Rainbow Bird
When she was a little girl, freckle-faced, fiery-haired Imogen was called “Sunshine” by everyone who knew her. She was a bright, giggly child, always brimming with energy and enthusiasm.
Imogen grew up enveloped in the warmth of her loving parents and doting grandparents. With so much attention and care during her childhood and teen years, she found it natural, even as a grown-up, to pass on that warmth to those around her.
Age didn’t dampen Imogens lively spirit. She breezed through schoolwork, whistled while helping with housework, and would sooner eat her own homework than throw a fit or talk back.
I keep watching my granddaughter, mused Grandma Margaret one day, and shes not exactly a beauty by the usual standards, but you just cant tear your eyes away. That hairs like spun gold! And those twinkly eyes. Shes a breeze of fresh air, that girl.
Shes got the right temperament, our Imogen, nodded her mother, Julia, and personally, Im grateful shes not too beautiful! Fewer jealous types to contend with.
Maybe fewer jealous types, Grandma Margaret shrugged, but the worlds full of people wholl try to bask in her warmthor worse, throw a bucket of sand over her inner fire.
Julia kept those thoughts to herself but secretly hoped her daughters charm, quick wit, and strong sense of justiceplus an unwillingness to suffer foolswould see her through lifes dust-ups.
Imogens house was always full of friends. The flat was cramped and her parents sometimes sighed at the pile of shoes by the door, but they loved the way their daughter drew people in like it was the worlds cosiest tea party.
Then, inevitably, the boys noticed Imogen and her cheeky laugh and dimples. There were flowers, awkward dates, and attempts at nabbing a kiss. But Imogens heart was never truly rattled. She handled over-eager lads with clever quips and that dazzling laugh, staying friends with all, but tied to none.
Love, naturally, snuck up when she least expected it. Oliver, her eventual captor, was entirely unlike the earlier crowdperhaps why Imogen strolled right into his charmingly set trap, a rainbow bird unawares.
At the time, Imogen was at university, thinking she might become a language teacher. She met Oliver at a massive student bash. Hed finished his undergrad, was doing post-grad research, and already had a job at a thriving London firm.
Imogen, meeting this well-dressed, good-looking chap, wasnt fazed in the leastshed seen plenty of smooth talkers in her day. Yet the longer she listened to Oliver, the more she realised there were none like him, not one.
Oliver was articulate and could banter about anythingBritish literature or politics, pop music or modern art. But there was no trace of arrogance, and he listened with real interest, letting Imogen shine.
Shall we drop the formalities? Oliver suggested. Feels odd using Miss and Mr when weve been nattering away for an hour.
Sure! Imogen grinned, thinking she quite liked this polite, intriguing man. She felt something entirely new fluttering insideand it wasnt just caffeine.
And your eyes, Oliver said quietly, theyre a proper abyss. Never seen eyes quite like them. And your smile it goes right through me, in the best way. Sorry if thats too forward.
Not at all, she blushed, secretly happy. Shed always been the lively, chatty sort, but suddenly she felt almost shy. She pinched herself (inconspicuously, or so she thought), but Oliver caught her.
Why are you pinching yourself? he asked, wide-eyed. That looks like itd hurt.
Even she had to laugh. Oliver joined in, and bystanders soon turned, smiling at the obvious sparks. Imogens eyes glittered; Oliver seemed reluctant to look anywhere else.
Imogen and Oliver started seeing each other. He was from a comfortable family, parents well-off and flat already provided. Imogen had braced herself for snobbery or entitlement, but Oliver was down-to-earth and genuinely kind, never crowding her. He made conversations lively, always caring about her thoughts, especially when something caught her at uni.
Ive never felt like this, Oliver confessed, we see each other daily and before Im out the door, I already miss you.
Imogen, still a little bashful around such honesty, admitted she felt the same. He made her open up in ways shed never expected.
In time, Oliver introduced Imogen to his parents. His father was always gallivanting around the country on business, but one meeting was enoughhe shook Olivers hand heartily, approving the match. But Olivers mother, Linda, was truly ecstatic about Imogen.
Shes really something! Linda beamed after Imogens visit. I didnt know girls like her existedgenuine and sweet, not your standard beauty but you cant stop looking at her, and that bright laugh of hers is charming.
Even I didnt know Id stumble onto such a treasure, Oliver admitted. Shes like a rainbow birdwhen shes around, everythings painted with colour.
Is she at least eighteen? Linda demanded.
She is, said Oliver. Nearly twenty now.
Well, what are you waiting for, then? Linda exclaimed. Get a move on, before someone else snatches her and youre stuck fighting for your rainbow bird.
You always told me not to rush into marriage, Oliver retorted.
Thats because there are so many gold-diggers about, darling. The minute they see a good-looking lad with a flat, they swoop in. Marry one of those and youll be saddled for life, if youre lucky. Imogens the good sort. Go on, well support you.
Imogen hadnt planned to get married as a student, but when Oliver proposed, she didnt hesitate. She was sure her family would approve. Her mum and dad liked Oliver, and both grandmas thought the pair well-matched. Still, when Imogen announced her engagement at the next family tea, the room went awfully quiet.
Are you sure youre not rushing, love? her mum asked.
Im nearly twenty! Youd already had me at this age, Mum, said Imogen.
Thats true, love, but Julia trailed off, unable to name her unease.
Grandma Margaret just shook her head. She knew Imogen wouldnt listen. Young hearts arent much for reason, after all. It pained her to imagine her carefree girl so quickly becoming a wife, possibly a mother before long.
Her father, as ever, didnt object. Never one to impose his will, he kissed Imogen, stroked her golden hair, and promised help if she needed it.
Imogen sensed her familys reluctance but was far too happy to dwell on it. She told her best friend, Emma, who also looked thoughtful.
So, Oliver, Emma mused, hes good-looking, easy to chat with and clearly adores you. But you dont know him that well, do you?
I know him very well! Imogen laughed.
How? Youve been together, what, three months? Maybe hes stingy?
Hes the most generous man in England! Buys flowers, surprised me with a gorgeous ringif anything, Ill have to take over the finances or hell spend it all spoiling me.
Hmm, Emma frowned, maybe his mums a battleaxe. She might hate you, then youll be in for a right old time.
Linda? She loves me! She even egged him on to propose.
All right, then, is he a drinker?
He doesnt touch the stuff, nor smokes!
Messy? Will he leave socks everywhere?
Imogen burst out laughing. No chance. Hes the neatest man alive. His place is spotless. Always dressed to the nines! Why do you sound disappointed?
Emma sighed. Just well, I wish you happiness. You deserve it, even if he is too good to be true.
Imogen hugged her friend, then hurried home to prep for lectures. After all, a bride-to-be cant let her grades slip.
The wedding was lively but small. Both sets of parents would have gladly footed the bill for a grand affair but decided saving the extra pounds was wiser. You two spend it as you like, said Julia, youll find a way.
Well go travelling in the summer, said Oliver. Ill be on leave, and youll have your uni break. Until then, lets just enjoy being married.
Imogens smile couldve melted the polar ice caps. Oliver was besotted. He had no idea her smile would soon be an endangered species.
Imogen knew marriage could be rocky. What she didnt expect was how the cracks would start showing the very day after the wedding.
Immy, the way youre cooking is a mess, Oliver observed, entering the kitchen. Carrots here, beetroot there.
Im making a stew, Oliver. Ill tidy up when Im done, she said, chopping away.
By then, the kitchen will look like a disaster zone. He muttered, grabbing the broom and cloth and fussing round her as she cooked.
The next morning, Imogen made coffee in the French press, poured out two mugs, and began slicing cheese and ham for breakfast.
Immy! Theres coffee splashed all over the table. I havent time to clean up every morning.
Eat your breakfast, love, Ill wipe it as soon as I sit down. And anyway, its barely a drop! she protested.
You have to spot these things. Left unattended, itll be squalor in no time.
Imogen just rolled her eyes, drained her coffee, and dashed off for her lecturesshe hadnt married into a cleaning regime.
You could at least rinse the mugs when youre done, Oliver fussed.
Ill do it later. Or you could do it now, Imogen said, adjusting her hair.
Oliver, feeling hard done by, cleaned the mugs himself, muttering about how even his mother wouldnt stand for such slovenliness.
That evening, as they ate Imogens roast chicken, she suggested, How about we do something fun this weekend?
A deep clean? Oliver prompted, barely looking up from his plate.
Very funny, Imogen squinted, Of course not.
I wasnt joking, he said. Frankly, I assumed youd suggest a deep clean.
Why do we need one? Imogen was genuinely puzzled. If we keep up with the basics, well be fine.
Exactlykeep up with the basics. You could try it yourself.
Imogen frowned. She did dust the sills, run the Hoover, and wipe the floors, though never for hours. Cleaning was meant to slot naturally into life, not replace it.
Twice a year deep-clean? Olivers jaws dropped in horror.
Honestly, Oliver, youre obsessed. I like it clean too, but youre going overboard.
No, Immy, its you. I kept hoping youd get into the swing, but the flats closer to a skip than a home.
Imogen took stocksunlight, fresh air, not a speck of dust, and just-cleaned windows. If Oliver was so picky, maybe they needed a window vacuum.
If you want perfection, perhaps we should buy a window cleaner. Theyre not expensive.
A window vacuum? Oliver was aghast. A proper woman relishes polishing her own nest. Not fobbing cleaning off onto a soulless gadget.
So, the Hoover doesnt count? Imogen replied, keeping it diplomatic. Honestly, why not enjoy modern inventions? Weve got wedding money stashed awaylets get a dishwasher and one of those fancy window cleaners.
Why not a robot vacuum too? Oliver cried in horror.
He stared at Imogen as if shed suggested inviting a raccoon to dinner. He called his mum, summoning her for backup, hoping shed teach his wife proper housewifery.
Linda took Imogen out for tea and recounted tales of her first rural home with an ardour usually reserved for lost cats: There was no running water, no washing machine. When we moved to London, keeping house became a joy. I positively loved cleaning the floors, washing up, creating a cosy nest for my family
Imogen left feeling as if shed just sat through a TED talk on the joys of drudgery. Linda meant well but Imogen felt weighed down. Oliver was a good man, she reminded herself. Didnt smoke or drink, wasnt cruel, just wanted a clean house. Yet each day, she felt a little heavier.
Oliver began calling her namesaffectionate, but pointed: Youre my messy pixie, hed coo, before poking a finger at a dust bunny in the corner shed never noticed.
Where she once longed for weekend outingsthe countryside, parks, meeting friendsImogen now obsessed over dusting everything to meet Olivers exacting standards. She even dreamt of him and Linda scanning for dirt with ultraviolet torches. She waited for Oliver each evening with a heart full of dread, not love.
One night after dinner, Oliver glanced upwards and asked, When did you last clean the light fittings?
Imogen had to hold herself back from smashing the chandelier.
Later, Oliver threw her a birthday party, invited all her college mates, and baked his own signature fudge cake with Lindas help. The next day he found fault with the bathroom.
Fifteen guests in the house, and you couldnt clean the loo after?
I did clean it! Imogen retorted, silently cursing the “surprise” party that resulted in her scrubbing every surface twice.
Not well enough, Oliver harrumphed. Thats germs, you know!
Sometimes she snapped, sometimes she caved in, but always she felt more trapped. She imagined explaining things to her familyHes started drinking? Smacking you about? Out all hours? Having an affair?but, awkward as it sounded, all she could say was, No, Mum, he just wants the house spotless, and apparently Im a slob.
More criticisms cropped up: You havent smiled for days, Oliver said as he hugged her. Your eyes used to twinkleyouve gone all dull. Wheres my rainbow bird gone?
Imogen tried her best, but forced smiles never lit up her eyes.
One day, while Oliver was away for work, Imogens mum, Julia, came to visit for the first time. Sensing all was not well at the last family do, she followed her intuition.
Julia walked in to find Imogen clutching a dishcloth rather than a textbook. Sit down, love, lets have a cuppa, Julia coaxed.
You go ahead, MumI just need to finish wiping down, Imogen stammered, its filthy here.
Julia scanned the sparkling flat. Imogen, its immaculate! The mirrors, the windows, not a fleck of dust. But
But what? Imogen looked around anxiously. Are the walls dirty?
Not the walls, darling, her mum replied gently. Your eyes. Theyre not shining. Whats happened?
Imogen slumped onto a chair, tea towel still in hand, and spilled her heart. Julia hugged her, lost for words at the transformationSunshine, now drained, hair dulled, cheeks missing their merry dimples.
Why didnt you tell me, silly girl? Julia whispered.
You did the right thing not interfering, Mum, Imogen replied sadly. What could you have done? Its not like Im being abusedIm just hopeless at housework.
No, youre not, and Olivers being a prat! Julia snapped, and went home plotting how to rescue her daughter.
That evening, Julia told Imogens father, whod always been level-headed.
Were collecting Imogen. First thing tomorrow. No arguments, he declared.
Julia tried appealing to his never-meddling principles, but for his daughter, hed gladly shelve them and tell Oliver exactly what he thought.
With Oliver still away, getting Imogen out was easy enough; her fathers resolve made it impossible to resist. Stuffing her clothes into bags, Imogen felt oddly relieved, finally happy to follow someone elses lead, realising her father only wanted her out of harms way.
Imogen felt guilty, knowing it wasnt exactly fair on Oliver. She rang him, said she wanted a divorce.
Sorry, Olly. Its not working. I just cant be the perfect housewife, and I cant be happy this way.
Oliver was dumbstruck, and spent days calling, begging her to reconsider. When he returned to London, he pleaded in person, promising to buy any appliance she wanteda dishwasher, a window vacuum, you name itbut Imogen was resolute.
The day they filed for divorce, Oliver was still pining and hopeful. But she was done.
Months later, Oliver bumped into Imogen on the street. Her eyes sparkled, her smile was as warm as a June afternoon, and her golden hair shone as brightly as everhis radiant rainbow bird, back to full colour.
Imogen flashed him a dazzling grin. For a second, Oliver wondered whether they should have another go, but he knew hed lost his rainbow bird for good.
