Youre leaving! Mabel Rybinski shouted at her husband, her voice cracking like a winter wind.
Mabel had been deepcleaning the flat for the New Year when she knocked a tiny USB stick out from beneath the armchair, tucked in the far corner right beside the radiator. It was almost invisible, a hidden secret as stubborn as a locked diary.
She was scrubbing every edge of the room, crouched on the carpet, when the flash drive finally glimmered in the dim light. The house was humming with festive anticipation the calendar read 31December, the tree stood bare, the string lights waited to be strung, and the whole flat buzzed with the promise of a fresh start.
The tree itself was still undecorated; Mabel had no time for baubles. Leonard, her husband, was a man of simple talents.
You know, love, he said, sighing, I cant untangle these fairy lights.
He fumbled with the ornaments, never quite getting the symmetry right. Why is that so hard, Len? Mabel asked, trying to keep the mood light.
Just put the trunk in the centre, then the branches left and right, she suggested. Hang one on the left, then the right, fill any gaps. It cant be that hard.
Leonard, however, could only see chaos: a dense clump of ornaments on one side, a barren stretch on the other. It was what the old aunt used to call a righthanded mess.
If you dont like it, do it yourself! Leonard snapped, the words tasting sour but oddly comforting. The argument spiraled If you dont like it, hang it yourself! If you dont want to cook, cook yourself! a tirade that seemed endless.
Mabel opted to do everything alone; it was faster than redoing the whole job a hundred times. Leonard, frankly, had never learned any useful skill from his mother, but the fault mattered little. He was a good man, and to Mabel, that was enough. The rest could be patched up with a little humour and a sturdy umbrella, as the old saying went.
Mabels life was simple. She worked for a boutique property firm in London, dealing in highend apartments and penthouses. In a market where everyone seemed to need a view of the Thames, the commissions were generous. She toiled all day, earning enough to buy Leonard a loaf of buttered bread, a bag of oranges, and a bright red fish for the table I love you, love, shed whisper.
Leonard, on the other hand, was chronically unemployed. His parents hadnt taught him to work, and he drifted from one deadend job to another. Well live just for ourselves, hed say, and Mabel believed him.
Leonard was a solid, handsome bloke, the sort of fellow who could have been a lord in another life. Hed quit his first post three years ago, right after their wedding.
Can you imagine? They demoted me! hed declared.
Demoted, not disgraced, Mabel corrected. Its just a reshuffle. At least we have a job.
When Leonard finally quit again, his father tried to set him up with a friends firm, but the commute was a grueling fortyminute bus ride. Mabel drove her own car for work, so she shooed him away: Move along, love.
After two days of frantic jobhunting, Leonard crashed on the sofa.
Back on the couch again? his motherinlaw sniped, a hint of triumph in her voice.
Two more offers fell through one interviewer was rude, the other a tyrant. Leonard, despite his aristocratic bearing, seemed born to be admired rather than to labour.
Mabel loved him despite the grandmas barbs, calling Leonard a general of the couch troops. Whats it to you? Mabel defended, though she knew the old woman had a point Leonard didnt pull his weight at home.
When Leonard left for a night out with his mates at the local sauna, leaving Mabel alone with the endless preNewYear chores, she sighed, You handle the flash drive later, love. Ive got a dozen things to sort.
There was no time to investigate the mysterious USB. Their flat was one of several, and with a laugh, she tucked it into an ashtray. Leonard never looked for flash drives, so it stayed hidden for weeks.
Then one afternoon, a sudden curiosity Whats on it? drove Mabel to finally plug it in. Leonard went for a walk, the fresh air a brief respite.
What played on the screen was a bizarre mashup: a sultry tango, a Thai massage tutorial, some odd morningtonight routine, and a shadowy, illicit segment that made her stomach churn. The main star was Leonard, but he wasnt alone; a woman moved in perfect sync with him, their faces never fully visible.
Mabel thought of the words her grandmother used to murmur, All success comes from practice. She laughed, Bravo, Shakespeare, bravo! and stopped the video after a few seconds. The scene reminded her of a notorious prosecutor in a scandal blackmail, pure and simple.
Could he be a spy? Mabel asked her sharptongued friend Lucy, who worked in legal services. Maybe theyll extort him for money.
Lucy snorted. Your bloke? The only thing hes good at is lying on the sofa. Spies need to move.
Find a lady, thats the answer, Lucy declared over a cup of tea, and let the rest sort itself out.
Mabel wondered why anyone would post such nonsense online. Why would anyone upload that? she asked.
Lucy shrugged. Because people love drama. Look at the headlines.
Should I share it? Mabel hesitated.
Only if you want the whole world to see it, Lucy teased. Or just delete it and move on.
In the end they watched the whole thing, because curiosity beat caution. The ending was a shock: a womans voice, soft and urgent, read out a phone number on a scrap of paper. If you want to talk, call me. The number was a US code, absurdly out of place.
Great, Lucy said, smirking. Now youve got a mystery to solve.
Mabel called the number and arranged to meet at a café, inviting Lucy to come along as your lawyer. At the café, a nervous-looking woman approached, pleading: We love each other, please let him go! You saw how much we care!
Mabel, eyes cold as ice, replied, What makes you think Im holding him?
You said Leonard told you youd take all his money! the woman alleged.
Mabel laughed, a thin, bitter sound. Youve been misinformed, dear. Take him, I dont mind.
The womans face fell. Lucy whispered, Take him however you like.
Mabel added, Expect his things tonight.
The two women left, the café empty except for a trembling lover who stared at the floor.
Back at the flat, Leonard slept, snoring softly after a hearty dinner of mushroom soup, beef with prunes, and a jug of compote. Mabel packed his belongings, placing a duffel in the hallway. When Leonard finally awoke, she stared at him, a storm in her eyes.
Youre leaving! she said.
I cant shop for groceries! Leonard protested, as if being sent to a shop was his punishment. Send me yourself then!
The room was warm, the small Christmas tree now glittering with the ornaments Mabel had finally managed to hang. The television whispered old filmsa postNewYear tradition. Outside, the thermometer dipped, snow began to fall, and the scent of pancakes with jam drifted from the kitchen.
Its not a shop Im sending you to, Mabel said, voice low. Its somewhere you can finally show what youre good at.
Moms? Leonard guessed, his eyes flickering to the photograph of his mother on the mantel.
Your mothers! Mabel snapped. Or perhaps to the other mum the one who watches your circus tricks!
Leonards mouth fell open. What are you doing with that flash drive? he asked, reaching for his pocket, where a crumpled handkerchief lay, the same one he always used.
Mabel pressed the device to his cheek. Speak something clever. Pretend youre an actor, not a lazy husband.
She reminded him of the prosecutor, a lion fighting his own shadow. She snarled, Youre a real macho alphalook at those legs, the swagger! The prosecutor is nothing but a baby compared to you!
Leonard stayed silent, the rage in his eyes softening. He hadnt planned to run, certainly not from Mabels cramped flat.
Mabels mind raced. Did you ever think a woman could outwit a man? she muttered, recalling Lucys sailor uncle, the one who always said the sea knows all secrets.
Seven fathoms under the keel, thats where you belong, she scoffed. Swim away, Captain Cook of the sofa!
Leonard tried to plead, Maybe youll forgive me?
Never, Mabel replied, pulling a bag of crisps from the cupboard. And pancakes? Youre lucky I even let you have one.
She laughed, A sailor without biscuits cant sail! and hauled the flash drive from the ashtray, waving it like a trophy.
Leonard slunk out, destination unknown, his silhouette swallowed by the night. The flat fell silent, the empty sofa a stark reminder of what had been.
The television flickered, the trees lights twinkled, and the room seemed to freeze in a final, Frenchkissed tableau. A phone rang it was Mabels exmotherinlaw, pleading for sympathy, asking why Mabel had taken such a good lad away.
Mabel, having blocked all his numbers, felt a pang of triumph. She had signed the papers for divorce, a final curtain call. It was, indeed, the end. The only thing left was the lingering scent of pancakes and the echo of a broken promise.
