I used to plant women’s underthings in my husband’s car. But not my own…
Edward! Explain yourself! Again! This is the third time this week! Look me in the eye and tell me whose little garment this is!
Emily stood in the middle of our small kitchen, her hand thrust out with a black lacy bra dangling from fingertips that trembled visibly. Her cheeks burned with a mix of tears and rage. Edward had just stepped into the house, a bag of bread from the bakery tucked under his arm, now frozen on the threshold, his face gone ashen, eyes wide as saucers.
Where on earth did you get that? he managed to croak.
Where do you think? From your car, that’s where! I was searching for my phone charger under the seat and found it! her voice was rising, threatening to break. Can you even imagine what it’s like for me right now? It’s been just six months since we married, Edward six months! And already…
Emily, love, I swear Ive no idea whose it is! Please believe me! Edward dropped the bread on the table and took a step toward her, but she shrank back. I really dont know! Perhaps one of the lads at work thought itd be funny? A silly lark?
A lark? Emily let out a laugh that bordered on hysteria. And last week, when I found panties in the glove compartment, was that a lark as well? Or the week before, that womans handkerchief in your coat pocket? Three times, Edward. Three times in a fortnight!
Edward wiped at his face, bone-tired and weighed down by exhaustion. Hed been working twelve-hour shifts, running himself ragged so we could finally finish renovation on our little annexe, maybe afford furniture, try for a proper life. And now thisaccusations, suspicion. Infidelity? He couldnt even contemplate being with anyone else. Hed loved only Emily, and now, that love was met with her gaze of deep betrayal.
Ive never cheated on you, he said steadily. Never. And I never will.
Then explain how these things are winding up in your car! Emily threw the bra onto the table, the lacy thing a cruel mockery among our humble, honest lives.
Edward was silent. He had no answer. Truth be told, it was odd, even menacinglike someone was leaving evidence on purpose. But who, and why?
A creak at the garden gate distracted him. Through the window, he saw Mrs. Agnes Walker, Emily’s mother, making her way up the footpath between the currant bushes. Dressed in her faded scarf and old housecoat, arms filled with a shopping bag from the local grocer, she paused to stare directly at the annexe, then slowly continued toward the main house.
Should we ask your mother? Edward heard himself suggest. Shes always in the garden; maybe shes noticed someone lurking about.
Emily grimaced.
Leave Mum out of this. Shes old and in ill health as it is, Ed. Shes eighty-one! We mustnt burden her with our troubles…
Ah, yes. Mrs. Walkerhard, stubborn, and fiercely protective of Emily. Shed objected vociferously to our marriage from the very start. When Emily had announced our engagement, her mother had raised the roof, insisting Emily was ruining her life, marrying some poor lad with no university degree or prospects. That I would only let her down, leave her like every man. That Emily was still too young, not ready.
Emily, headstrong as ever, hadnt listened. Wed wed and made our home in the new annexe I myself had built at the bottom of Mrs. Walkers garden. Shared garden, shared gate. Agnes lived in No. 15, the main house, while we were out backa setup born of necessity, not choice. We simply couldnt afford to rent alone. I was driving for “Quick Couriers,” scraping by on pennies, and Emily juggled college with weekend shifts at a café. Every so often, her mum would sigh, How will you two manage? No support, no help. I can sense trouble coming.
Emily slumped onto a wooden kitchen stool, face buried in her hands, shoulders shaking. I tried to comfort herawkwardly, gently, with an arm around her.
Dont cry. Well sort this. Ill catch whoevers at it. Maybe Ill put a camera in the car.
A camera? Emily echoed, hollowly. When weve not even the money for proper food, and youre talking about gadgets?
She shrugged me off and locked herself in the bedroom. The lacy bra, about Emilys size but not hersshe only wore plain cotton onessat abandoned on our table. Where was all this coming from?
The next evening, returning home, I found Emily over at her mother’s. I peeked through the window: Agnes was making the tea, and Emily, cradling her mug, poured out her troublesher hunched shoulders, the shake of her head, told the whole tale.
I couldnt bring myself to go in. Instead, I turned to my old blue Vauxhall parked near the hedge and searched every pocket, nook and cranny. Nothing. Maybe, I dared to hope, it had all stopped. Maybe it was some tasteless joke that had run its course.
But the next morning, while rummaging in the glove compartment, my fingers closed around something slippery and finea red sheer pair of knickers, nothing Emily would ever wear.
My insides boiled in fury and frustration. Who could be doing this? I stormed back to the annexe. Emily, dressed for class, froze when she saw me clutching the incriminating garment.
Again? she whispered.
I handed the knickers over. Her face turned to stone.
I knew it. There really is someone else.
Emily, no. Someone is leaving these things, I promise you!
Who, Ed? Who would go out and buy womens underwear just to strew it in your car? Why would anyone want to break us up?
I had no reply; no bitter ex, no enemies at work, no one with any axe to grind. Who would sneak into a company car park just to plant such evidence?
Change the locks perhaps, Emily shot at me, sarcasm dripping as she flung her bag over her shoulder and left, the door slamming behind her.
I sat down heavily, staring blankly at the wall. Our young marriage, our love and dreamseverything seemed to be crumbling, brick by brick, piece by piece.
That evening, Mrs. Walker came to the door with a saucepan of stew and a contrivedly gentle smile.
Edward, dear boy, Ive brought you and Emily some stew. Shes been run off her feet, bless her, no time to cook. Take it. Eat up.
She set the pot down and glanced about the kitchen, her shrewd eye catching sight of the red knickers Id forgotten to hide.
Oh dear, whats this then?
I said nothing, too weary.
She picked up the knickers with two pinched fingers, as though theyd crawled from the gutter.
Edward, I shouldnt pry, but… these arent Emilys, are they?
No, I muttered.
She heaved a sigh and sat.
You know, I was afraid this would happen. A mother senses these things. Told Emily she was too young for marriage. You, young and fiery, fromlets be honestmodest means, like your father. He had a roaming eye, and lets just say it wasnt just local gossip… The apple doesnt fall far, Edward.
My fists clenched at the mention of my dead fathershe didnt know the man.
Please dont speak of my father. He passed on five years ago, and he was good and honest.
Oh, Im sure he was, dear, she nodded, but he left your poor mum when you were ten, didnt he? We all remember. I just worry for Emily. Shes all I have. Had her at twenty, thirty happy years with my Ste. Now its just me. And soon, her, if you break her heart.
I wont, I snapped. Im not cheating! Someones doing this deliberatelycan’t you see?
Agnes rose, sorrowful in aspect.
Of course, dear. No need to bluster. Wouldnt you rather be honest? Emily has been at mine daily, in tears. Trust, Edward. Thats what matters. Without it…
She left the sentence hanging, gave me a pitying look and walked out. I was left standing there, knuckles white, fury roiling beneath my skin. She wanted us apart, that much was clearto have Emily back under her roof for good.
The next days were a living hell. Emily barely said a word, avoided my touch, left at dawn, came home late, spent her evenings with her mother. Jealousy, I realised, is a poison potent enough to destroy anythingnot least, love.
At work, the lads noticed my gloom. Ben, one of the other drivers, asked if I was all right. I confessed, expecting disbelief.
Mate, someones winding you up! he laughed. Maybe one of the crew? Used to do silly tricks in my apprentice days.
For three weeks straight, every other day? Thats more than a laugh, Ben.
Ben frowned, uncertain.
Odd, I grant you. Got any exes out for you?
Emilys my first, mate. My only.
Maybe the police then? Not that theyll help with… this.
I decided on another tack. That weeks wages just about covered a used mobile with a camera, which I hid on my dashboard, recording the car overnight. The next morningnothing. No one near it through the dark, no evidence.
But by noon, when I went for paperwork, I found a white silk handkerchief, embroidered with the initials A.W., in the car door pocket. Swearing aloud, the fury and bafflement doubledhow? No one had approached under the cover of darkness.
Suddenly it clicked: whoever it was, they came by day, while the car sat unwatched or while I was in the house. That evening, on a hunch, I set up the camera so it captured not just the car but the path from the main house. This time, I stayed home, feigning illness, peering out the window as the day drew on.
Around midday Agnes Walker appeared, jug in hand, fetching water for her hydrangeas, passing my car without so much as a glance. The next time she came outostensibly to wipe the benchthere was a furtive, almost feline look about her. Glancing around, she moved quickly, opened the door with practiced ease, slid something into the pocket, and scurried back home, face smooth with satisfaction.
I dashed outside, yanking open the doorto find a pink lace sock left behind. Shaking with rage, I watched Agnes shuffle away.
Reviewing the footage, it was all thereher movements, her guilt, every detail captured. Evidence. Proof at last.
That night, I rang Emily.
Em, come round. Please. Theres something important I must show you.
Edward, I cant…
Please, Emily. I know who its been all along.
Something in my voice made her agree. She came, pale and hollow-eyed, and I showed her the video. She watched, silent, her face morphing from confusion to horror, then numbness.
Thats… thats Mum?
Your mother, I replied softly. Shes planted it all. She wanted you to stop trusting me. She wants you back.
Emily crumpled, sobbing, broken. I held her close, stroking her hair.
But why? she whispered. Shes my mum… how could she?
She never wanted us together, I said gently.
Emily shook me off and leapt up.
Im going to her. Ill ask her to her face!
I trailed behind her across the lawn and through the fruit bushes to the main house, nervous and tense in the encroaching dark. Emily burst in, leaving me hovering outside, listening.
Mum! she called.
Emily, dear, whatevers the matter?
Why did you do it? Hide womens things in Eds car?
A long silence, then her mothers voicecalm, almost sweet:
I dont know what you mean, my dear.
Dont lie! We have it on videoevery second, you going to the car, putting things inside!
Another silence. Peeking through the doorway, I saw Mrs Walker sitting perfectly still, hands clasped.
Well, yes, it was me, she said at last, almost pleasantly. And what of it?
Emily gasped.
How could you? Youve tried to destroy my marriage!
I was trying to save you, silly girl. Youre still so young, tied to that hopeless boyno money, no future. You should be learning, living, enjoying yourself, not shacked up with Edward. I worked all my life to give you everything, and you repay me by running off?
Hes not just anyoneI love him!
Love! Pah. It never lasts. All thats left is rows, drudgery, misery. Yes, I schemed, thinking youd see the light, leave him, come back. We’d manage together, just us two, quietly, as before.
Thats enough, Emily cried out. Mother, youve lost your mind! I spent weeks thinking Ed was betraying meall because of you! Do you see what youve done?
Agnes rose, eyes blazing.
I did my duty. Who else but me to protect you? Your fathers long dead, were alone in this world. We should stick together, not give ourselves to strangers!
Emily backed away, trembling.
Youre ill, Mum. Truly. I dont know what to do with you now.
She stormed past me, back to our side of the garden. I gathered her up, and we returned to our rooms, shutting out the old womans discontent and curses.
In the lonely days that followed, Emily barely spoke to me, most nights spending with her mother. The chill in our home grew unbearable.
One morning, Emily left early, suitcase in hand, and returned only briefly. She wouldnt look at me.
Im off to the cityto stay with a friend. I need a week, maybe more, to think. Please understand.
I watched her pack, my heart wrung. This must be the end.
Her mother must have heard the news too, as that very evening she appeared at my door, expression almost smug.
So, she’s gone? To her friend in London? She rang to tell me.
I said nothing, my anger simmering.
You’ve brought this on yourself, she said, a mean smile flickering.
Happy, are you? was all I managed.
She shrugged.
Soon you’ll both see that you’re not right for each other. Lost causes dont last. Shell be back, and Ill be there.
Shes my wife.
For now, she replied icily. But every woman, once shes been given reason to doubt, never trusts again. Shell break eventually.
I told her to leave, that if she interfered again, I’d go to the authorities for harassment. She laughed it offwhat could they do to a sick old woman? And besides, she said, Emily would never forgive me for calling the police on her own mother.
When I finally heard from Emily, after days of empty rooms and lonely meals, I was little more than a shell. She rang, voice steady but sad.
Ed, I can’t cut off my mother completely. She’s still family. What she did was awful, but she’s my only blood. I need to be alone for a while, get a room in the city. For now, not with you, nor her. I need space to understand what I truly want.
But were married, Em…
I know. But right now, I can’t pretend things are as they were. You saw what happened. Give me time, please.
How long?
I don’t knowa month, perhaps a bit more.
We agreed. I waited.
Occasionally, she phoned, telling me of her work, her studies, her life as a lodger. Little more. We never spoke of the future, returning, or the old house.
My only comfort came from old Mrs. Vernon next door, who stopped me on my way home. Dont mind Agnes, lad. Shes bitter and lonely, talking ill of you at the shop to anyone wholl listen, but youre a good, hard-working sort. Tensions with a mother-in-law, it seemed, could poison any English garden as surely as rain spoils Wimbledon.
Eventually, I decided to visit Emily, uninvited. She opened the door of her room and took one look at me.
You shouldnt have come, Ed, she said softly.
I just wanted to see you. To know…
She started to weep.
I still love you. But I love Mum too. I cant reconcile the two halves.
We embraced in the corridor, two young people tied together by love but torn by outside malice and sorrow.
Not long after, I found a letter in the postboxAgnes, again:
Edward, I know you hate me, but I did what a mother must. Emilys my only child. She is all I have. Youre just an outsider who took her from me. Im old and frail and need her near. If you leave, shell come back, and everything will be well. Dont make her choose. Go, and let us get on with our lives.
I tore the letter to pieces, full of bitter resolveId not leave, no matter what.
I called Emily.
Your mother sent me a letter. Wants me gone so you can come home.
What will you do? she whispered.
Ill fight for you. For us. But I need an answer from you, Emily. Are you with me, or her?
She begged for more time.
All right, I said, swallowing doubt. Two weeks, and then you must choose.
The waiting stretched out, agony growing daily. At last, the day arrived and I stood at her door.
Ive made up my mind, she said simply.
And?
She looked me right in the eye.
I choose you.
Disbelief, then joy threatened to knock me over. She would come home again!
We drove back, late, and she confessed her fear about her mother, but insisted on facing her straight away. I watched from our kitchen as Emily marched over. The house was ablaze with voicesMum wailing anger, cursing, swearing never to forgive. Emily fled, shaken and trembling.
The following morning I found my tyres flattened. I caught a glimpse of curtains twitching in the main houseAgnes watching me even now.
That evening, Emily and I sat quietly, drinking tea. Outside, the lights burned in Agnes’s windows, but we found comfort in each other.
Well have to leave, you know, Emily whispered. We cant build a life here. Not with her about.
Well save, I agreed, rent a little flat in town. Somehow.
She squeezed my hand, hope flickering.
Well manage, wont we?
We will.
Yet as night settled over the small English row on Roseberry Lane, with its clipped lawns and neat fences, inside the old house, Agnes cut her lights and plotted her next move. Some mothers, she thought, would bless their childrens happiness. Others curse it, and do all in their power to turn joy to ashes.
In our own little annexe, Emily and I clung to each other, searching for hope, believingalmost desperatelythat love would be enough to see us through. But sometimes, in this world, hope and love need a helping hand, and a little luck. We had none of those, not yet.
And so our story, like so many before it, was left unresolveda tangled knot of love, jealousy, duty, and pain, knotted by three flawed people, each certain they alone were right. I thought to myself, as Emily pressed close and sleep began to steal over us,
What now, Em?
And she whispered, soft and brave,
We live, Ed. Thats all we can do. Just live, and hope.
