**A Sudden Turn**
Eleanor had never lived alone. First, she stayed with her parents, then married, and two years later, she and her husband welcomed a daughter, Sophie.
Even when her husband left, she and Sophie lived together for a while. Now, she was utterly alone. She wandered the empty flat, unsure what to do, what purpose remained. Life had crumbled, and ahead loomed only lonely old age and obscurity.
She couldn’t fathom what had gone wrong. She and her husband had never fought seriously—just petty squabbles. She never pressured him, let him go out with friends, kept the flat clean and cosy. There was always soup in the fridge, dinner ready on the stove.
Even after childbirth, Eleanor stayed slim. She’d never been voluptuous. Pregnancy had delighted her husband when her figure filled out slightly, but once she stopped nursing, she returned to her old shape. Yet people didn’t divorce over that. Everyone said she and Geoffrey were a perfect match.
Of course, Eleanor wasn’t blind. She’d noticed changes in him lately. He didn’t stay late at work, but he’d become meticulous—choosing ties carefully, getting a trendy haircut.
“Why don’t you wear dresses?” he asked once.
“I do—on special occasions,” she replied, startled. He’d never cared before.
“You look pale today. Feeling unwell?”
“That’s just my face. Why are you picking at me?” she snapped.
Once, she dabbed on rouge and went to work.
“Wash it off—it doesn’t suit you,” Geoffrey said that evening.
“My colleagues complimented me all day,” she mumbled but obeyed.
“I thought you’d finally start looking nice every day,” a coworker remarked the next morning.
“My husband didn’t like it.”
“Probably worried he’d go mad with jealousy if you did,” the woman teased. Eleanor didn’t argue.
Then her friend Margaret called, suggesting coffee after work. Margaret was striking and vivacious, but they’d been friends since school.
“How do you stay so slim without dieting? I have to watch everything, or I’d balloon,” Margaret sighed.
“Don’t play modest. Men turn their necks watching you,” Eleanor laughed.
“They’d look at you too if you gave them a chance. You’ve got lovely legs—shame to hide them in trousers. A pencil skirt would suit you. You need a haircut, maybe dye it auburn. Do something with yourself—you look like a pensioner.”
Eleanor sensed Margaret wasn’t just criticising.
“Margie, what’s wrong? You never—”
“Forget what I used to say,” Margaret cut in, avoiding her eyes. “Sorry. I saw Geoffrey with a girl—barely twenty, all innocence. The way he looked at her…”
Eleanor squeezed her eyes shut. “Stop!”
“Len, I didn’t mean to hurt you. But you’ve been the same for years. Men have eyes. You’re dull as dishwater.”
“That’s not true!” Eleanor stood and hurried out.
At home, she sat on the edge of the bath, staring at the tiles.
“Mum, Dad’s here,” Sophie called, tapping the door.
Eleanor splashed her face and stepped out. Sophie vanished into her room, while Geoffrey sat at the kitchen table, hands folded like a schoolboy.
“Sorry, I didn’t make dinner. I was out with Margaret,” she said weakly.
“I’m not hungry. So you know,” he said.
“Know what?” But she understood. *Margaret hadn’t lied.*
“I love another woman. I tried to fight it, but it’s stronger than me. She’s half my age, but I can’t live without her. I’m sorry. I’ll pack and go.”
Eleanor didn’t stop him. Then Sophie betrayed her too, visiting Geoffrey often. At first, Eleanor didn’t mind—until Sophie started flaunting gifts. His new wife, Diana, gave her crop tops, short sparkly dresses, makeup, half-used perfume.
“Look what Diana got me! Doesn’t it suit me?”
“Don’t take things from her,” Eleanor said sharply.
“Why not?”
“Because she stole your father!”
“So? She’s fun. You’re just a boring nag. No wonder Dad left,” Sophie retorted tearfully.
It worsened. Sophie picked up slang, dyed streaks in her hair green and pink, caked on eyeliner. Teachers wrote notes—she skipped lessons, talked back.
But reasoning with her was like stopping a train. Every reproach met with, “Diana says…”
The name made Eleanor shake. She tried banning visits, but Sophie threatened to move out.
“Am I a bad mother? Is Diana better? Fine, go. Just don’t come crying when she has a baby and throws you out.”
“Wait—I can live with Dad?” Sophie asked coldly.
“Yes. Just have him call me.”
Geoffrey rang the next day.
“Sophie says you want her to live with us.”
“*She* demanded it. I can’t handle her—she’s rude, skips school, dresses horribly. All thanks to Diana.”
“They get along. You’re just bitter. She can stay,” he said, hanging up.
And Sophie left. Eleanor raged at the injustice, barely ate, withered. Sophie called only to twist the knife: “Diana took me to a concert…”
When A-level results came, Sophie scored poorly, no chance at university. Not that she cared.
Then Geoffrey called: Sophie had moved in with some boy in a rented flat.
Eleanor’s breath caught.
“You *let* her?”
“She’s an adult. You raised her. Diana’s pregnant—I’ve enough on my plate.”
“Your daughter doesn’t matter now? This is *your* fault! Diana filled her head with nonsense, then tossed her aside!”
When Margaret called, Eleanor almost wept with relief.
“Busy?”
“Hanging myself. My husband left. Sophie befriended his wife and left too. Everyone’s abandoned me.”
Margaret arrived with brandy. Eleanor unspooled her misery between hiccuping sobs. Margaret interjected: “Prat.” “Cow.” “Nightmare…” Dawn broke as she stood.
“Enough blubbing. First, we fix you—hair, nails, clothes. Then we’ll find you a decent man.”
“Where?” Eleanor slurred.
“You’ll see.”
Transformed, Eleanor barely recognised herself—ten years younger. Weekends were now gallery trips with Margaret. Art baffled her, but it thrilled her. She rang Sophie constantly, but the phone was always off.
Then Sophie called.
“Mum, can we stay a fortnight? Just till we find a place.”
Overjoyed, Eleanor didn’t ask questions. “Of course!”
She cleaned, changed the sheets in Sophie’s unused room, cooked a feast. She’d tolerate the boy if it meant Sophie coming home.
The doorbell rang. Eleanor smiled—until she opened it.
Sophie stood there, hollow-eyed, a bundle in her arms. Behind her lurked a lanky boy with shoulder-length hair.
Silently, Sophie thrust the baby at her, kicked off her trainers, and vanished into her room. Eleanor gaped at the boy.
“’Ello,” he mumbled.
“Who?”
“Boy,” he said, misunderstanding. “Rory. Roderick.”
The lad—Jasper—wolfed down food like he’d starved for weeks. Between mouthfuls, he explained: their landlord kicked them out after the baby, he’d lost his job, they’d no money…
Baby Rory’s wails spared Eleanor hysterics. She rushed to him. Sophie didn’t stir.
Now, Eleanor missed her solitude. She spun like a top—work, shopping, cooking. Sophie waited to dump Rory on her the moment she got home.
Once, she returned to a boozy gathering. Music thumped through the building, drowning Rory’s screams. She threw them out, scrubbed the flat till midnight.
“Sofe, this can’t go on. You’ve a baby, yet you invite strangers over! Rory was screaming while you lot drank! Jasper doesn’t work—you’ve lived off me a month! The neighbours complain—”
“Kicking us out? Dad owns half this flat—he gave it to *me*. I’ve as much right as you.”
Eleanor faltered. Next day, she called Margaret, sobbing.
“I’ve an idea,” Margaret said over coffee.
“What?”
“Remember that old film where the teacher tamed rowdy neighbours? You’ll ‘go to a spa’—while I rent your room to ‘tenants.’”
“What tenants?”
“Honestly! Paid actors. I’ll hire such brutes, Jasper will flee, and Sophie will beg you back.”
“No. Sophie’s my daughter—Rory—”
“They’ll be *actors*. Rory’s safe,” Margaret insisted.
Eleanor agreed. She packed that evening.
“You’re leaving?” Sophie asked.
“Yes. A spa—three weeks, maybe longer.”
Eleanor returned to find Sophie humbled, the flat peaceful, and her heart finally at rest, knowing life had given her a second chance—not just for herself, but for her family.
