“My wife’s as wooden as a board, I’ve already found a buyer for her flat,” the husband snickered into the phone.

No, Dave, whats she gonna do? My wifes as solid as a doorstop, she couldnt care less. Dont worry, Ive already got a buyer lined up for her flat.

I froze in the hallway, two shopping bags in each hand. The keys were still jangling on the lock I hadnt even managed to shut the door behind me. Inside the bags were potatoes, onions, chicken drumsticks, a bag of buckwheat on special, and three yoghurts for Charlie the only ones hell have, plain and sugarfree. I was already wondering whether Id have time to defrost the meat or if Id end up slapping a frozen chunk onto the pan and get a steaming mess instead of a roast.

Dave was leaning against the doorway, phone pressed to his ear, stirring something in his mug instant coffee with three spoons of sugar. He never washes up after himself.

She wont notice a thing, he kept going, taking a sip. Ill say its paperwork for a transfer, you sign. She trusts me. Like a wooden statue, no feelings, no character. Free housekeeper, too.

He laughed. I recognised that laugh the one he used when he was goofing off with his mates in the garage while I was washing the dishes after their gettogethers. The same laugh when little Charlie crashed off his bike and I ran with the firstaid cream, and Dave just stood there saying, Come on, tough girl, get up yourself.

My ears rang like before a thunderclap. My fingers clenched the bag handles, the plastic digging into my palms till they were whiteknuckled. I set the groceries down slowly, fished out my phone and hit record.

From the kitchen came the low murmur Dave was already chatting with Sam about fishing lures and tomorrows trip to the lake. He always does that: spits out the poison first, then slides into idle chatter as if nothings happened. As if Im really just a wooden doll.

I held the phone up to the crack of the ajar door and waited until hed said goodbye to Sam and promised to wrap up the deal next week.

Then Dave hung up, thumped the receiver, and shuffled off to the fridge with his slippers. I stopped the recording, slipped the phone into my coat pocket, grabbed the bags and slipped past the kitchen into the bedroom, closing the door behind me and leaning my back against the frame.

A cold fire burned under my cheekbone I wanted to scream or howl like a dog. Twentyfour years of marriage. Charlie, school, university, his loans that I paid off from my holiday pay. His mother, whom I drove to the hospital three times a week right up to the end. His socks, his meatballs, the constant, Love, wheres my blue shirt? And now I was a wooden wife. And there was already a buyer.

I sat on the bed and stared at my hands, dusted with buckwheat flour. I looked at the wedding band thin, worn down. Hed given it to me back when we were sharing a flat and eating spaghetti with ketchup. I felt like ripping it off and tossing it out the window, but I didnt. I took a deep breath, just like Mum used to say: Poppy, if someone hurts you, count to ten first, then decide what to do.

I counted to twenty. Then I got up, splashed my face with icy water, and pulled an old notebook from the drawer. Inside was a note with the number for the local Citizens Advice office the one Id used when I applied for my mothers disability benefit.

A womans voice played on the line. She explained I could put a restriction on any registration of the flat through the portal, but it was better to show up in person. I said Id be there right now.

It was about three oclock. Dave was banging around the kitchen probably frying an egg. I slipped on my coat.

Where are you off to? he asked without turning, the pan hissing.

Just out for some bread. Nothing for dinner yet.

Alright, grab me a pack of cigarettes too.

I walked out. The lift jolted as it started. It wasnt fear it was the realization that I was finally doing something on my own. For twentyfour years Id never acted without his nod. Even choosing wallpaper colour was a joint decision, and hed later whine, Beige is boring, it shouldve been green. I kept quiet.

The Citizens Advice office was empty. A clerk looked up at my paperwork.

Are you absolutely sure you want to place a restriction? Without you being here in person, nobody not even someone with a power of attorney can sell, give away, or swap the flat.

Absolutely, I said.

She tapped away at the keyboard. Fifteen minutes later I was out on the street with the slip of paper, tucking it into my coat pocket where the phone with the recording lived.

I came home with a baguette and a pack of Daves favourite cigarettes. Dave was sprawled on the sofa watching a war film. I drifted into the kitchen, turned the kettle on. The pan still held the burnt bits of yesterdays eggs. I washed it, just out of habit.

Around seven, the doorbell rang. Dave leapt up, tugged off his Tshirt.

Thats for me. Love, put the kettle on, someones coming over.

I nodded.

A man in his fifties, wearing a pricey coat and carrying a briefcase, stepped into the hallway. Dave brightened, flashing a grin.

Meet Oleg, a property agent. About the flat.

I left the kitchen, drying my hands on a towel, and gave Dave a look his smug grin now cracked.

Dave, remember you chatted with Sam this afternoon?

He froze. The smile slipped away like poorly glued wallpaper.

What? Yeah there was something, what?

You called me a wooden wife. Said youd already found a buyer for my flat and that I wouldnt find out anything.

A heavy pause. Oleg shifted his weight from foot to foot. Daves face went pale, his cheeks mottled.

What are you on about, love? he started, but I raised my hand.

Dont. I heard every word. Listen.

I pulled the phone out and played the recording. His voice filled the room: My wifes a wooden one Ive already found a buyer she trusts me free housekeeper

Oleg stepped back towards the door.

Dave, you didnt mention any complications, he murmured.

Dave stared at me as if I were a stranger.

Did you record me? Were you spying? he hissed.

I was standing in the doorway with the groceries I bought on my wages so you, Charlie and his girlfriend could have dinner. Meanwhile you were bargaining away my home. My home, Dave. Not ours. Mums.

He took a step toward me, but I kept my tone steady.

And another thing. I was at Citizens Advice today and put a restriction on any action with the flat unless Im there in person. So your buyer I nodded at Oleg can look elsewhere. This flat isnt for sale any more.

Oleg backed away.

Ill be off then. Dave, well talk later. Sorry. He slipped out the door.

We were left alone. Dave stood in the middle of the room, gulping air like a fish stranded on the shore.

What have you done? Youve ruined everything! We had plans!

You had plans. I had faith. And you smashed it today, called me wooden. Well, wood burns, Dave, and Ive been set alight. Im done.

He collapsed onto the sofa, burying his face in his hands.

Love, Im sorry. It slipped. I didnt mean it Sam pushed me

Sam, I said with a bitter smile. Always someone else to blame. Not you, whos spent twentyfour years living off my money, drinking my tea, sleeping in my sheets and treating me like a piece of décor.

I slipped off my ring and placed it on the coffee table.

Tomorrow Ill file for divorce. The flat stays with me its Mums inheritance, you have no rights. Pack your stuff in a week. Ill explain everything to Charlie; hes an adult now.

Poppy

Dont. You have no idea how light it feels right now. For the first time in ages Im not worrying about whats for dinner. I just know I have a house, and I have myself.

I slipped into the bedroom, shut the door, and my phone buzzed with a message from a friend: How was your day?

I typed back: Brilliant. I finally stopped being a wooden doll.

Morning came at seven. Instead of rushing to make tea for Dave, I slipped on a robe and brewed coffee for myself ground, with a pinch of cinnamon. Dave only ever drinks instant. Ive always loved beans.

He shuffled out of the room, his face crumpled, and stared at the Turkish pot in my hand.

And me?

Its time you find a new housekeeper, Dave. Even wooden ones can come to life.

I took a sip. The coffee was scorchingly hot, my hands still trembling, and the cup clinked against my teeth. Yet it was the best coffee Id ever tasted, because Id made it just for me.

The doorbell rang again. I set the cup down and opened it. Oleg stood on the threshold, still in his coat but looking flustered.

Sorry to bother you so early. Your husband mentioned the flat was yours, but I didnt know I just wanted to offer my services as an agent, should you ever want to buy, sell or trade something. Honest, no strings attached.

I stared at him, stunned. Dave peeked from the kitchen, his expression twisted.

What are you doing here? he barked.

Im working, Oleg replied calmly. Ive got a new client now.

He handed me a business card. I turned it over, then looked back at Dave, at his helpless rage, and at Olegs practiced smile.

You know what, Oleg? Ill think about it. Not today. Ive got plans Im getting a cat. Maybe even a new frying pan.

He nodded, said goodbye and left. Dave muttered something and disappeared into the living room. I shut the door, leaned my back against it and laughed softly, almost silently. For the first time in years I laughed in my own hallway, feeling the lightness of the morning.

I finished my coffee with a grin, already thinking of names for the kitten. Id call her Martha, after the one we had as kids before Dad gave her away because the fur was everywhere. Now Ill have my own Martha, and no one can claim the fur is a problem.