
Now, he was afraid. Lizcome on Its been twenty years
Exactly. Twenty years spent raising a third child who never grew up. Go, George. Just go.
He packed slowly, first cursing her greed and selfishness, then begging forgiveness, promising to fix everything tomorrow.
He tried pity: I havent even got bus fare.
Lizzie dragged two bulging suitcases and a bag of his tools to the door.
At least give me some cash to tide me over! he yelled as the door swung shut. Youve got money, youre working!
I have money for my kids and my studies, Lizzie replied coldly. Youve got your hands and your fish-finder. Make that work for you.
She bolted the door, headed to the kitchen and poured herself a glass of water. Tomorrow shed be up earlycall the handyman for the steps, prepare for her exam. There was so much to do.
***
Naturally, George tried to come back. The very next day, he phoned his not-yet-ex-wife and began a tirade:
Lizzie, let me come home! Youve played house long enough, youve proved your point. What, you think you can cope on your own, with two kids? Its shameful, Liz. You know what people think of divorceessingle mums. Like trash, Liz! You hear me? When the neighbours find out, theyll laugh up their sleeves! You let a man like me gohandy, not a drunk
Lizzie couldnt believe her ears. The nerve of him!
As he worked himself into a righteous fury, Lizzie knew, deeper than ever, that shed made the right choice.
And listen, dont be stubborn! Ill pack up and come round. Thing is, Ive got no money for a cab, so youll have to pay for it. Yeah?
She snorted.
Dont bother, George. I told you the day you left: youre never setting foot in this house again. Never. Im blocking your number nowand another thing: no ones going to laugh at me. Unlike you, our neighbours are human beings. Goodbye, George.
She hung up, blocked his number, and turned to her work.
Thirty minutes later, her phone rang againhis mother, who had never liked her.
Lizzie, dear, how could you? Poor George, youre driving him to despair. My son cant eat, cant sleep! Youre a wise woman, Lizzie, for the childrens sake you must forgive him. Let him come back. Ive spoken to him, hes seen sense. Send him home. Think of meIm old, my pension’s small, I cant feed a grown man!
Lizzie ended the callblocked her, too.
She poured herself another glass, smiling. Better no husband at all. Life with her childrenjust fine.
