You’re Leaving! — Announced the Wife to Her Husband

You’re going! she announced to her husband.

Beverly Redford was doing a thorough springclean for the New Year when she stumbled across a USB stick.

It lay tucked behind the armchair, in the far corner to the right of the radiator practically invisible, like a covert operation.

Beverly was scurrying around on all fours, dusting every nook, so the gadget finally gave itself up.

The timing was perfect: the eve of the New Year, everyone in a festive mood, as the rhyme goes a heap of days off, a Christmas tree blazing with lights, bubbles in the punch, a dim lamp casting a cosy glow, and a whole lot of unexpected joy.

The tree was still bare; Beverly simply hadnt found the time. Her husband, Liam, was of no help either:

Love, you know I cant untangle and hang the tinsel! he complained.

And he was hopeless at arranging the ornaments symmetrically.

Why, Len? Beverly asked, halfamused. Look, the trunk will be the axis branches on the left and right. Hang one side, then the other, and fill any gaps. Easy, isnt it?

But Liam, bless his heart, saw only chaos on one side and a desert on the other a classic case of decorative dyslexia.

Fine, do it yourself! he snapped, which was oddly convenient for him. The mantra around the house became: Dont like it? Do it yourself! Cook yourself! Clean yourself! a sort of domestic anarchy.

Beverly took matters into her own hands, sparing everyone a hundred redos later.

Liam, it seemed, had never been taught any handy skills by a caring mother, but that was no crisis; Beverly was magnanimous, after all. All she needed for happiness was a nice bloke by her side, and the rest could be smoothed over with a good umbrella cheers to our witty songwriters!

Beverlys life was simple and unpretentious. She wasnt some naïve child; she was a sharpwitted saleswoman at a firm that rented and sold upscale flats.

Turns out, in todays market, penthouses and multilevel apartments are the rage some folks have empty soup bowls, others have tiny pearls of profit.

Money was earned with the philosophy spend as you earn, and lovely Beverly spent the whole day hustling to bring home bread with butter, oranges and a redcooked trout I adore a proper dinner, love!

Liam, on the other hand, was chronically unemployed; his parents hadnt bothered to teach him the value of work.

They had no children yet. Well live for ourselves, Liam declared, and set about doing just that.

Liam was a handsome, sturdy fellow, a proper English gentleman the sort who could flash a grin and dash off to his mums house in a jiffy.

Hed quit his first job right after they wed three years ago:

Can you believe they demoted me? he said.

And then? Beverly asked.

It wasnt a humiliation, just a reshuffle a business necessity, she reasoned. Thank heavens theres still a job!

She urged him to take any role, even a lower one a few pounds less wouldnt kill them. Im working, so no worries, she added.

His attempts at work fell flat; he quit in a fit of spite, claiming hed freeze the ears off the boss. His fatherinlaw tried to set him up with a friend, but the commute was a maddening fortyminute bus ride, whereas Beverly drove herself for work, so sorry, move along.

After two days of hard labour, Liam gave up.

Off the sofa again? his cheeky grandmother asked, having caught wind of his latest exploits.

Two more job offers were promptly rejected one interviewer was a bore, the other a proper tyrant. In his mind, Liam ought to have been born a lord, a squire, perhaps even a miniSultan!

It was obvious he was more suited to lounging and charming a lady than to any desk job a thought shared by his mother.

Beverly loved Liam despite the snide remarks from Grandma, who dubbed him General of the CouchTroops.

Youre not a soldier, love, Beverly defended, he doesnt just lie around at home!

Grandma retorted, Its an insult to the empire a pretty, clever girl like you married to a lazy drudge!

And with that, Liam off to the sauna with his mates, leaving Beverly to tackle the preNewYear tidy alone: Youll manage, love. You know my decorating is terrible!

There was no time to fiddle with the USB the house had several spare rooms anyway so she slipped it into the ashtray.

Liam never looked for USB sticks, so it was clearly Beverlys. She often stored property listings on such drives, so the forgotten stick stayed in the drawer for a couple of weeks.

Then, as Grandma liked to say, something touched her, and she finally decided to see what was on the stick who knows, maybe something useful?

Liam went for a walk; fresh air is good for the soul. The opening of the mysterious video turned out to be a bizarre mashup of tango, Thai massage tutorials, and lets just say, questionable content.

Never mind it, Beverly thought, the lead is my own Liam, with a mysterious female sidekick, working in perfect sync!

All of this unfolded in a setting unfamiliar to her a new interior, hinting that this wasnt the first successful training day. As Grandma liked to say, Everything in life is achieved through practice.

Aye, Pushkin! Beverly muttered after a few seconds of the clip, so thats what hes been up to while Im at work.

The plot hinted at a shady prosecutor, blackmail, and a whole lot of intrigue but who was the mastermind?

Liam was hardly a state secret; he kept no secrets, had almost no cash, and seemed virtually useless. Yet, somehow, someone wanted him.

Beverly decided to take a halfday off, grab the USB, and visit her savvy friend Lucy, who was as sharp as the famous Fanny The DogWhisperer.

Think hes a secret agent? Beverly asked, hopeful. Probably trying to blackmail us for ransom.

Did a wave hit you? Lucy replied, recalling her uncles naval slang. Your seal is an agent? Hes best at lying down! Agents move, love.

Lucy, sipping a tea she called DryBiscuit, advised, Find a woman, then the rest will sort itself out.

Beverly, exasperated, asked, What about that inflated turkey? Who needs it? Not a very bright one, I hear.

Lucy snorted, If you dump that rubbish online, maybe someone will bite.

Why would I post it? Beverly wondered.

Because people post everything online. Remember when Dzuva posted that weird thing?

The world will never understand why you posted it, Beverly retorted.

Lucy nudged, So what do you think? Youre young, beautiful, independent. Choose: send it, compromise, forgive, or keep nagging him.

Lets see how it ends, Lucy suggested, maybe the culprit shows a different side.

They watched to the bitter end. The finale was unexpected no credits, just a female voice saying, If you want to talk, heres my number. A slip of paper appeared with a phone number.

Ah, AmericaEurope! Lucy exclaimed. Thats where the dog dug up the truth!

Beverly dialed straight away; they arranged to meet at a café, with Lucy promising to act as her lawyer and keep her from rash decisions.

At the café the drama unfolded like a sitcom:

We love each other, please let him go! declared a pretty young woman, presumably Liams new partner.

Let go? What makes you think Im holding him? Beverly asked.

The neighbour said so! the woman protested.

Because youre taking all his money and wont divorce! the lawyer added.

Beverly, icecold, replied, Youve been misinformed, dear. Take him, I dont mind!

Can I just take him now? the woman gasped.

Liam said the wife is a a a

Take him however you like, Lucy advised.

Tonight, bring the luggage! Beverly added.

The women left, the stunned lover stayed, hoping her wish would come true later that evening.

Liam was snoring after a hearty lunch of mushroom soup, beef with prunes, and a sweet compote. Beverly gathered his belongings and placed a suitcase in the hallway. When Liam finally woke, she said:

Youre leaving!

But you know I cant even shop properly! Liam whined, thinking shed sent him to the shop. Then go yourself!

The room was warm, the tiny tree sparkling from Beverlys modest decorations, and the telly playing a film the usual postNewYear routine.

Christmas was approaching; the thermometer outside fell, and someone sent Liam to the shop for pancakes with jam. Im not sending you to the shop! Beverly snapped.

Where then? he asked.

To wherever you can showcase what youre best at!

To Mums? he suggested, thinking of his mothers house, his favourite haunt.

To the Beverly cut in, broadshouldered lady! (Both his grandmothers were already up in heaven, by the way.)

The one who does all those circus tricks! she added, flicking on the TV.

Liam stared, bewildered: was this some avantgarde interior? What had she slipped into his pocket? Hed pulled out the USB with a handkerchief Liam, ever the aesthetic, preferred cloth tissues.

Come on, say something clever, Beverly urged. Maybe youre an actor, under hypnosis, drugs, or something?

Remember the prosecutor? Hed been roaring like a lion Im not me, and that horse isnt mine! She jabbed, Whats worse? A real macho, an alpha male, kicking his legs about? The prosecutors a baby compared to you!

Liam fell silent; he wasnt a fool, and leaving Beverly was never on his agenda especially not to move into a council flat.

She was good for a laugh, but not much else. Still, how did she manage to get on camera? Did anyone love him that much?

Liam kept lying that Beverly was blocking a divorce, stealing money, and even pounding the walls. He was a towering bloke, over six foot.

Lucy turned out to be right; Beverly wasnt the brightest, but shed learned from her uncle the sailors wisdom:

Seven feet under the keel, sail away! The channels clear! she declared.

Will you forgive me? Liam begged.

No! Beverly shot back.

Pancakes? he blurted.

In your position, if you deserve pancakes theyre cowflavoured, she replied.

Row without pancakes, Captain Cook, its hard to steer a full stomach! she laughed, pulling the USB from her laptop.

Freebie from the firm! Show it to Mum, call it Stallone! she quipped, and Liam sauntered off to whoknowswhere.

The scene shifted like a Christmas carol: the tree blinking, the telly humming, the old sofa empty. Fin, she muttered thats French for the end.

A number appeared on a scrap: AmericaEurope, where the dog dug up the clue! Lucy laughed, Theres your explanation!

Beverly called the number, arranged to meet at a café, and Lucy offered to be her solicitor, promising to keep her from any rash moves.

At the café, the drama unfolded in classic sitcom fashion:

We love each other, please release him! the pretty woman pleaded.

Release? Why do you think Im holding him? Beverly replied.

Because you take all his money and wont divorce! the lawyer chimed in.

Beverly, icy, said, Youve been misinformed, dear. Take him, I dont mind!

The woman, shocked, asked, Can I just take him now?

Take him however you like, Lucy advised.

Tonight, bring his stuff! Beverly added.

The women left, the stunned lover sat, hoping her dream would materialise later that night.

Liam slept on, snoring after a sumptuous meal. Beverly stacked his bags, left a suitcase in the hallway, and when he finally woke she said, Youre leaving!

But I cant even shop! he protested, thinking shed sent him to the supermarket. Then go yourself!

The flat was cosy, the tiny tree glimmered, the telly played a film the usual postNewYear scene.

Christmas was near, the streets were frosty, and the thermometer slipped. Someone sent Liam out for pancakes with jam. Im not sending you to the shop! Beverly snapped.

Where then? he asked.

To wherever you can show what you do best!

To Mums? he suggested, recalling his mothers cosy cottage.

To the she cut in, broadshouldered lady! (Both his grandmothers were already in the great beyond.)

The one who does those circus tricks! she added, flicking on the TV.

Liam stared, bewildered. Had she slipped something into his pocket? Hed pulled out the USB with a handkerchief Liam, ever the aesthete, preferred cloth tissues.