The Crocodile Handbag
Saturday slipped by in a haze of quiet drizzle, tracing crooked paths down the windowpanes. The flat carried the scent of strong tea and that peculiar Saturday calmthe kind where the weight of the workweek finally lifts. Emily curled into the threadbare armchair, the one passed down from her Nan, its cushions sagging with years of use, and cradled her favourite mug. The warmth seeped into her palms.
This is peace, she thought, inhaling the teas comforting steam. No chatter, no talk of bills or jobs or how its “about time” for this or that. Just her, a hot cuppa, and a new show on the telly.
These stolen hours had become her refuge. James, her husband, had been jobless for months, and the flat had turned into a silent battleground. He spent his days glued to the computerFIFA, shooter games, the occasional half-hearted scroll through job listings, though the screen rarely showed anything resembling work.
“Love!” James voice shattered the quiet like a firework. “Youll never guessMums picked her anniversary present!”
He burst in, grinning like a boy who’d just scored the winning goal. Emily peeled her eyes from the screen. Something in his tone set her teeth on edge.
“A genuine crocodile handbag!” James barrelled on, oblivious. “Shes wanted one for ages!”
Emily set her mug down slowly. “A crocodile handbag? Did she choose that herself, or did someone plant the idea? And did anyone consider how the animal rights lot might feel?”
The sarcasm sailed right past him.
“Shes my mum! She deserves it!”
“Deserves it?” Emily felt something twist inside. “What exactly has she done to earn it? Raised you, finebut Ive got my own parents. And how much is this gift setting us back?”
James coughed, shifting uncomfortably.
“Oh, peanuts, really About five of your paychecks.”
The floor might as well have vanished beneath her.
“Five paychecks?” she repeated, voice icy.
“Well, yeah, its proper Nile crocodile, not some fake rubbish,” he said, as though that explained everything.
“And why are you telling me? I couldnt care less.”
James fidgeted, eyes darting away.
“Well I put it on finance.”
“On finance?” Her voice dropped to a whisper.
“Yeah. Cheers to my sis Lucyshe sorted it. Works at the bank, got it all pushed through quick.”
“And whose names on it?”
A dreadful realisation took root.
“Well, whose dyou think yours. Who else? I just used your details.”
Emily stood, wordless, and stepped toward him. She wanted to throttle him. Or at least lob the teapot at his head.
“So, James darling, youve been unemployed for months, decided to spoil Mummy, and now Im footing the bill?”
James took an involuntary step back.
“Em, it just happened that way Youre the only one bringing in wages”
“I am working! And you, instead of job-hunting, instead of pulling your weight like a proper husband, sit about like some layabout student and reckon Ive got nothing better to do than cover your daft loans!”
“Em, dont blow a fuse! Its just a bit of creditno harm done!”
Just then, his mother, Margaret, made her grand entrance. She always “popped round to see the kids,” though it really meant a parade of backhanded compliments and meddling.
“Whats all this racket?” she demanded, sweeping in like she owned the place.
“Nothing, Mum. Ems just wound up about the loan,” James whined.
“Whats there to fuss over?” Margaret huffed, arms folded. “Family helps family. Thats how it works.”
“Oh? Explain, then,” Emily said.
“Your jobs to chip in, and his is to what, exactly? Lounge about while I pay for his mummys luxuries?”
“Nothing wrong with that. Youve got a decent wage,” Margaret sniffed.
“Right. And James? Whats his contribution?”
“James is my sonand your husband. You should stand by him.”
“Husband?” Emily laughed. “Is that what you call a man who takes loans in his wifes name because hes too lazy to lift a finger? Whos latched onto me like some freeloading barnacle?”
“Emily!” James spluttered. “Thats out of order! Were a family!”
“Fine,” Emily said, lips pressed thin. “Ill sort it myself tomorrow. And trust me, itll be sorted.”
She smiled, slow and strange, and something in it made James uneasy. Truth was, Emily already had a plan.
“Good lass, thats the spirit!” Margaret nodded, smug.
The next day, Emily workedand between calls, she made a few of her own. By evening, shed arranged a meeting through an online ad.
When she got home, she greeted James with a sugar-sweet smile.
“James, love! Got some news for you!”
“Yeah? Whats that?” He lounged on the sofa, none the wiser.
“Ive paid off that crocodile handbag loan.”
“No way! Youre a star!” He nearly leapt up. “Howd you manage that? Whered the cash come from?”
“Simple. I sold your car.”
James went rigid.
“Youwhat? The car?”
“Yep. Quick sale, got just enough to clear that ridiculous debt.”
“Have you lost the plot?! How am I supposed to get about now?”
Emily smiled sweetly.
“Ride the crocodile handbag like a hobbyhorse. Funny thingI read some bags are made from, well, delicate bits. Give it a pat, and it might just turn into a suitcase. That one you got your mum wonder if its that sort?”
She nearly laughed as James turned puce.
“You cant be serious! That was my car! And you flogged it for penniesthats mental!”
“Now youre carless, and Im debt-free. And your mums got her bag. Fairs fair, yeah?”
Margaret stormed in at the sound of her sons wailing.
“Whats all this now?”
“Would you believe it, MumEms sold my motor! Its a disaster!” James wailed.
“And? Shes done right,” Emily shrugged. “Loans are family business, arent they?”
“That was out of line! Thats his property!” Margaret jabbed a finger. “And now, with no cardid you even think?”
“Did you ask me before swanning off to buy that bag? Before sticking me with the bill?” Emily lifted her chin. “Now were even.”
“This is disgraceful! Who does she think she is?” Margaret shrilled, glaring like Emilyd nicked the Crown Jewels.
“Disgraceful is you two treating me like a walking ATM,” Emily shot back.
James tried to wedge in.
“Em, think! Were a familywe stick together!”
“Family? Right. Then heres the deal: since youre the dead weight, pack your bags and move in with your mum. Let her feed you and fund your FIFA addiction. Ill finally live for myself.”
Emily plonked onto the sofa and picked up the telly remote, signalling the conversations end. After a beat, she added, savouring it:
“Oh, and Margaretgive that crocodile bag a good stroke. You never know what might happen.”
Two days later, James, worn down by the bickering, slunk off to his mothers. Margaret seethed, but Emily paid her no mind.
For the first time in ages, she breathed easy. And she knewtheyd got the message. She wasnt one to be crossed.
Outside, the drizzle carried on, but now, that Saturday silence was hers alone.
