«You are leaving!» she declared to her husband.
Margaret Ryebrook was doing a thorough spring cleaning before the New Year when she uncovered a USB stick. It lay tucked behind the armchair, in the farright corner of the room, just beyond the radiator. At first glance it seemed invisible, like a hidden duty no one wanted to notice. But Margaret, crawling on the floor and wiping every crevice, eventually spotted the little device.
The timing could not have been worse: the eve of the New Year was upon them, and the whole house buzzed with festive anticipation. As the old rhyme goes, many days of rest, a tree full of lights, bubbles in the punch, a soft lamp glow, and a host of pleasant surprises. The Christmas tree was still bare; Margaret simply had no time to dress it. Her husband, Leonard, was of little help.
«You know, love,» he said, «I can’t untangle and hang the tinsel!» He also struggled to arrange the ornaments symmetrically.
«Why not, Len?» Margaret asked, amused. «Just use the trunk as the axisbranches on either side. Hang one side, then the other, and fill any gaps you find. How hard can it be?»
Leonard, however, saw only clutter on one side and emptiness on the other, a mess he called a bit of daftness.
«If you dont like it, hang it yourself!» he snapped, finding it all too convenient to be offended. The argument looped endlessly: If you dont like it, do it yourself! Cook, clean, and sort it all out yourself! Margaret took matters into her own hands, sparing them both the need to redo everything a hundred times later. Leonard, after all, had never learned such chores from a motherhe was not much of a handyman, but Margaret was generous enough to keep the peace, for love was her chief treasure.
She worked for a respectable firm that dealt in luxury lettings and sales of highend homes. In those days many sought penthouses and multistorey flats; some had empty stomachs, others merely a few pearls of modest means. Money was earned through hard work, and Margaret spent her days toiling so they could afford buttered bread, oranges, and a redcooked fish for dinnerher favourite treat.
Leonard, on the other hand, could never hold a steady job. His parents had never taught him the value of work, and the couple had no children yet. Well live for ourselves, he declared, and began to act on it. Leonard was a rugged, goodlooking fellow, the sort of man who might have been a country squire in another age. He had been dismissed from his first post three years earlier, right after their wedding.
Can you believe they demoted me? he said.
What of it? Margaret replied. A demotion isnt a disgrace; its a business need. At least we have a job! She urged him to take any lowerpaid position, insisting the loss would be slight. Leonard, however, quit in a fit of spite, claiming he would freeze his ears off for the world.
His fatherinlaw tried to place him with a friend, but the commute took forty minutes by busfar too long for a man who preferred to drive his own car for work. After two days of grueling effort, Leonard simply gave up.
Back on the sofa again? his motherinlaw teased, noting his lack of progress. Two further job offers fell through: one interviewer disliked him, the other turned out to be a dreadful supervisor. Leonard, with his aristocratic bearing, seemed destined for a manor or a title, not for honest labour. He and his mother both imagined him as a genteel figure meant only to bring joy to a ladyMargaret.
Despite the sharp words of his mother, who called Leonard general of the couchtroops, Margaret defended her husband. Hes not just lying around at your house, she said, aware that the old womans complaints held some truth. He simply isnt suited to this work.
When Leonard left for the baths with his mates, Margaret was left to finish the preNewYear tidying alone. There was no time to examine the USB stick; the couple owned several houses, and she tucked it safely into an ashtray. Leonard never searched for USB sticks, so it was clearly Margarets. She often stored property listings on such drives, so the forgotten device stayed untouched for a couple of weeks.
Then, as her grandmother liked to say, something gave her a poke, and Margaret finally decided to see what lay on the stick, hoping for something useful. Leonard went for a walkfresh air, as the old lady would call it. The first few seconds of the video were a bizarre mix of tango, Thai massage, and something else entirely, something quite indecent, she thought.
Its all nonsense, she muttered, but the central figure was Leonard, accompanied by a synchronized partner. The setting was unfamiliar, suggesting it was not a oneoff training session. Exercise makes the man, her grandmother had always said, and Margaret recalled those words as she stopped the clip.
Ah, dear Posh, what a lad! she whispered, turning off the screen. She imagined the footage involved a wellknown prosecutor caught in the act and some blackmail. The prosecutors motives were clearextortion. But who would have the nerve to blackmail a man who possessed no state secrets, no money, and no real value?
She decided she needed advice. Taking a day off, she grabbed the USB and drove to her clever friend Lucy, who was as sharp as the famed journalist Faye Somerset.
Do you think hes a secret agent? Margaret asked, hopeful that the video could be used for blackmail or a ransom.
Are you getting carried away? Lucy replied, her brother being a sailor, so nautical slang slipped into her speech. Your seal isnt an agent; his greatest feat is lying down! Agents need to move.
What should I do then? Margaret pressed.
Find a woman, Lucy advised, sipping her tea. Thats the proper cure.
Lucy went on to mock the idea of a plump turkey, saying, Who needs your inflated goose? She suggested Margaret post the footage online. Why not? Margaret asked. Why do people put things on the internet? Lucy answered with a reference to a footballer who posted everything. The conversation spiraled into absurd options: send, compromise, forgive, forget, or keep haunting him with guilt.
Finally, Lucy proposed they watch the rest of the clip. It ended not with credits but with a womans voice offering a telephone number. If you want to talk about this, call me, it said, and the number appeared on a scrap of paper. AmericaEurope, Margaret muttered, thinking the clue was absurd.
She called the number, arranged to meet at a café, and asked Lucy to accompany her as a pretend lawyer. Margaret was ready to give Leonard a final shove, perhaps sending his belongings to a new partner.
At the café, the scene unfolded like a stage play:
We love each other, please let him go, a pretty young woman of Margarets age declared.
What are you talking about? Im not holding him, Margaret replied.
You said hes taking all the money and you dont want a divorce! the woman asserted.
Margaret shot back, Youve been misinformed, dear. Take him if you wishI dont mind. Lucy added, If you want to take him, go ahead. Margaret concluded, Come this evening with his things.
The lover left, stunned, while Leonard slept, snoring after a hearty lunch of mushroom soup, beef with prunes, and a pot of stewed fruit. Margaret gathered his belongings and placed his luggage in the hallway. When Leonard finally woke, she said, Youre leaving!
But you know I cant shop for groceries! Leonard protested, thinking she was sending him to the shop.
The room is warm, the treenow decorated by my handsglows in the corner, and the telly shows a film, as it always does after New Years, Margaret said. Its almost the Day of Epiphany; the thermometers falling, and soon well have pancakes with jam. So dont go to the shop.
Where am I being sent? Leonard asked.
To where you can show what you do best, Margaret replied.
To mums? he guessed.
To the, she snapped, to the old lady!
Which old lady? Leonard inquired, noting both his grandmothers were already in heaven.
The one with whom you perform those circus tricks, Margaret said, turning on the TV.
Leonard stared, bewildered. He hadnt realized the USB was still in his pocket, tucked beneath a silk handkerchiefLeonard, ever the aesthetic, preferred cloth handkerchiefs.
Now say something clever, Margaret urged. Pretend youre not him, that an actor was hired, that you were under hypnosis, or druggedremember the prosecutor? He fought like a lion, yet he was not himself! You claim to be a real alpha male, but the prosecutor is a baby compared to you!
Leonard fell silent; he was not a fool, and he had never planned to leave Margaret. He also had no intention of moving into a council flat. The pastime was agreeable, especially for idle evenings, but it was not his true desire.
Margaret recalled Lucys sailor uncle and said, Seven feet under the keel, thats all you getsail away, the channel is clear!
Will you forgive me? Leonard begged.
No, Margaret answered.
Pancakes? Leonard blurted out.
She laughed, noting that if he deserved any pancakes, they would be cows milk ones. Sail on, Cruizer, for a full belly is hard to earn! she said, pulling the USB from her computer. A bonus from the firmgive it to mum, show her Stallone!
Leonard left, into whoknowswhere, no longer of interest to Margaret. The scene shifted, as if from another rhyme: the tree twinkled, the television droned, the old sofa sat empty, and everything was finished.
A Frenchspeaking friend called, pressing for sympathy, but the truth was clear: Leonard was not a lunatic; he returned to a onebedroom flat with his mother. Feeding a healthy, idle man with a big appetite proved difficult, so his mother asked, Will you take him back, Margaret?
Heres a little something for your dear boy, Margaret thought, blocking the numbers, for his mother had never shown affection toward the daughterinlaw.
Thus Margaret filed for divorce. It was truly the end, and a surprise for Leonard and his mother. He had wanted pancakes with jam, not anything else. The story closed, a reminder of how a simple cleaning, a misplaced USB, and a stubborn husband can set a chain of events in motion that ends, at last, with a quiet resolution.
