Eleanor, love, are you free on Saturday? the motherinlaws voice crackled through the receiver, warm and familiar, with that particular intonation Eleanor had learned to spot after three years of marriage. We need to get the jam jars down to the cellar; theres no room left on the veranda. And the loft is a right mess, I cant be bothered sorting it out.
Of course, Mrs. Margaret, Ill be there first thing! Eleanor smiled, pinching the handset to her ear while stirring the soup on the stove. Should I bring Kevin along?
Oh, no, darling, his project is on fire, you know how it is. Let him stay home and work in peace.
They agreed that Eleanor would catch the nineoclock coach. She hit the snooze button, returned to the kitchen, and hummed a sticky jingle from a TV advert. Outside, the weak sun glimmered; on the windowsill a sadlooking ficus drooped, and she still couldnt bring herself to throw it away
Saturday morning found her squeezed into a jampacked coach that smelled of petrol and someones stale pasty. She claimed a window seat, pressed her cheek against the cold glass, and watched the rolling fields and narrow strips of woodland drift past as the engines drone lured her into a light doze.
A sudden jolt and a startled shout snapped her awake. The coach had lurched to a halt on the roadside, tipped onto its right side. The driver announced over the intercom that a tyre had burst, the spare was rotten, and a replacement would have to come from town.
Probably at least two hours, he said, waving his hands. Maybe three.
Murmurs rose among the passengers as they disembarked onto the gravel. Eleanor lingered by the coach for ten minutes, then, resolute, stepped onto the road and raised her arm. A battered old Ford Fiesta pulled up, driven by a kindly old chap.
Going into town? Hop in, love, Ill give you a lift.
She leapt onto the passenger seat and texted her motherinlaw: Coach broke down halfway, heading back home, can we move the garden party to next weekend? The phone chimed that the message was delivered.
Forty minutes later Eleanor stood in front of her fivestorey block, pressed the lift button and calmly rose to the third floor.
She fished out her keys, twirled the ring, found the right one, and slipped it into the lock. The phone burst into life. The screen flashed Mrs. Margaret.
Hello?
Eleanor! the voice shrieked. Where are you? Did you get there? Are you at the cottage already?
No, I told you the coach broke down, Im back. Im standing at the front door, about to go in and
Dont go in!
Eleanor froze, key still in the lock.
What?
Dont go inside! You hear me? Dont open the door! Turn around and come straight to me, now, this instant!
Mrs. Margaret, are you alright? Eleanor laughed nervously. Whats the panic about? Im literally at the doorstep
Eleanor, please! I need you here right now!
But Eleanor had already turned the key. The lock clicked. She pushed the door open.
Time seemed to freeze.
The hallway was a disaster of shoes: her ballet flats, Kevins trainers, and a pair of glossy highheeled pumps. A strangers umbrella leaned in a stand. A cloying scent of perfume hung in the aircertainly not hers.
In the doorway of the living room stood Kevin, in his lounge pants and a Tshirt, barefoot. In his arms was a woman with dark hair, narrow shoulders, and bright red nail polish clutching at his back.
They kissed as if the world had ceased to exist.
Kevin was the first to open his eyes. Seeing his wife in the doorway, his face went as white as a sheet. Blood drained from his face so quickly that Eleanor thought she might faint. Good thing.
The woman turneda young thing, about twentyfive, eyes wide as a deers. In an instant she snatched her bag, the heels, the umbrella, darted past Eleanor, wafted a puff of that sugary perfume, clattered up the stairs and vanished.
Eleanor still held the phone to her ear.
Eleanor! her motherinlaw screamed. Eleanor, answer me! Did you go in? Eleanor!
How many times Eleanor croaked.
What?
How many times have you you know, the jars, the garden beds, the loft how many times have you covered for your son? How many times have you laughed behind my back because I dont know the truth?
Silence. Then a beeping tone. The call dropped.
Eleanor slowly lowered the phone, glanced at Kevin, who stood mute in the middle of the room.
So? she asked, deadpan. Anything to say?
Eleanor, I can explain everything
She burst into hysterical laughter, a wild, unhinged sound.
Explain? Seriously? You actually think you can just say that?
It meant nothing! Shes just
Just what? Just landed on my face by accident?
Kevin stepped toward her. Eleanor stepped back.
Dont come any nearer. Dont you dare.
Listen
No, you listen. She was surprised at how even her voice sounded. This flat is mine. I bought it before we married, with my own money from my grandmas inheritance. Youre not welcome here, and you have no right to be called anything. Youve got fifteen minutes to pack up and get out.
Eleanor, please, lets talk
Fourteen minutes.
You cant just
Thirteen.
He got it. From her expression, tone, and eyes, he knew she wasnt bluffing. He bolted to the bedroom, slammed the wardrobe doors. Eleanor leaned against the hallway wall, counting her breathsinhale, exhaletrying not to melt.
Twelve minutes later Kevin emerged with a sack haphazardly stuffed and a coat slung over his shoulder. He stopped at the door.
The keys, Eleanor said flatly.
He rummaged in his pockets, tossed his keyring onto the side table, and left.
The door closed softly, almost silently. Eleanor stood a moment longer, then clicked the lock twice and threw a chain over the bolt.
She slid down the wall onto the floor and began to sob
Come Monday she filed for divorce. The papers were processed swiftly. No children, assets split, no lingering claimsjust a clean administrative act.
Kevin never called. Neither did Mrs. Margaret. As if theyd never existed. Three years of shared life evaporated into quiet.
A week later Eleanor sat in a café with her best friend from university, Martha, sipping a cooling latte.
Marthas mouth hung open. Waitso the motherinlaw knew? She sent you to the cottage on purpose while he was
Seems that way.
Exactly!
Eleanor gave a crooked grin.
The funny part? I always thought of her as a second mother. I believed Id finally have a real family. Turns out it was all a performance. They both pretendedfrom the start.
From the start?
Think about it. When we met, I already had my own flat, a steady job, a reliable income. He was living in a rented room, doing odd jobs I was sipping coffee while he was juggling gigs. She took a bitter sip. Maybe not from day one, but pretty soon he realised he could settle in comfortably.
Do you think he ever
I dont know. She stared into the cup, its surface covered with a frothy head. Maybe he loved in his own twisted way, but not enough to stop chasing other women or lying every single day. And his mother she wanted a dutiful daughterinlaw, a workhorse to haul jars, pull weeds, sort the junk, while her son stayed handy.
Martha reached across the table, squeezing Eleanors fingers.
Im sorry, Ellie.
Dont pity me. Eleanor lifted her gaze. Im not going to wilt. I lost three years, sure, but that happens. Im not going to waste another day on them.
What now?
Eleanor finished her coffee, set the cup down.
Nowlive. Start fresh. No fake husbands, no phony mothersinlaw. Ive still got my flat, my job, my life. Thats enough.
She stood, threw on her coat. Outside, a thin, irritating drizzle fell, but Eleanor smiled. The bad was behind her. Was it painful? Yes. Annoying? To the teeth. But shed survive. And this tale? Just another pricey lessonhard, hurtful, but a lesson nonetheless.
Martha caught up with her at the door.
Ellie, are you really okay?
Ill be fine, Eleanor turned, just give it time. Ill be happy again.
She stepped into the rain and walked home. Waiting there was a new project: a cake recipe shed been postponing forever, and thoughts of a future she was now building all on her own.
