Imagine this: my husband turns up with his old army pal, promising hell only stay for a week, and before I know it, both of them are out on the pavement together.
Dont just hover in the doorway, darling! Come in, dont be bashful! This is Tonymy mate from the regiment, you know, the one from the armoured car story? Thats him, right here!
Im rooted in the hallway, arms full of shopping bags, my stomach sinking. The flat, which earlier smelled of fresh linen and my favourite softener, now reeks of cheap tobacco, stale lager, and someone elses filthy socks.
Blocking the coat hooks is a hulking, doughy man in a sagging vest and worn-out joggers. Hes beaming, revealing a gap where a tooth should be, and thrusts out a meaty hand.
Alright, love! he bellows. Heard loads about you. Steve never stops banging on about his stunning, brainy wife. Well, here I am. Tony.
I nod, sidestep his hand, and squeeze into the kitchen. Steve scuttles after me, looking both guilty and oddly pleased.
Dont be annoyed, Emma, he murmurs as soon as the doors closed. Its justTonys missus has chucked him out. Can you believe it? Shes a nightmare, after all hes done for her. Hes got nowhere else. I said he could kip here for a week, just until he sorts himself or they patch things up.
I drop the bags and stare at him, drained.
A week, Steve? Weve got a one-bed flat. Wheres he meant to sleep, on the welcome mat?
Dont be like that, Steve sulks. Were not savages. Ill set up the camp bed in the kitchen, or Ill sleep on the floor and he can have the sofa. Hes a guest, needs a bit of comfort, poor blokes in bits, his familys gone to pieces.
And Im just supposed to be fine with a strange man living here? I say, quietly but firmly. I work eight till six, I want to come home and unwind, not trip over your mate.
Dont be so cold! Steve throws up his hands. Hes my army mate! Weve been through everything together. I cant leave him out in the cold. Its just a week, Em, I swear. Hes quiet as a church mouse, you wont even know hes here.
Right then, a roar of laughter erupts from the lounge, followed by the telly blasting at full volume.
Quiet, is he? I arch an eyebrow.
Hes just letting off steam, Steve fidgets. Please, for me. I do everything for you. Just put up with him for a week.
I sigh. I do love Steve, even if hes a soft touch and cares too much about what people think. And Ive never been good at turning away someone in a mess.
Fine, I relent. One week. By next Monday, hes out. And Steve, no boozy nights. Ive got work in the morning.
Youre a diamond! Steve kisses my cheek and dashes back to Tony.
Left in the kitchen, I start unpacking. Id planned a light salad and some roast chicken for tea, enough for tomorrows lunch too. But now, with two grown men to feed, that wont do. Looks like Ill be peeling spuds and frying up sausages.
An hour later, when I call them for dinner, Tony swaggers in like he owns the place. He drags out a chair, plonks himself down, and grabs the bread bin.
Ooh, roast chicken! he grunts, nodding. Lovely. My Linda, the old battle-axe, only ever gave me porridge. Shes on some health kick, apparently. But a bloke needs meat, for strength!
He snatches the biggest bit of chicken with his hands, not bothering with a fork, and wolfs it down, scattering crumbs everywhere. I wince but say nothing.
Steve, got anything to drink? Tony mumbles, mouth full. To toast meeting the missus?
Er, Tony, we dont really do that midweek Steve glances at me.
Oh, dont be so henpecked! Tony laughs, clapping Steve on the back so hard he nearly faceplants his plate. Shes not a dragon, she gets it. Mans had a rough time!
I get up, grab the half-empty bottle of gin from the fridgeleftover from Christmas for emergenciesand slam it on the table.
Thats all there is, I say, frosty. And there wont be any more.
Dinner turns into a lads night, with Tony spinning endless army tales and moaning about women these days. Steve laughs along, hanging on every word. I eat quickly and escape to the bathroom for some peace.
The night is a disaster. Tony, as promised, takes the sofa in the only room. Steve and I lay a mattress on the floor. I toss and turn, trying to get comfortable, while Tonys snoring rattles the windows.
Steve, I whisper in the dark. Do something. I cant sleep.
What do you want me to do? I cant wake him up, Steve mutters. Just turn over, youll get used to it.
I dont. In the morning, Im shattered, head throbbing. The kitchens a tip: dirty plates everywhere, crumbs all over, frying pan empty. All the chicken and potatoes, meant to last two days, are gone.
They got peckish in the night, Steve shrugs, seeing my face. Big lads, need their fuel. Dont be cross, Ill grab some frozen pies later.
Steve, Im late for work, I havent got time to clean this mess, I say, holding back tears. You two can do it.
Of course, well sort it! he promises, all cheer.
That evening, I come home dreading what Ill find. I hope theyve kept their word and tidied up. But as soon as I open the door, I know I was kidding myself.
There are extra trainers in the hallway. From the lounge, I hear a racketnow theres three, maybe four voices. The place reeks of fried onions and cheap beer.
I walk in. Steve, Tony, and two blokes Ive never seen are crowded round the coffee table, which is buried under beer cans, crisp packets, and bits of cod. Fish scales are all over the carpet. The tellys blaring a football match.
Oh, Ems home! Steve jumps up, a bit wobbly. Were just watching the match! Tony met some lads from downstairs, top blokes!
I look at the lot of them. These top blokes look like regulars at the local.
Out. All of you, I say quietly.
The room hushes, but no one moves. Tony leans back on my sofamy favourite throw now covered in greasy stains.
Steve, whys your missus so uptight? he smirks. Doesnt let a man relax. You ought to put your foot down, mate. Shes getting a bit bossy.
Steve flushes, glances at Tony, then at me. He clearly wants to look tough in front of his new mates.
Em, dont make a scene in front of everyone. Go make us something to eat, well be done soon. Dont embarrass me.
I feel the floor drop away. My husband, usually so caring, is now acting like a stranger just to impress some lout.
I saidout. Now. This is my flat. Im not having a den in here.
Yours, mine, whats the difference? Were family! Steve protests, but his voice cracks. Tonys my guest! Ive got a right!
Tony stands up, swaying. Hes a head taller than me and twice as wide.
Listen, love, you need to mind your tone. Your husband said go to the kitchen, so off you pop. Let the men have a proper night.
I dont back down. I pull out my phone.
Youve got one minute to leave. Or Im calling the police.
The neighbours, quicker on the uptake than Tony, grab their cans and shuffle out, muttering about loads to do and wifes about to pop.
Tony spits on the carpet (my carpet!) and glares at Steve.
Youre a mug, Steve. Letting your missus boss you about. Id have sorted her ages ago.Come on, lets have a fag on the landing, cant stand it in here.
They slam the door behind them. Im left in the trashed lounge, fish scales glinting on the rug, beer rings on the table, dirty plates stacked high. I start clearing up, furious but methodicalbinning rubbish, hoovering, scrubbing, flinging open every window to chase out the stench. By the time the place feels halfway decent, its gone midnight. Steve and Tony dont return.
At dawn, they stumble in, loud and reeking of drink.
Oi, Sleeping Beauty! Tony bellows, barging in. Weve been out on the lash! Needed to blow off steam!
Steve giggles, wrestling with his laces, nearly toppling over.
I appear in my dressing gown.
Go to bed, I say, voice flat. Well talk later.
Maybe I dont fancy sleeping! Tony snaps. Maybe I want to keep the party going! Steve, wheres your tunes? Stick something on!
He lunges for the stereo.
Dont even think about it, I warn. Its three in the morning. The neighbours will call the police.
Couldnt care less about the neighbours! Im my own man! Tony staggers towards me. And you, chicken, dont tell me what to do!
Steve leans against the wall, grinning like a fool.
Shes got fire, my Em, he slurs. Proper handful!
Tony grabs my arm.
Fire, is it? Lets see about that
I wrench free, shove him hard. He stumbles, crashes to the floor, dragging the coat stand with him.
Out! Both of you, out! I shout, voice shaking.
Whats this, Em? Steve finally sobers up a bit. You throwing me out? Your own husband?
I havent got a husband. Just a drinking mate for this clown. Get out!
Sod you! Tony snarls, rubbing his elbow. Steve, lets go. Were not staying in this dump. I know where we can golets try Mandys, shes a good laugh, not like this one
Steve, swaying, looks at me. Theres a flicker of doubt in his bloodshot eyes.
Em, are you serious? Its the middle of the night Where are we meant to go?
Not my problem. Mandys, Tanyas, the train station. Leave the keys on the table.
Oh, is that it? Steve puffs up, egged on by Tony. Fine! Ill go! Youll be begging me to come back! Well see! Come on, Tony! Were not wanted here!
They storm out, not even grabbing their things. Steves in jeans and a t-shirt, Tony in his saggy joggers. The door slams. I lock it, slide down the wall, and sob.
The next three days are silent. I take time off work, try to pull myself together. I pack Steves clothes into big suitcases and leave them by the door. I wait. I know theyll be back.
Thursday evening, I spot them through the peephole. They look rough. Steves unshaven, shirt creased, sporting a shiner. Tonys shaking, probably from withdrawal.
I open the door, chain still on.
Em, let us in, Steve croaks. We need to talk.
Say it through the gap.
Come on, Em, dont be daft. Weve been sleeping rough, hanging round the station. Were skint, phones dead. Tonys lost his card. Let us in to wash, eat. Were here for our stuff and well, I want to come home.
Tony can go to his wife. Or Mandy. As for you
Em, Tony wont go without me, he needs help! Steve pleads. Were mates!
Mates? I laugh, bitter. Steve, your mate wrecked your family in three days. He insulted your wife, trashed your home, dragged you into his mess. And you, instead of standing up for me, just went along with it to look big. So go on, be big together at the station.
You dont get it! Its a bloke thing!
And this is pride. And my flat. Im changing the locks tomorrow. Your stuffs packed, Ill bring it out.
I shut the door, unhook the chain, shove the suitcases onto the landing, and slam the door in their stunned faces.
Em! You cant do this! Its joint property! Steve yells, banging on the door.
The flats from my nan, Steve. You forgot? Youre only on the paperwork. Ill get you off the lease in court. Goodbye!
I hear them bickering on the stairs for ages. Tonys shouting at Steve for being soft and not putting his foot down. Steve tries to defend himself. Eventually, they go quiet.
A week later, word gets round that Tonys crawled back to his wife. He begged, promised to change, and she took him backput him on a short leash and took his wages. Steve Steves living with his mum.
He turns up a few times. Sober, washed, clutching flowers. Stands at the door, asking for another chance. Says he was a fool, Tony led him astray, itll never happen again
But I dont open the door. I remember the look he gave me at the table with his mates. I remember him letting someone else push me around. I remember him choosing lad points over our home.
One evening, when Steves loitering outside, I step onto the balcony.
Go home, Steve, I say, calm. Ive filed for divorce.
Em, really? Over nothing? Over one row? We were together five years!
Its not about a row, Steve. Its about you bringing chaos into our home. And when I asked you to clear it up, you sided with the chaos. I cant live with a man who cares more about a drunks opinion than his own wifes peace.
Hes not a loser! Hes my mate!
A real mate wouldnt destroy your family. Wouldnt humiliate your wife. Thats not a friend, Steve. Thats a leech. And you were the perfect host.
I go back inside and close the balcony door. The flat is peaceful and tidy. It smells of coffee and vanilla. I curl up in my chair with a book and, for the first time in ages, feel truly at home. Its a bit lonely, but its safe. No ones snoring in my ear, nicking my dinner, or telling me how to live.
Steve and Tony still hang around behind the garages, drinking cheap lager. Tony tells him all women are nightmares and that I just needed a proper bloke. Steve nods, agrees, but deep down, staring at the grimy brickwork and Tonys battered face, he knows he gave up something precious for this cold, grubby corner. But hell never say it out loud.
