You can stay if you cook for everyone, her husband smirked.
That neighbours complaining about the noise again, grumbled Victor, tossing his keys onto the sideboard. Says the music was blaring till half eleven last night.
And wasnt it? asked Helen, not looking up from her magazine. Your mates were singing their lungs out till the end.
So what? It was Saturday. Ive a right to relax in my own home.
Helen said nothing. Arguing with him after last nights drinking was useless. His head must have been pounding, and his temper was unbearable.
By the way, the lads are coming round again tonight, Victor added, heading to the bathroom. To watch the match.
How many? Helen asked wearily.
Five or six. Didnt count exactly.
Helen shut her magazine and checked the clock. Half two. So in a couple of hours, the flat would be in uproar againshouting, drunken chatter, cigarette smoke. And tomorrow morning, piles of dirty dishes and ashtrays overflowing with stubs.
Vic, couldnt we skip the feast tonight? she tried. Just have tea.
Her husband came out of the bathroom, drying his face with a towel.
Are you joking? What kind of match night has no food? The ladsll be starving after work.
And whos cooking?
Victor looked at her as if shed asked something obvious.
Who usually cooks? Youre the wife.
I was at the doctors all morning, then running errands, cleaning the flat, Helen felt anger boiling inside her. Im tired, Vic.
Well, rest an hour and get to it. Im not asking much. Just slice some ham and cheese, fry a few chips.
Helen rose from the sofa and went to the kitchen. The lunch dishes still sat on the table, the sink piled high with dirty pans. And now she had to clear it all and lay the table for his mates.
Couldnt we order something? she called from the kitchen. Pizza or kebabs.
With what money? Victor shot back. It doesnt grow on trees, does it? You make itcheaper and tastier.
Helen started washing up, scrubbing each plate hard. Twenty-three years of marriage, and in all that time, hed never once asked if she wanted to rest or spend an evening with friends.
When shed married Vic, hed seemed like a proper mansteady, hardworking, not much of a drinker. Best of all, hed promised to cherish her and never let her down.
The first years had been just that. Victor worked on building sites, coming home tired but content. Helen worked at the library, cooking, cleaning, washing in the evenings. They lived modestly, but happily.
Everything changed when he got promoted to foreman. His pay rose, new mates appeared, and with them, new habits. First, he stayed late after work, then began bringing colleagues homefirst now and then, then more and more.
Helen, wheres the whisky? Victor called from the living room.
In the cabinet, top shelf.
Theres only one bottle. Wont be enough.
Then go buy more.
No time. You go, since youre doing the cooking.
Helen set a plate in the rack and sighed deeply. Again, shed have to dash to the shop, spending housekeeping money on drink for his mates.
Couldnt we do without? she tried again. Just get a few beers.
Dont be daft! Victor scoffed, appearing in the kitchen. Beer? Its a crucial matchthe lads made time specially. I cant serve them beer.
He put his hands on her shoulders.
Why so glum? Its just one night. Youll sleep it off tomorrow.
Every weekend its just one night, Helen said quietly. A match, someones birthday, or just because.
Men work hardneed to unwind sometimes. You understand.
And dont I work?
Victor dropped his hands and stepped back.
Since when is the library work? Quietly shelving books? Thats not workits a rest.
A chill ran down Helens spine. He always spoke of her job like thatdismissive, as if it were nothing.
So my jobs a rest?
Course. Sitting quiet with polite folk. Im the one stuck on site all day with rough blokes.
Helen said nothing. Arguing was pointless. Victor never understood that dealing with people was effortthat every day, she solved dozens of small problems, helped readers, ran childrens clubs.
Fine, she said at last. How many are coming exactly?
Told youfive or six. Not sure wholl turn up.
And what time?
Match starts at six, so theyll drift in by half-five.
Helen checked the clock. Three now. Shed barely have time to lay the table properly.
Then give me money for shopping. And make a list.
Victor dug into his jeans and pulled out a crumpled twenty.
Enough?
For six? Hardly.
Well, use something from home. The freezers full.
Helen took the money and dressed to go out. There was meat in the freezer, but it was meant for the week. Tomorrow, shed have to cook dinner again.
The shop was ten minutes away. Helen walked slowly, thinking about her life. When had she become a servant in her own home? When had she stopped being a wife and just become a cook and cleaner?
At the shop, she filled her basketham, cheese, salad stuff, crisps, nuts. At the till, the money wasnt enough.
Take off the crisps, she told the cashier.
The nuts had to go too. The twenty barely covered the basics.
At home, Victor lounged on the sofa, watching telly.
Quick trip, he noted approvingly. Whatd you get?
Silently, Helen unpacked the bags. Time was short, and there was much to do.
First, she peeled potatoes and set them frying. Then sliced ham and cheese onto a platter. Next, the saladchopping veg, mixing in mayo.
What about a hot dish? Victor asked, peering in.
What did you want?
Dunno. Burgers or chops. The ladsll be hungry.
Helen checked the clock. Half four. If she started burgers now, she might just manage.
Fine. But help lay the table.
No time, he waved her off. Need a shower, tidy up. Cant greet the lads looking scruffy.
Helen took meat from the freezer and minced it. Her arms ached, but she hurried. Guests would arrive by half-five, and only cold cuts were ready.
Victor did go to shower. She heard him humming, splashing. How easy for himsoon his mates would come, laughing, drinking, watching football. Shed be darting between kitchen and lounge, serving food, clearing dirty plates.
When he emerged, the first burgers were frying.
On schedule? he asked, pulling on a clean shirt.
For now. Help set the table.
Just a shave first.
But after shaving, Victor didnt helphe turned on the telly and settled into his chair.
Vic, you promised! Helen called from the kitchen.
In a minute. Just finishing the news.
And at six tomorrow, shed rise for work. The librarys new projectcomputer classes for pensionersneeded prep: materials, setting up tech.
Flipping burgers, Helen thought this life could go on for years. Victor wouldnt change. He was used to her doing everything, never complaining, never asking for help.
Helen, where are the glasses? he shouted.
Cabinet, bottom shelf!
Cant see them!
She dried her hands and went to look. They were exactly where shed saidVictor hadnt bothered to search properly.
Here, she pointed.
Oh, right. Missed them.
Back in the kitchen, the burgers were doneonly the table remained. She took out the white tablecloth saved for special occasions. Though what was special? Just his mates usual gathering.
At half-five, the buzzer rang.
First guests! Victor cheered. Let them in!
Helen pressed the button and quickly changed into a house dress. Best look decent for company.
On the doorstep stood Steve and Mickregulars for match nights. Three others followed, strangers to Helen.
Welcome! Victor beamed. Come in, make yourselves at home!
The men shed coats, settled around the table. Helen brought burgers, salad, cold cuts. Victor fetched whisky and beer from the fridge.
Right, ladsto the match! he toasted.
Glasses clinked; the men drank and ate. Helen stood in the kitchen doorway
