The Trouble with Henry and Zoe Read Free Page B

just this one board; there is another creaker in the spare room and a third under the table in the living room. Zoe is tempted to fetch the hammer and
take care of it herself, but she is worried it will cause an argument. And this – this apprehension in her own hallway – annoys her more than the floorboard.
    Too alert now to sleep, Zoe opens the bedroom curtains and looks out of the window into the rows of back gardens all squashed together on their terraced street. It’s a beautiful day and
Zoe thinks they should go for a ride down to the Thames where they can drink a bottle of wine and watch the rowers glide past. The bicycles are wedged into the cobweb-strewn shed, snuggled together
under a pile of collapsed cardboard boxes on top of which are balanced several paint cans. It’s almost too much effort, but Zoe thinks the ride will be good for them in more ways than
one.
    When they moved into this house everything needed fixing: from carpets to wallpaper and bathroom to kitchen. All of it. But the deposit, stamp duty, legal fees, appliances and basic Ikea
furniture have emptied both of their bank accounts. They must have received five hundred pounds’ worth of flowers and champagne as moving-in presents, but, churlish as it sounds, Zoe would
rather have had John Lewis vouchers. At least that way they could have bought some nice glasses and a new doorknocker.
    Last month, Zoe had suggested doing at least some of the improvements on a credit card, but Alex refused. Refused, ultimately, even to discuss the matter. ‘Forget it, Zo,’ and there
was a sharpness to his voice – an assumption of control – that made Zoe’s stomach knot.
    ‘The repayments aren’t that bad,’ Zoe had said, keeping her tone neutral.
    ‘They’re a damn sight worse than nothing, Zo. That’s exactly how people end up financially fucked. It’s a fucking trap.’ She hadn’t liked that – the
‘fucked’, the ‘fucking’ – but she forced herself to remain reasonable. ‘Our salaries are only going to go up, Alex.’
    ‘Mine is, you mean,’ staring at Zoe, defying her to contradict him. A low blow, Zoe thought, holding his eyes with equal defiance, breathing through her nose because her teeth were
so tightly clamped. Worse than that, it was a betrayal. After all, wasn’t it him who encouraged her to quit her high-paying job?
    ‘Fine,’ she had said, ‘I’ll do it. I’ll get a card.’
    ‘No,’ Alex had shot back. ‘No, you will not. We’re in this together, Zo.’
    ‘So let’s discuss it together.’
    ‘There’s nothing to discuss. I’m already late.’
    And that was that. Alex went out to play football, and the minute the front door closed – not a slam, but harder than necessary – Zoe had taken hold of a loose corner of wallpaper
and pulled. The first strip had come away easily, but the next was stuck to the bedroom wall as firmly as a bad idea sticks to an angry mind. After she chipped her second nail, Zoe went downstairs
and gathered up the fish slice, a sharp knife, a sponge and a bowl full of soapy water. Three hours later the floorboards were as slick as the deck of a ship at high sea, Zoe had two more broken
nails, a painful blister on her hand and it was apparent that whoever had decorated this room had made up for their poor taste in wallpaper with unrivalled skill at hanging the stuff. Zoe had so
far removed four strips of tatty paisley. There were eight strips remaining, and for the first time since they moved in, Zoe was glad the bedroom was as small as it was. Estimating that it was
going to take another six hours to complete the job, Zoe jumped in the shower and then headed into town to spend some of the money they didn’t have.
    It was dark when Zoe returned, and she slid her key into the front door with a sense of guilty trepidation. She had transferred all her purchases (two hundred pounds she didn’t have on
shoes and jeans she didn’t need) into a single bag from the least