Bury the Hatchet

Bury the Hatchet

Two steps forward, one step back. Any progress always curbed under his expert management. Honeymoon money pumped into his business with promises of plentiful rewards further down the line. Deposit large enough for a house whittled down until it could barely afford the two bed flat soon bursting at the seams with children. Attempts to upsize failing one after another as paltry nesteggs disappeared into the mundane dreams of a man who knew how to do nothing but stagnate. 

When finally an end terrace with a leaky roof and a virtual weed farm next door fell into their price range, he crowed and asked her how lucky she felt, being married to such a good provider. Who cared if they were outside the catchment area for any of the good schools? Or that the closest they came to a supportive community was the needle exchange next to the dilapidated town hall? All of that would be a thing of the past once the business took off. 

Those days were always just around the corner, mere weeks, months, years away. The family endured each lean year, promises bulking out their meagre meals, scraping together enough good will and perseverance to emerge from the crucible of school with barely decent grades and a barely decent start in life. And just as quickly as it was filled, the nest emptied, pension years creeping up with inevitable menace. 

Still the business meandered along, dips evening out, booms growing inch by inch. Light, at last, appearing at the end of the tunnel. Old disputes lost their edge, the occasional splurge on a takeaway or a few extra drinks at the pub no longer subject to the same tired arguments. And he was spending more time at work. A lot more time. Always a guarantee of harmony in the household. 

But an empty nest is a lonely place, especially in a newly bought family home, 20 years too late for their needs. Why couldn’t she just be happy? That became a constant question. Did she know how much work it took to provide her with every little thing she wanted? 

She did. She’d had a front seat to that hard work her entire life. Her bones still ached with the memories of being jolted from one crisis to the next. 

Companionship is an expensive thing. A luxury the truly successful simply cannot afford. Yet solitude was a heavy weight dragging her down towards the darkness ready to receive her with open arms. 

The darkness was never far from her thoughts now. Perhaps that fear is less acute with someone by your side, facing the oncoming storm together, hand in hand until the very end. She had no way of knowing. 

Yes, the fear was palpable, but it wasn’t long before something unexpected blotted it out completely. 

Red bills suddenly appearing in the post, overdue mortgage payments for a house presumably fully owned for years, and never the time to confront him. Always at the office, always too busy to answer the phone. Accounts indicated the business was as profitable as ever whilst money trickled away like water. 

Hiding her hand, knowing blatant denial was all she could expect from direct confrontation, it took only a few days of dedicated stalking for everything to fall into place. 

A secluded spot one town over, a couple locked in a passionate embrace, the shadowy corner not dark enough to hide their shameful betrayal. The woman was familiar to her, a family friend with whom she shared many secrets. Diamonds encircling a pasty throat, a flashy car they slipped into as soon as dinner was over, journeying to the ostentatious flat for which there was never a good explanation as to how it could be afforded in this economy. Money wasn’t trickling away, it was simply being diverted. Paying for years of luxury her children were continually denied. 

She was waiting in the kitchen when he got back. Lights off, of course. He didn’t see her seated at the table as he slipped through the back door, his habit when returning home after 3am. He didn’t notice her as he crept across the heated tiles, but then he hadn’t been in the habit of noticing her for years. 

And he didn’t utter a word as her arm swung down, deciding that it was high time she let go of all of her anger and buried the hatchet.  

Afterall, one shouldn’t go to bed angry.