**Diary Entry 18th March**
*”You can always go back to your village,” he said when I lost my job.*
“Emily, why so quiet? Your stews getting cold,” Thomas tapped his spoon against the bowl, glancing at me impatiently. I set my phone asideanother day of calls, another day of rejections. “Sorry, just thinking,” I murmured, picking up my spoon. Id made his favourite beef and ale stew, just the way he liked it. Now it tasted like wasted effort.
“Still on about work?” He blew on a steaming spoonful, barely looking up.
“What else is there? Sarah says theyre downsizing at her firm. Lucy from accountings been out of work for months.”
“Oh, stop fretting,” he waved me off. “Youll find something. Plenty of time.”
“Im forty-three, Tom. Who hires at my age? They want graduates, tech-savvy, fresh-faced. All Ive done is work a till my whole life.”
“Honest work,” he shrugged, reaching for the bread. “Stale, though. Whend you buy this?”
I didnt answer. The loaf was from two days agoevery penny counted since the supermarket let me go. His construction wage barely covered bills, and even that came late.
“Maybe visit your sister in London?” he suggested suddenly. “Stay a week, clear your head. Ill manage here.”
Margaret lived in a flat near Canary Wharf, some high-up job in finance. We barely spoke except at Christmas.
“Why would I go? Shes got her own life. And train fares arent cheap.”
“Well sort the money,” he stood, pacing to the window. “Orwhat about your mums? The cottage. At least theres the garden, eggs from the hens. You wont starve.”
I froze. Mum lived in Mallowbrook, sixty miles north. Last visit was three years back, for Uncle Jims funeral. The village was dyingjust pensioners left.
“Youre serious? Mallowbrook?” I stared at him. “What about you?”
“Me? Ive got work. Cant just drop everything. Im the only one bringing in money now.”
*For now*, I almost said.
“Dont twist my words!” He turned sharply. “Im not saying forever. A month or two, till you land something. Better than moping here.”
“Moping?” I stood, clearing the table. “Who does the washing? The cooking? Who queued at the GP when your back went out?”
“Well, thats just how it is,” he muttered. “Didnt mean it like that. Just” He scratched his neck. “If you want, go back to your village. Less stress.”
*Back to your village.* Like our home for twenty years meant nothing. Like I didnt belong.
“My village?” My voice shook. “And this house? Was I a guest all this time?”
“Em, dont” He paled at my tone. “I didnt mean”
“You meant its easier if Im gone. No job, no paybest pack me off where I wont be a bother.”
“Dont be daft!” He flopped onto the sofa, snapping the telly on. “Had a long day, and youre starting rows.”
I washed up in silence. His words echoed*back to your village*casual, almost relieved.
That night, he dozed off to some football match. I lay awake, remembering our early days. Twenty-three, fresh from Mallowbrook, sharing a bedsit while I stocked shelves at Tesco. Hed been a labourer then, all charm, bringing me daffodils, taking me to the pub. We scraped together the deposit, got the mortgage. I worked up to manager. Now? Hed relegated me like outdated stock.
“Mum? Its midnight,” my daughter Charlotte mumbled through the phone.
“Sorry, love. Just wanted to hear your voice.”
“You sound odd. Everything alright?”
She lived in Manchester now, a junior banker, newly married. We barely talked.
“Fine. Hows Mark?”
“Good. Mum, reallywhats wrong?”
I almost told herthe job hunt, Toms dismissal. But why burden her?
“Nothing, sweetheart. Sleep well.”
Next morning, Tom brought me tea in bed, pecked my cheek. “Sorry about last night. Only want whats best.”
“Mm.”
“Listenspoke to the lads. Daves wife says her office needs a bookkeeper. Fancy it?”
“Im not a bookkeeper.”
“Could learn. Take a course.”
“Courses cost money, Tom.”
“Well manage,” he said airily. “If youre keen.”
I was keen. But every job ad stung: *”Under 30s only.” “Must know Excel.” “No over-40s.”*
I rang my old coworker, Janet. “Any luck?” she asked.
“None. You?”
“Worse. Two more got the boot last week. Rumor says theyre shutting our store.”
That evening, I told Tom, “Im going to Mums.”
“How long?” He didnt look up from his plate.
“A week. Maybe more.”
“Right. Ill fix the shed finally.”
“The shed? Youve said that for months.”
“Time now. Be quicker without you hovering.”
*Without you.* Another barb lodged in my chest.
I packed lightjeans, jumpers, a waterproof. He drove me to the bus stop. “Call when you arrive,” he said, kissing me stiffly.
Mallowbrooks bus wound through patchwork fields. The further we got, the lighter I felt. Maybe Tom was right. A break from bills, from rejection letters.
“Emily, love!” Mum hugged me on the doorstep. “You shouldve called! Id have made a pie!”
“Last-minute decision,” I lied.
Her eyes narrowed. “Wheres Tom?”
“Work. Hell visit soon.”
She hummed, knowing better.
The cottage smelled of woodsmoke and linen. Same floral wallpaper, same creaky stairs. “Rest,” she said, patting my hand. “Talk when youre ready.”
For days, I did nothing. Slept in, helped weed the garden, visited Mrs. Wilkinsmy old teacher, now widowed, knitting socks on her porch. “Kids forget us,” she mused. “We gave too much. Taught them to take, not give back.”
Mum nodded when I told her. “Your dad never made me feel unwanted. Thats love.”
Tom rang on day four. “Coming home soon?”
“I dont know.”
“What? I miss you!”
*Do you?* I thought after he hung up.
“Stay if you want,” Mum said carefully. “But its not running away, is it?”
When Tom arrived unannounced, I met him at the gate. “Time to come home,” he said.
“Why? You said youd manage.”
“I was wrong. Forgive me.”
But the trust was broken. “I need time,” I told him. “To remember who I am without you.”
He left, baffled. Mum worried I was acting out of spite. But for the first time in years, I felt steady.
Theres a cleaner job going at the village school. The pays poor, but theres eggs from the hens, potatoes from the garden. And Mums smile when I said Id stay.
FunnyI thought home was where Tom was. Turns out, its where youre not asked to leave.
**Lesson:** A man who loves you wont make you beg to belong.
