Tom waited until Poppy was asleep, then opened his laptop at the kitchen table.
“I wanted to show you the numbers.”
I sat opposite him. After a day of hearing what numbers could conceal, I was not as encouraged as he expected.
The offer was for a role in Bristol. Better pay, more responsibility, a team he liked. The company expected him on site several days a week. He had found a rental area with what a property website called excellent family appeal.
I let him finish the salary comparison.
“When do they need an answer?”
His hand stayed on the trackpad.
“I accepted on Monday.”
The boiler started behind me. Its familiar knock sounded much louder than usual.
“You accepted.”
“The role. The arrangements are still flexible.”
“Which arrangements?”
“When we’d move. Whether I go ahead for a bit. Schools.”
I looked at the map on the screen. He had marked three houses.
“You’ve looked at schools?”
“Only online.”
He said it as though the browser had made the decision less real.
“Tom, I have a job. Poppy has a school. We have just moved here.”
“I know. But this changes what’s possible.”
“For you.”
He closed the map.
“For us. That’s what I’m trying to explain.”
I stood up because sitting opposite the spreadsheet made me feel like an expense waiting to be justified.
“You can explain why you want the job. You can’t tell me we’ve agreed to move.”
“I haven’t told anyone we’ve agreed.”
“You said it was time to tell Poppy.”
He rubbed the back of his neck.
“I was excited.”
I believed him. That was part of what hurt. In his excitement, my answer had become an administrative detail.
He tried the salary again, this time without the screen. It was a significant increase. I could imagine the breathing room it would buy: repairs done promptly, savings rebuilt, fewer calculations in supermarket aisles.
“I’m not saying the money doesn’t matter,” I said. “I’m saying I matter before you’ve spent it.”
“That’s unfair.”
“Is it?”
He looked towards the stairs, lowering his voice.
“You’ve been so caught up in everything on this street. There hasn’t been a good moment.”
“You found a moment to accept.”
He stopped.
I leaned against the sink. A teaspoon lay in the draining rack with its bowl full of water. I tipped it out, an absurdly careful action while my hands shook.
“Do not make Martin’s death the reason you couldn’t ask your wife about moving house.”
“I didn’t mean that.”
“Then leave it out of the explanation.”
For several minutes we said nothing. He reopened the laptop, then shut it properly.
“What do you want me to do?”
The question was genuine, but it still put the next piece of work in front of me.
“First, tell them what you haven’t actually agreed at home. Find out what options exist without promising my part in them.”
“And if there aren’t options?”
“Then you’ll have a decision to make. We haven’t reached that point yet.”
He sat back.
“You’re saying you won’t move.”
“I’m saying I won’t agree tonight. And I’m not giving up the extra morning at the library to make your acceptance easier.”
He looked surprised, which told me he had forgotten that morning altogether.
“When does it start?”
“Next week.”
“We’d need to sort the school run.”
“We sorted it in October. You said you’d do it.”
He looked at the table. “I know.”
“Then that needs to be in the conversation with your employer too.”
He asked if we could talk again tomorrow. I agreed, provided he made the call first.
Upstairs, Poppy called for water. Tom stood automatically, then paused as though expecting me to take over because I was already near the door.
I stayed where I was.
He fetched the glass and went up.
While he was gone, I took Marianne’s opening checklist from my bag and read it. Keys, alarm, returns box. Nothing on the list required my husband’s permission.
Tom came back as I reached the bottom.
“Is that work?”
“Yes.”
He glanced at the closed laptop containing the life he had planned for us.
This time, he didn’t ask me to change the answer.
He opened the shared calendar. My extra morning was there, along with the dentist and Poppy’s art club. He added his name to Tuesday’s school run and set an alert.
“Half past eight,” he said.
I was ready to see whether he remembered it when remembering cost him something.