G
Grace
Guest
Kate said I should go for it, so be gentle with me.
The woman suddenly stopped vacuuming and sat down heavily on the sofa, her heart beating rapidly. For the hundreth time since Friday night she mulled over what he said before he left on his solitary camping trip. What was it? "......when I get back tomorrow there is something we have to discuss...". Could he mean he was tired of her because she was beginning, after all these years, to fight back against his verbal abuse and petty rules and he didn't like it. All those rules - always fill the kettle from a jug, cheese must be cut to the exact size to fit on a cream cracker, always ask permission to switch on the immersion heater for a bath, remember to put used cutlery in a bowl of warm water, separate from the dishes. Always make sure his favourite knife and fork was available because he wouldn't use any other. If company came never sit in his chair, it was ok if visitors did it, but she mustn't. Never open windows without asking if it was ok. On it went rules by the dozen. She seemed to anger him if they went out together and somehow he always managed to belittle her in front of other people. Every morning when he came downstairs she never knew when some rule had been infringed and he would blow his top, swear at her and throw things around and then the mood was set for the day. No wonder the children tried to visit only when they knew he wouldn't be there. Years of telling them how stupid and useless they were, just like their mother, had resulted in three very insecure young adults. There was no doubt he had got much worse since the children had married and left home, she was his only punchbag now. Not that he hit her, he didn't, well maybe that once, it was just that she never seemed to do anything right. She missed her children, now there was never any laughter in the house and she loved to laugh.
Well, if that was the way he wanted it then this time she was ready for him and she wouldn't back down. Her son had said that with half of the money from the proceeds of the house she could afford a little flat. It wouldn't be easy, but with the help of the children it wasn't too late to start again, was it? She could go dancing, yes, she would really like to do that. Sometimes she would jig around to the radio hoping he would join in, but he just glared at her. The children, seeing their father getting more unstable and abusive had encouraged her to think seriously about leaving and now perhaps it was going to happen. She would be strong and face whatever he had to say. The woman stood up and continued her housework when she heard his key in the lock. She hurried into the kitchen to make him his favourite beef and mustard sandwiches, he would like that and hopefully it would put him in a good mood. She thought maybe what he said before he left was only because he was late leaving and that had made him angry. Yes, thinking about it she was sure that's what it was, perhaps she would think about the little flat another day.
The woman suddenly stopped vacuuming and sat down heavily on the sofa, her heart beating rapidly. For the hundreth time since Friday night she mulled over what he said before he left on his solitary camping trip. What was it? "......when I get back tomorrow there is something we have to discuss...". Could he mean he was tired of her because she was beginning, after all these years, to fight back against his verbal abuse and petty rules and he didn't like it. All those rules - always fill the kettle from a jug, cheese must be cut to the exact size to fit on a cream cracker, always ask permission to switch on the immersion heater for a bath, remember to put used cutlery in a bowl of warm water, separate from the dishes. Always make sure his favourite knife and fork was available because he wouldn't use any other. If company came never sit in his chair, it was ok if visitors did it, but she mustn't. Never open windows without asking if it was ok. On it went rules by the dozen. She seemed to anger him if they went out together and somehow he always managed to belittle her in front of other people. Every morning when he came downstairs she never knew when some rule had been infringed and he would blow his top, swear at her and throw things around and then the mood was set for the day. No wonder the children tried to visit only when they knew he wouldn't be there. Years of telling them how stupid and useless they were, just like their mother, had resulted in three very insecure young adults. There was no doubt he had got much worse since the children had married and left home, she was his only punchbag now. Not that he hit her, he didn't, well maybe that once, it was just that she never seemed to do anything right. She missed her children, now there was never any laughter in the house and she loved to laugh.
Well, if that was the way he wanted it then this time she was ready for him and she wouldn't back down. Her son had said that with half of the money from the proceeds of the house she could afford a little flat. It wouldn't be easy, but with the help of the children it wasn't too late to start again, was it? She could go dancing, yes, she would really like to do that. Sometimes she would jig around to the radio hoping he would join in, but he just glared at her. The children, seeing their father getting more unstable and abusive had encouraged her to think seriously about leaving and now perhaps it was going to happen. She would be strong and face whatever he had to say. The woman stood up and continued her housework when she heard his key in the lock. She hurried into the kitchen to make him his favourite beef and mustard sandwiches, he would like that and hopefully it would put him in a good mood. She thought maybe what he said before he left was only because he was late leaving and that had made him angry. Yes, thinking about it she was sure that's what it was, perhaps she would think about the little flat another day.
Great Grace well done and so very true. I was wondering when you were going to give us something and it was well worth waiting for. 
