“You’re kicking me out? Out of my own home?” Mark hadnt seen this one coming.
“Pack your things, Mark. And leave.”
He just stood there, like a garden gnome in shock.
“You’re kicking me out? Out of my own house?”
“It’s a flat with a mortgage. I’m the one paying it. You havent paid a penny in the past six months.”
“But I used to! Ages ago!”
“Mark, go. I mean it. I cant do this anymore.”
Helen locked herself in the bathroom after a long day, all she wanted was five minutes alone. Her husband didn’t even let her wash her face.
“Helen, the babys screaming,” he bellowed, banging on the door. “How long are you going to be in there? Ive got a match in five minutes and I need to focus.”
Helen exhaled, turned off the tap and slipped out silently.
Their daughter was in full siren mode standing in her cot, tiny hands clutching the rails and howling.
“There, there, love,” Helen scooped her up, back already aching. “Daddy’s busy.”
Because, of course, Daddy is terribly important hes saving the world on the internet.
Mark, already glued to his computer in the next room, slid on his headset. Reality, as far as he was concerned, was on mute.
An hour later, Helen peeked in:
“Mark?” she murmured, swaying their daughter in her arms. “Did you get paid? We need to pay the mortgage the day after tomorrow. And we’re about out of nappies.”
He shrugged, headphones still on. Helen tapped his shoulder gently. Mark yanked off the headphone.
“What?”
“Your wages. Did they get paid in?”
“A bit. Five hundred quid.”
“Five?” Helen looked incredulous. “Mark, the payments fifteen hundred, plus bills. You promised youd give me every penny.”
“Theyre delayed,” he grunted, eyes never leaving the screen. “Boss said Ill get the rest next week. Dont interrupt, youre pulling me away from important business!”
“And what about the Airsoft at the weekend?” she asked under her breath. “Thats not cheap.”
Mark turned to her. “I work four days on, three off! I deserve some time off, dont I? Am I a man or what? I need to let off steam!”
“Youre always nagging, the flats a mess, the baby’s always wailing. Give me ONE hour of peace!”
Helen left. What was the point of arguing? She knew “a bit of his wages” had paid for some new gadget for his game or went into online donations.
Late at night, when finally the baby slept, Helen went to the kitchen. Starving. The fridge was emptier than her motivation.
Yesterday shed bought a bag of apples and a bunch of bananas just enough for quick snacks whilst corralling a toddler.
The fruit bowl? Barren wasteland well, except for some apple cores and banana peels abandoned nearby.
Mark wandered into the kitchen, belly-scratching.
“Got any tea, or is it just hot water again?”
“You ate all the fruit?”
“And if I did?”
“Mark, I bought them yesterday. A whole kilo! I didnt even have one.”
“Were skint, Mark. I can’t buy fruit every day.”
“Oh, here we go,” he rolled his eyes. “Putting on airs again. Just buy some more tomorrow. So what if I ate the apples? What, am I supposed to go hungry?”
“If you can’t budget for food, that’s your fault.”
“My fault?” her voice trembled. “Are you giving me enough money? Im on maternity leave, Mark. Your salary doesnt even cover the loans!”
“Then go get a job, clever clogs!” he snapped. “Youre sat at home doing nothing but griping. I get tired too, you know!”
That was the last straw.
Helen realised shed outgrown him. And she had a tiny human to look after.
**
A week later, she started working nights at a 24-hour distribution warehouse. Five night shifts, two days off.
It was a living hell, but at least it paid real cash.
Life turned into a marathon: Helen by day wrangling her toddler, cleaning, doing laundry, cobbling together meals.
Her daughter napped for forty minutes here and there forty precious minutes for Helen to collapse on the sofa, eyes rolling back.
Evening: Mark breezed in, scoffed whatever dinner Helen had managed, then parked himself at his computer. Helen settled the baby, kissed her goodbye, and headed to work.
“Where you off to, woman?” hed sometimes grunt. “Back to that sweatshop?”
“Earning money,” shed answer drily. “So you can eat apples, remember?”
In the morning, shed drag herself home, Mark either still snoring or just about to leave for his own shift.
He seemed quite pleased to see her always scrounging for lunch or train fare.
One weekend, after a brutal night unloading lorries, Helen crawled into bed.
“Mark,” she mumbled from under the duvet. “Could you please look after our daughter? Take her out for a bit? I havent slept in 24 hours. Three hours, thats all I need.”
“I work too,” he shouted from behind the PC. “Its my day off. I deserve a holiday. Sort yourself out. Or let her play by herself!”
“She’s only 18 months, Mark! How can she play alone?” Helen propped herself up, her head throbbing.
“Put on some cartoons. Just keep her out of my hair. Sleep all afternoon if you want!”
Half an hour later, sleep impossible. Mark was yelling into his headset “LEFT FLANK! COVER ME!” while their daughter bashed toys on the floor.
Helen staggered up, bone tired, got the little one and headed for the kitchen to make porridge.
Helens new income patched the holes in their finances.
Mark noticed instantly.
He bought a fancy new gaming doohickey for himself, and when Helen asked where the food budget had gone, he pronounced that her salary was “community property”.
Helen saw red.
“When I ask for three hours sleep, it’s my problem.”
“When I ask you to stop eating everything I buy, thats me being posh.”
“But now, suddenly, the moneys ours?”
“Oh, dont start,” Mark frowned. “So I bought something. My right!”
“Of course it’s your right,” she replied sweetly.
The next day Helen opened her own bank account. A week later, she bought herself new jeans for the first time in three years and splurged on a pricey building set for her daughter. She hid a bag of her favorite treats in the wardrobe.
Lets be honest, she didnt feel like sharing those with her husband.
That evening, Mark foraged through the fridge and found only a pot of soup for the child and a lone carton of milk.
“Wheres the proper food?” he bellowed from the kitchen. “Wheres the meat? Wheres the pies, for crying out loud?”
Helen reclined in the armchair, book in hand, her daughter puttering nearby.
“No idea,” she called back. “You work too. Buy some and cook it.”
“What do you mean? Ive got no money I chucked it all on the credit card, paid off some debts. You got paid yesterday!”
“I did. And I’ve spent it.”
“On what?!”
“On myself. On our daughter. On my half of the mortgage.”
“You what?!” he roared. “We’re a family! Whats all this separate money nonsense?”
“Well, Mark, you said you work and get tired. So do I. Now we each pay our way. Im sick of carrying a grown man.”
Mark looked stunned.
He tried shouting, guilt-tripping her, going on about how money had ‘gone to her head’.
Helen listened calmly. She didnt need him anymore, and it showed.
A month later, he finally found another job.
Turns out, if you actually want to, you can find work that pays properly and on time. But the atmosphere stayed frosty.
**
Friday morning exploded with the sound of Mark flinging things about as he got ready for work.
“Wheres the washing powder?” he bellowed from the bathroom.
“Gone,” Helen replied from the kitchen, stirring porridge.
“What am I supposed to wash my uniform with?”
“Buy washing powder and wash it yourself.”
“Youre taking the mickey!” he thundered out, half-dressed and angry. “Im not giving you any more money! You dumped me when I was struggling! Split everything up! Not a penny, you hear?”
“Thats fine,” Helen said, turning off the cooker and facing him. “You live here. You use the soap and powder, you buy the bits. Why should I?”
“Because youre my wife!” He jabbed a finger at her. “But you act like a flatmate! Well, forget about any help from me now!”
“And when were you ever helpful, Mark?” she said quietly. “When I was feverish and you still demanded dinner? Or when I got in from a night shift begging for sleep, and you refused to help with your daughter?”
“Stop twisting things!” he shouted, snatching up his jacket. “Im off. Get the washing done for tonight. Find some powder, sell a kidney if you have to!”
That evening, oddly enough, he arrived home with flowers three limp carnations in cellophane.
“Here,” he shoved the bouquet at her. “Truce?”
Helen took the flowers. The gesture was so pitiful, she nearly burst out laughing.
“Mark, can we talk?”
“Later,” he shrugged. “Im starving. Whats for tea?”
He marched off to the kitchen, peering into pans nothing but echoes.
“Are you serious?” he turned to her, “Ive just come home from work! Im a man! I need feeding!”
“There are some frozen pies at the shop. And you can buy washing powder there too,” Helen replied, voice calm as ever.
“Oh, so now youre teaching me a lesson, are you?”
Demonstrations? I bring money into this house!”
He fished out five crumpled twenties and lobbed them onto the counter.
“There you go! A hundred quid! Buy food and cook a real meal! And do my laundry!”
Helen looked at the money, then up at her husband.
“Mark, this isnt about money.”
“Isnt it? Oh, is it because you think youre the Queen now? Whatever. Im having a shower, eating whatever I find, and tonight…” he gave her a leery grin and tried to snake his arm around her waist, “tonight youre repaying what you owe me. Dont forget whos boss.”
Helen recoiled, disgusted.
“Dont touch me.”
“Come again?” He blinked, confused. “Youre still my wife, arent you?”
“I dont owe you anything, Mark. Not money, not dinner nothing.”
“You cheeky cow!” he erupted. “I work hard and you boycott me? Careful, Ill find someone who appreciates a real man.”
“Go ahead,” Helen said. “Start packing.”
“What?”
“Pack your things, Mark. And leave.”
He was rooted to the spot.
“Youre kicking me out? Out of my own house?”
“Its a flat with a mortgage. I pay it. You havent paid a penny for half a year.”
“But I used to! In the past!”
“Mark, just go. Im done. I dont want this life. Im tired of being your mother, your cleaner, and your sugar-mummy. Im exhausted.”
“Whod have you?!” he shrieked, frothing with rage. “Old, with baggage! Ill go, you watch, youll beg me to come back in a week!”
“I wont,” Helen said, shaking her head. “Not ever.”
He stomped about, chucking things into his gym bag and ranting:
“Youll regret this! Youre nothing without me!”
Helen just watched in silence, desperate for it to end. She was so tired
****
Helen filed for divorce.
Mark was dropped as joint mortgage-holder not like he was paying anyway. Why spend extra when you can just move back in with your mum and live off her?
He pays child maintenance, but barely enough too stingy to spend real money on his daughter.
Helen has no regrets. Yes, its hard work, but at last, shes free.
