Sandra was raised by her grandmother. Her mother had remarried, started a new family with her new husband, and moved away to another city. She showed no interest in her daughters life.
After her grandmother, the closest person in Sandras world was the neighbour, Granny Edith. Edith was a proper friend to Sandras nan, and, in Sandras eyes, she might as well have had two grandmothers. Granny Edith would invite her over for tea and, every so often, pop a bar of chocolate or shortbread into Sandras hands. Recently, Sandra had married. She and her husband, Adam, shared a neat little flat. Yet, marriage did not improve Adams manners; suddenly, all that charm hed brandished before the wedding vanished like mist at dawn.
Most evenings after work, Adam would rendezvous with Sandra at the local Tesco. They had to pick up supper. Together theyd wander the fluorescent-lit aisles, but when it came time to pay, Adam would drift aside, hands in pockets, eyes glazed. At the till, Sandra would try to hand over some of the bags, but if she turned, shed find Adam had already slipped out onto the high street. Adam, take these bags, will you? Theyre bloody heavy. Why should I? Well, youre the man, aren’t you? These are heavy. And what of it? Youve got arms, havent you? Im not some soft touchyou can carry your own shopping.
With that, Adam took off down the pavement, leaving Sandra standing beneath the shops humming sign. Their flat wasnt far but the bags were straining her fingers. Sandra waited, certain Adam was pulling her leg and would soon return, grinning. But the shop faded behind her, and Adam didnt so much as glance back.
Adams mates at the pub had told him that he ought to stand his ground in the marriage; set out his own rules, as a proper Englishman should. A man, they said, should decide where things standlet the wife follow, not lead.
Adam, help me! Where are you going? Sandra called down the side street, her voice almost breathless with anger and fatigue. He knew the bags were difficult. Hed packed in a few bricks of cheese and four tins of beans himself. Still, he kept walking, hands stuffed in his coat pockets, a cold silhouette slipping away. Sandra trailed after, tears burning behind her eyes, gripping the bags like they anchored her to the earth. At the entrance to the block of flats, she let herself fall onto the bench, shopping piled at her feet. Her pride prickled and she wanted to weep. Adam had known how heavy those bags werethats why he left.
Hello, dear Sandra, called Granny Edith, passing in her quilted coat. Evening, Sandra managed, standing.
She pressed the shopping into Ediths arms: all the biscuits, butter, milk and tea bags. Edith beamed, delighted; her pension barely covered her groceries. Sandra kissed her soft cheek and slipped away.
When she opened her front door, Adam sprang up from the sofa, eyes greedy with anticipation. Wheres the shopping? What shopping? The groceries you helped me carry? Sandras voice was cool as a twilight pond. Come off it love, dont be so huffy. No, Im not cross.
Hed expected a storm, a tirade, but received only a steady hush.
I thought I married a man. Seems youd rather have a husband yourselfsomeone to do the heavy lifting.
Silently, Sandra walked to the bedroom, packed Adams suitcase with deliberate care, and left it at the door. She knew if she let this moment pass, thered be no stopping worse storm clouds in future. She watched the sky above, strangely bright, as she shut the door behind him, and the hallway stretched out like an endless, peculiar dream.
