“Hello, Julia? – She heard an unfamiliar man’s voice. ‘Yes?’ ‘You don’t know me. I’m Peter’s neighbo…

Hello, Emily? she heard an unfamiliar mans voice on the phone.
Yes, speaking.
You dont know me. Im Peters neighbour…
Whose neighbour? Emily didnt understand. Speak up, I can barely hear you.
Peters.
Which Peter?
Your ex-husband. He cant call himself, something terrible happened to him. Could you possibly come and see him?
***
Peter never imagined, at forty-one, hed find himself in such a bind.
“Bloody hell,” he thought, “I left my job ages ago. Havent worked since. Ive forgotten how to work, really. Spent every penny I had. No cash for rent, cant buy food. How am I supposed to live now? Ive no clue.”
For the last year and a half, he hadnt even bothered worrying about stuff like this. Hed been living the good life off the inheritance his mum left him.
Right after she passed, Peter quit his job.
“Why bother working now?” he reckoned, while sorting out the inheritance. “Mums money will last me ages.”
It lasted him exactly a year and a half. Then came the day when the kitchen was absolutely bare nothing, not even salt. Unpaid bills piled up on the table.
“How did it come to this?” Peter wondered on a lazy Sunday, still in bed. “Not long ago, I was sitting pretty. Nearly a hundred grand at my disposal. And now, Ive got nothing. Might as well stay under the covers forever.”
Peter turned over. Thoughts about work crept in, but he brushed them away quickly.
“Anyone can work,” he thought. “The real trick is making it without a job. Thats where brains come in.”
With a bit of willpower, Peter pushed away all those silly thoughts about working. Once his mind was clear, he suddenly remembered Emily.
“Why am I wasting time in bed!” Peter thought, jumping up. “Ive got an ex-wife. Emily! Cant believe I forgot about her.”
They split seven years ago.
Since then, Peter hadnt checked in even once to see how Emily was getting on. After the divorce, he stopped thinking about her altogether. And now, for the first time in years, she popped into his mind.
“I know for a fact,” he mused, pulling on his jeans and shirt, “shes a really kind, warm-hearted woman. People dont change, so shes still generous, always willing to help anyone down on their luck.”
Peters spirits lifted.
“Ill play the helpless card,” he plotted. “Ask for help. Emily wont say no. I just have to work out exactly what I want from her, nothing excessive. Depends on what she can manage. But first, I need to prep make sure I look every bit the part.”
***
Peter spent a while at the mirror, practising miserable faces, picking the right expression.
“Thats perfect,” he decided when he finally saw what he was after. “A meek, hopeless fella, resigned to his fate.”
To make the effect stronger, Peter badly clipped his hair using an old set of clippers, deliberately botching it.
“Brilliant!” he said proudly. “Just the look. If I feel sorry for myself, imagine how Emilys going to react. Those brown circles round my eyes, from that homemade concoction, are superb. And the hair masterpiece.”
He decided to borrow some crutches off the neighbour, who also let him use his phone Peters own had run out of credit.
“Better still, Ill ask him to ring Emily for me,” Peter thought. “Thatll make it more convincing.”
***
Good grief, Peter, whats happened to you? the neighbour exclaimed, shocked, opening the door and seeing Peter slumped on the floor.
Peter replied in a low, feeble voice that he was struggling, suffering, and needed help. Asked for the crutches, gave instructions about who to ring and what to say.
Of course, mate, the neighbour said. No trouble. Need anyone else to pop round?
Peter said no, only Emily shed sort it all.
The neighbour fetched the crutches, helped Peter up, saw him back home. Then, after Peter closed the door behind him, the neighbour crossed himself, sighed, and went to ring Emily as promised.
***
Emily turned up the next morning.
See what lifes done to me, Peter said weakly, tottering on the crutches as he let her in. I reckon theyll take my flat soon, over the debts. All my moneys gone on treatments. Owe everyone. No work. No idea how to carry on.
Emily looked round the flat.
How can I help? she asked.
Take me in, Emily, Peter pleaded. I havent much longer. Maybe a year, tops. Thats what the doctors said. And Im starving, barely eaten for days.
“Take him in?” Emily thought to herself. “Where would I even fit him?”
Why havent you eaten? she asked.
Nothing left in the cupboards. And no money to buy anything. Almost went begging… But Ive no strength. Let me lie down, Em, I can barely stand. Heads spinning.
Of course, Emily said, alarmed. Lie down. Ill go down to the shops and get something for you.
As soon as Emily left, Peter sprang from the bed, ran to the window.
“Everythings working out,” he thought, watching her leave. “She believes me she wont turn me away now, I know her.”
But Peter didnt consider that Emily, though sympathetic and convinced, was married now with two kids she couldnt possibly take in her ex. So, on the way to the shop, she rang her mum, Margaret, to ask advice and explain what was going on.
What should I do, Mum? Emily asked. Im in the shop now, Ill cook something, tidy his flat. But you understand, I cant do this every day.
Margaret had only ever despised one person in her life and that was Peter. Listening to Emily, she couldnt believe all this was happening.
“Somethings odd here,” thought Margaret. “I remember how he treated my daughter wouldnt let her have children, spent all their money on himself. And now he turns up right when Emilys settled and happy? No. Theres definitely something up. Hes scheming again.”
What should I do, Mum? Emily repeated. I cant just leave him, can I? Whatever hes done… Hes in a dreadful state. I could hardly stop myself from bursting into tears. They say hes got a year left at most. He was awful with me, but I just feel so sorry for him. You should see him.
Ill help, love, Margaret said. Dont worry. Bring him to me. Ill look after him.
You? Emily was surprised. But you never liked him!
“Never liked him?” Margaret thought. “Thats putting it mildly.”
That was years ago, Margaret sighed. Maybe hes changed, gone through something. Besides, hes in trouble now. So, heres what: no need to shop, Ive got everything. Put him in a taxi, bring him to mine.
What should I tell him?
Tell him Ill set him up with a room and a telly, and three meals a day.
Should I feed him first? Hes so fragile, Im scared he wont make it.
You said hes got a year left.
Think hell manage empty? I could make him chicken soup.
Get him a pasty and a coffee. Hell manage the journey. Ill make the soup here.
***
Meanwhile, Peter was imagining what Emily might cook for lunch and tea, drooling at the thought of the meals he used to have when they were married.
Is that it? he protested miserably, eyeing the paper cup of coffee and cabbage pasty.
You shouldnt eat loads at once, Emily replied. Youve not eaten for ages.
“Fine,” Peter thought. “Ill put up with it.”
After finishing his snack, he asked when theyd be leaving.
Right now, Emily said. But not to mine. To my mums.
Your mums? Peter asked, alarmed. Why your mums?
Thats when he found out Emily was remarried with two kids.
But youll be alright at hers.
What do you mean “alright”?
Emily explained about the separate room, TV, and three meals a day.
“Actually,” Peter thought, “doesnt sound bad.”
Well, if thats sorted, he said weakly, Im in. Lets go.
***
Emily arrived by taxi at Margarets house. Margaret was already outside, waiting.
Who are you waiting for? asked her neighbours.
Oh, she nodded at the arriving car. My daughters bringing her ex down.
Mustnt have much sympathy for him, the neighbours chuckled, to do that. Bit of a bad way, isnt he? On crutches. Ah, Margaretll have him on his feet in no time.
***
Here you are, Peter, thisll be your room, Margaret said, who could see straight away Peter was putting it on.
She decided to play along, as if she believed every word.
Youll spend your last days here.
Last days? Peter asked, nervous, then caught himself. Yes, yes. Thank you.
Time for lunch. I suppose its best if I bring your food in here?
If you wouldnt mind. I need to lie down more, but I could get to the kitchen if needed.
No trouble, Margaret said. You stay put. Ill bring it in.
After a hearty lunch, Peter told Margaret about his predicament.
Thats the story. Not even got money for rent.
Ill settle your rent, and tidy up your flat too. Emily said it was a tip.
Been feeling awful, Peter excused, so let it slide.
Dont worry. Hand over the keys.
Thanks so much, Margaret. Youre really kind. I dont know how to repay you. If I even manage to, considering, well… my times short.
“If I last a year, thatll do,” Peter thought to himself. “I can always think up something else then.”
Oh, dont be silly, Peter, Margaret replied kindly. No need for thanks. Anyone could end up like this. Youre not a stranger, after all. My only former son-in-law. So… you dont owe me a thing. Stay as long as you like. Just focus on getting better.
“If she wants nothing, great,” Peter thought, “Ive got nothing anyway.”
A year passed.
Peter spent the whole year lying about at Margarets house. Got up for a wash or to use the loo. Sometimes nipped outside for a stroll always on his crutches.
“Isnt life grand,” he thought. “No worries, no fuss. Living like Im in a utopia. All needs met. Sleep, food, telly. No effort required. Play the tragic case. And shes paying the bills on my flat, too. Silly woman. Brings paid bills each month, shows them off. I could live like this forever.”
Then another year went by. Suddenly, Peter got anxious and decided to have a serious chat with Margaret.
Tell me straight, he asked. Why all this? Do you think Im just freeloading?
Now, whats this nonsense? Margaret replied. Youre no sponger.
I said Id last a year, tops. Its been two.
On the contrary, Margaret said joyfully. Thanks to my care, youve had an extra year. Honestly, Peter, the longer you stick around, the happier I am.
Are you seriously?
Absolutely.
But why? Maybe you want me to leave you my flat? Dont count on it. I wont.
Oh, come off it. I dont need your flat. Ive got my own, thank you. The main thing is youre alive and well. I just enjoy having you here.
Thats all?
Thats it, Margaret replied, matter-of-factly.
Well, alright then, Peter relaxed.
Another two years went by.
Thats it! Peter shouted one day. I cant do this anymore. Im off.
What, feeling better?
You could say that.
Thats a shame. Ive got used to you.
Be honest. Now that Im leaving. Why did you do all this? And dont give me the usual stuff about charity and kindness. I dont believe it.
I wouldnt say that.
Then why?
Why? Margaret frowned. I dont get it. Youve been paying for everything the whole time.
Me? Peter didnt get it. How?
Of course! While youve been living here, Ive been renting your flat.
Renting it?
By the day! The day you moved in, I started. Your neighbours help out lovely people. Knowing youre in a tough spot, they find tenants for me, for a small fee. Your flats right near the tube, everyone loves it. Ive had more offers than I could handle. So you know, you thought I was feeding you and housing you for free? Thanks to you, I finally built a cottage at my place. And you… Ive got a weekend retreat now. Thought about buying the plot next door, but… since youre moving back, maybe not.
Margaret carried on chatting, but Peter stopped listening. He started gathering his things, wondering how much his ex-mother-in-law had made off him in those four years.