“My wife’s as wooden as a mannequin, and I’ve already found a buyer for her flat,” the husband laughed into the receiver.

No, Mike, whats she gonna do? My wifes as wooden as a plank, she doesnt care a bit. Dont worry, Ive already got a buyer for her flat.

I froze in the hallway, two grocery bags in my hands. The keys were still jangling in the lock I hadnt even managed to shut the door behind me. Inside the bags were potatoes, onions, chicken legs, discounted buckwheat and three yoghurts for Jack he only likes plain, nosugar ones. I was already wondering whether Id have time to thaw the meat or if Id end up slamming a frozen block into the pan and get steam instead of a proper roast.

Tom stood with his back to the entrance, phone pressed to his ear, stirring something in his mug instant coffee with three spoonfuls of sugar. He never bothered to wash up after himself.

She wont notice a thing, he kept going, slurping from the mug. Ill say its paperwork for a transfer, youll sign. She trusts me. Wooden. No feelings, no character. Free housekeeper.

He laughed. I recognised that laugh the one he used with his mates in the garage while I was washing the dishes after their gettogether. The same laugh when Jack fell off his bike as a kid and I ran with the firstaid kit while Tom just stood there saying, Come on, toughcookie, get up yourself.

My ears rang, like before a bloodpressure spike. My fingers clenched the bag handles, the clingfilm cutting white lines into my palms. I set the groceries down slowly, pulled out my phone and hit record.

From the kitchen came a low mumble Tom was already chatting with Mike about fishing hooks and tomorrows trip to the lake. He always does that: first spits out the venom, then slides into nonsense as if nothing happened, as if Im really as wooden as he says.

I held the phone up to the crack of the ajar door and waited until he finished saying goodbye to Mike and promised to seal the deal next week.

Then Tom hung up, shuffled to the fridge, and I cut the recording, slipped the phone into my 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 pressed under my throat I wanted to scream or howl like a dog. Twentyfour years of marriage. Jack, school, university, his loans that I paid off from my holiday pay. His mother, whom I drove to the hospital three times a week until she passed. His socks, the meatballs, the endless Love, wheres my blue shirt?. And now Im wooden. And theres already a buyer.

I sat on the bed, stared at my hands. Buckwheat dust was stuck to them. I looked at my wedding band thin, worn. Hed given it to me when we were still sharing a flat and eating spaghetti with ketchup. I wanted to fling it out the window, but I didnt. I took a deep breath, just like Mum used to say: Lily, 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 cold water and pulled an old notebook from the drawer. I found the number for the local Citizens Advice office Id written it down when I arranged my mums disability claim.

A womans voice explained that a restriction on any registration action could be placed online, but its better to come in person. I said Id be there. Right now.

It was about three oclock. Tom was roaring in the kitchen probably frying an omelette. I stepped into the hallway, threw on my coat.

Whatre you doing? he asked without turning. The pan was sizzling.

Just getting some bread. Nothing for dinner.

Oh, and grab a pack of cigarettes for me too.

I left. The lift jolted. Not from fear, but from the realisation I was finally doing something on my own. For twentyfour years I hadnt acted without his sayso. Even the wallpaper colour was a joint decision until he later complained, Beige is boring, green wouldve been better. I kept quiet.

The Citizens Advice office was empty. A clerk at the window stared at the papers.

Are you sure you want to place a restriction? Without you being here, nobody, even with a power of attorney, can sell, give away or swap the flat.

Exactly, I said.

She typed. Fifteen minutes later I was out on the street with a slip of paper, tucked it into the inner pocket of my coat, next to the phone with the recording.

I got home with a loaf and a pack of his favourite cigarettes. Tom was on the sofa watching an action film. I walked to the kitchen, turned the kettle on. The pan held burnt egg remnants. I washed it, out of habit.

Around seven the doorbell rang. Tom leapt up, pulled off his Tshirt.

Thats for me. Love, put the kettle on, a nice persons coming.

I nodded.

A man in his fifties, dressed in an expensive coat and carrying a briefcase, stepped into the hallway. Tom fussed, grinned.

Meet Oliver Bennett, estate agent. Here about the flat.

I left the kitchen, drying my hands on a towel, looked at Tom that smug grin.

Tom, remember you were talking to Mike this afternoon?

He froze. His smile slipped off like badly applied wallpaper.

What? Yeah what about it?

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

Silence. The agent shifted his weight, Toms face turned pale, his cheeks mottled.

Youre talking nonsense, Love? he started, but I raised my hand.

No, I heard everything. Listen.

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

Oliver stepped back toward the door.

Tom, you didnt mention there were conditions, he said.

Tom stared at me like I was a stranger.

You recorded me? Were you spying? he hissed.

I was standing in the hallway with the groceries I bought with my own wages so you, Jack and his girlfriend could have dinner. Meanwhile you were selling my house. My house, Tom. Not ours. Mums.

He moved toward me, but I kept my calm.

And today I went to the Citizens Advice office and put a restriction on any action with the flat unless Im personally present. So your buyer I nodded at Oliver can look elsewhere. This flat isntThis flat isnt for sale any longer, and I finally feel like Im the one in control of my own life.