I once slipped womens underthings into my husbands car. But not my own…
Whats this, Matt?! Again! Thats the third this week! Look me in the eye and tell mewhose is it!
Katie stood in their tiny kitchen, arm outstretched, clutching a black lace bra. Her hand trembled. Her face was flushed with tears and fury. Matt lingered on the threshold, holding a bag of Tesco bread; his face was drawn, eyes round.
Where did it come from? he managed.
Oh, I found it in your car, thats where! From under the seat, when I was rooting for my phone charger! Katies voice cracked, scaling up Do you have any idea how I feel?! We’ve barely been married six months, Matt! Six!
Katie, Ive no clue how that got there, I swear! Matt tossed the bread onto the table and took a step forward, but she flinched back. I dont know whose it is! Maybe some of the lads at work were having me on?
Having you on? Katie let out a short, manic laugh. Great joke! Like last week, yeah? When I found that pair of knickers in the glove box? Or the week before, with a ladys handkerchief in your jacket pocket? Three times, Matt! Three in a fortnight!
Matt rubbed his face, exhaustion settling on him like a wet blanket. Twelve-hour days driving a van for Swift Haulage, every penny aimed at patching up their converted granny flat, scraping together for furniture, for a proper life. Now this. Accusations. Betrayal. The idea of another woman never crossed his mindthere was only Katie, his girl. But she saw him now as a snake.
I havent cheated, he said, steady as he could. I never will.
Then how does all this rubbish end up in your car! She flung the black lace bra onto the table. It landed between the bread and the salt, a mockery of their hardscrabble, honest life.
Matt kept silent. He couldnt explain it. It was oddunsettling, as if someone was deliberately planting evidence. But who? Why?
From the garden came the scrape of a side gate. Matt peered out. Along the narrow path between blackcurrant shrubs, heading towards the main house, was Nora Stephenshis mother-in-law. A faded scarf, a threadbare housecoat; she toted a battered M&S bag, vegetables poking out the top. After clocking the light in the granny flat, she stopped, peered at them, then moved on.
Maybe we should ask your mum? Matt blurted out, surprising himself. Shes always knocking about the garden, maybe she saw someone?
Katie recoiled.
Leave my mum out of it. Shes alone, not in the best health. Shes eighty-one, Matt! She doesnt need our… this.
That was the crux: Nora Stephens. Old, frail, but iron-willed, shed always wanted Katie to marry up, to steer clear of working lads. At their engagement, shed hollered down for all Partridge Street to hear: Hell drag you down! No prospects, no future. Hell abandon you, like all men. Katie ignored her, and now here they were: a brick granny flat, cobbled together by Matt on his in-laws plot, sharing a garden, a gate, a thin curtain to old No. 11. Far too close. They couldnt afford a let; Matts van wages hardly covered groceries, and Katie was still at college, pulling shifts at Costa on weekends. How will you survive? her mother always asked. A mother knows when troubles coming.
Katie slumped onto a stool, burying her face in her hands, shoulders shaking. Matt hovered, then looped his arms gently around her.
Dont cry. Well work it out. Ill figure out whos messing with us. Maybe Ill put a camera in the car.
A camera? Katie muttered, muffled. We can barely afford full-fat milk, and you want a camera.
She shrugged off his arms and fled to the bedroom, the door slamming behind her. Matt stood in the kitchen, staring at the lace bra on the table. It might have fit Katie, but it wasnt hers. She hated this frilly sort.
Next day, Matt came in from work to find Katie over at her mums. Peering through the kitchen sash, he saw them hunched over mugs of tea; Nora topping up the pot, Katie talking, talking. From her hunched back, the hard shake of her head, Matt knew she was telling Nora about the discoveries.
He retreated to the driveway, to his battered blue Vauxhall, and methodically searched: glove compartment, side pockets, under the seats, boot. Nothing. Relief, almost. Maybe it was over. Maybe the culprit had grown bored.
But the following morning, rummaging for insurance documents, his fingers closed around something smooth: a red lace knicker. Dainty, nearly see-through. Not Katies she bought only plain cotton from Sainsburys.
Matt balled it in his fist, rage strangling his breath. Who was behind this sick game?
He returned inside. Katie was getting ready for class. She took one look at his face and stilled.
Again? she whispered.
Matt held out the discovery. Her face hardened.
I was right, then. You do have someone else.
Katie, someones putting this stuff there!
Who? Who would bother? Who runs around buying womens knickers for your car? To split us up? Who cares that much?
Matt opened his mouthno words. Who, indeed? He had no enemies. The blokes at the depot came and went. Who would creep into someones car?
Maybe change the locks, Katie snapped. Since youre such a magnet for strange women.
She clutched her bag and fled, the door banging. Matt was left stranded, staring at the wall. Young love, young plansfor what? Now it was rows, mistrust, tears. It was as if someone had decided to dismantle them brick by brick.
That night, Nora Stephens knocked on their door, clutching a pot of stew, face guilt-ridden.
Matt, dear, I made enough stew for a whole regiment. Katies run off her feet. Take it for your tea.
Cheers, said Matt, flat.
Nora tiptoed into the kitchen, set the pot down. Her sharp eyes swept the room, halted on the red knicker Matt hadnt moved.
Oh my, she said, reaching with pinched fingers to pick it up, as if it were a mouse dropping. This isnt Katies, is it?
No, Matt mumbled.
She sucked her teeth, sitting down on a battered stool.
I always knew, she said, voice syrupy. Told Katie she was too green for marriage. A lad like youwell, men are what they are. Your dad was the same, wasnt he? Apple doesnt fall far.
Matts face burned.
Nora, dont talk about my father. Hes been gone five years. And he was good.
Maybe, maybe, Nora nodded. But he left your mum when you were a nipper. And you know what happened after. I know it all, Matt. I only want the best for my daughter. Shes all Ive got. All I ever had.
I won’t leave her! I havent cheated! Its someone else, trying to cause trouble!
Nora stood, her lined face smug with pity.
There, there, love. No shame in admitting the truth. But honestys always better in marriage, isnt it? Katie deserves the truth.
She tottered out, head shaking in what looked for all the world like victory. Matt fumed: the old witch was getting exactly what she wantedKatie returned to her wing, Matt cast out.
In the coming days, Katie withdrew. They passed like ghostsno words, only frost. She clung to her mum each night, as Matt wore a groove in the sofa, wondering how jealousy could eat through steel.
At work, the lads noticed hed gone grim. Jimmy gave him a nudge.
Forget it, mate. Some jokers winding you up. Must be one of us, surely?
You think its funny? Three weeks? Every few days?
Jimmy considered, then shrugged.
Odd. Maybe someone has it in for you. You have any exes?
None. Katies my first and only.
Best drop it. Or go to the coppers?
Matt dismissed itridiculous. The police would laugh him down Wisteria Street.
Come the end of the week, his wages in hand, he bought the cheapest used smartphone he could from the high street, propped it facing the car’s interior, and hit record overnight. Next morning, nothing. Just blackness, an empty car, the sodium glow of the lamppost. A fragile hope: maybe it really was over.
But that same afternoon, reaching to shut the passenger door, Matt spotted a silky white handkerchief, embroidered with A.S.. He cursed aloud. Again! But how? No one had touched the car.
A new idea: it must happen in the day, while the car’s by the house. He set the phone to record undetected through the windscreen, this time watching the garden and the lane. That evening, Katie didnt come home. When Matt called, her voice was ice.
Im at Mums. I need time. To think.
Katie, please come home. We have to talk.
Whats the point? You keep bringing home another womans pants. I cant do this. Mum said you’d hurt me, and shes right…
Katie, Im not lying! I swear!
How do you explain it? How?! I cant live like this!
The line went dead. Desperate, Matt set up to watch the recording.
All morning, nothing. Then, around noon, Nora appeared, carrying her bucket for the tumbler by the shed, eyes roaming the garden. She ignored the car. Filled her bucket, headed in. Ten minutes later, she emerged again, a rag in her hand, apparently to wipe the bench. This time, she sidled up to Matts Vauxhall, quick as a fox, opened the unlocked door, tucked something in the side pouch, and shuffled back to her house, face grimly satisfied.
Heart thundering, Matt raced to the car, yanked open the door, and pulled outyesa pink lace sock.
He watched the video again and again, hands shaking.
That evening, he rang Katie.
Katie, please, come over. I have to show you something. I know whos behind this.
I dont want to
Please. Its important.
She appeared, white-faced, red-eyed. Matt sat her down on the saggy settee and played the video.
Katie stared, first baffled, then stunned, then stricken.
Thats… Thats my mum?
Your mum.
Silence. Then, from deep inside her palms: a dreadful little sob.
Why? she whispered, weeping without sound. How could she?
She wanted to break us up, Matt said softly, his arms around her shaking frame. She never wanted us married.
Katie tore away, face hardening.
Im going to her. Now. Ill make her explain herself!
She bolted before Matt could stop her, striding across the twilight grass to the main house. He lingered at the door, eavesdropping as her voice sliced through the old Beechwood door:
Mum! How could you? How could you plant those things in Matts car?
I dont know what you mean, darling, Nora’s voice was a razor blade.
Dont lie! We have the video! Everything!
A long silence.
Then, boldly:
And what if you do? Yes, I did it. What are you going to do about it?
Why? You meant to ruin my marriage! You wanted me to run back here!
Exactly, Nora said, unflinching, Youre wasting your life on that no-hoper. Ive only got you!
I love him!
Pah! Love! It wont last. All youll have are bills and heartbreak. I did what needed doing, so youd see sense!
Enough, Katie cried. Enough, Mum! Youve lost your mind. I trusted you. I thought Id lost Matt because of you!
Nora rose, electric with rage.
I know whats best for you! Youre a child! Hes not worth the dirt under your nails.
Katie fled into the darkness, Matt waiting at the door, gathering her up as she shook.
Shes cursed me, Katie sobbed. My own mother.
Matt held her through the night. The next day dawned grey and cold. Katie packed a bag.
Im going to Beccas. In Brighton. I need time. Dont stop me, Matt.
Twenty minutes, and shed gone, leaving only her perfume and their dreams behind. Matt wandered their little house, reheating the stew Nora had brought, eating alone, witnessing lights flicker in her window each night.
A week passed. Katie rang, voice thin as tracing paper.
Matt, I can’t cut off Mum. I can’t. She raised me, she’s all I’ve got. But you are my husband. I justI need to be alone for a while, figure out what to do next. Can you wait?
How long, Katie?
I dont know. A month. Maybe more.
And if you never decide?
Then I suppose well divorce, she said, and Matt felt the axe fall. I want to love both of you. Is that possible?
Ill wait, Matt managed.
And so the slow days passed, twilight stitched to twilight. Matt worked, watched, and waited. The garden was never empty; sometimes, old Nora would peer across the yard. She hung out washing, glared at his window, muttered with neighbours. Even Vera from No.15 cornered Matt on the street:
She says youre no good, Matt. That Katie should come home for good. Dont listen to her.
Ill sort it, Vera.
One blank Sunday, Matt steeled himself and took the train to Brighton, knocking on Beccas flat. Katie would barely meet his eyes.
Its difficult, Matt. You cant just show up. I asked for space.
For me? Or for her?
Katies tears said it all.
Letters came, addressed in Noras worried handshe asked Matt, pleaded, goaded. Old womans logic: Let her come home, you can find someone else, youre young.
Matts anger boiled over. He rang Katie; she begged for time. He laid down his linetwo more weeks, or they were done.
Finally the day arrived. Matt, in his best shirt, knocked at Beccas. Katie opened the door; she was pale but resolute.
I choose you, Matt.
He reeled.
Are you sure?
Yes. I love Mum, but I love you more. Thisthis wasnt love, it was possession. I want to come back.
They packed her things and headed home in the late light. Katies shoulders tensed as their street came into view.
You want me to come with you to Mums?
No. I have to do this.
She slipped into Noras house alone. There were shouts, then a cold, brittle silence. Katie emerged, face closed off.
Its done, she whispered. She says Im no daughter of hers.
Matt took her hand.
The next morning, all four tyres on Matts Vauxhall were flat. In the house behind, the curtains twitched.
That evening, they brewed tea and sat in the quiet. Katie spoke:
Maybe we should leave, Matt. Move outall the way, a new flat somewhere, away from Mum.
How? The money…
Well manage. We’ll work, save. We have to do it.
He nodded; she was right. Even exile was better than this siege.
Well manage, he promised.
Yet he didnt quite believe it. All he knew was that, for now, they were together, cradled in the glow of their rented house, while over the fence, Nora sat awake and schemed revenge in the dark.
Matt stared at the window, feeling the deep thrum of the coming dawn.
So what’s next, love?
Katie nestled against him, her words small, fragile, dreamlike:
We live, Matt. We keep living. And we hope.
