Get Out

Donna sat near the open window where the light was best. Where the clothes wouldn't be imbued with cooking smells from the kitchen. Wincing, she pulled the sack towards her.

The floors gleamed. Dinner was prepared, ready to go in the oven. This was the best time for this task. When all was in order, children at school, baby napping, and he, of course, still out. Still hard at work. He worked so hard. And she: dressed and made up carefully to hide the bruises. The children would come home and see her working. Serene, smiling, scarf just so. Not a hair out of place.

She sorted through the clothes methodically. A naturally house-proud woman, her organisational skills had been sharpened since...

Well. He couldn't abide untidiness of any kind, nor noise. And children make orderliness difficult. She'd got into the habit of making as little mess as possible.

He couldn't stand waste, nor extravagance. That's why he brought her these sacks of clothes. (Usually from charity shops, sometimes neighbours. This one was from his sister.) Why he made sure they had an allotment, why he gave her so little housekeeping money. She'd suggested they could live more comfortably if she just went out to work. He was so... old fashioned.

Some of the clothes were serviceable, and would be a good fit for herself or one of the children. The rest she'd unpick and re-purpose into something else. Dianna needed a new school skirt. Tomas had almost outgrown his sleepsuits. All would be washed, some treated for stains. Barely a scrap would go unused, and even those would be used for cleaning rags- what's this?

At the very bottom of the bag were two papery bundles. She pulled them out into the light. Thick envelopes. Somehow she knew what was inside before she opened them. Something about the feel and heft of them. Rich or poor, we all develop an instinct to recognise money. Fingers trembling, she opened them anyway, knowing what she'd see but still needing to see it.

This is a lot of money.

She knew what it was for, where it had come from. It spoke to her. It said, Get out.

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Word count (excluding note): 366

Submitted on 9th March at 16.23

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