Waiting for her husband to return from work, Eleanor sat at the kitchen table sipping a cup of thymeinfused tea, drawing each swallow out slowly. When the key turned in the lock she rose, paused in the doorway, and watched as her husband, George, enteredstern, silent.
Hello, she said first, youre late again; Ive been waiting for you
Hello, George replied. You could have not waited. Im not hungry, and Ill be in and out; I just need to collect a few things and go, he said without removing his shoes, slipping into the hallway, opening the wardrobe and pulling out a suitcase.
Eleanor froze, bewildered, as he began stuffing whatever he could find into the bag.
George, what on earth is happening? she asked.
You dont understand? Im leaving you, he said flatly, avoiding her eyes.
Where to?
To another woman
Eleanors voice turned mildly mocking as she gathered herself. Oh, I suppose a young one? Though youre still only fortystill not old. I wont shed a tear; he wont see my grief, she whispered to herself, then aloud, And how long have you had her?
Almost a year, George answered calmly. Seeing her surprise, he added, If you noticed nothing, if you never guessed, I must have hidden it well.
Youre really going? she asked, sudden.
Ethel, do you not grasp? Listen to me Im leaving you for another. Shell bear a child; youll have a month to vacate my flat. Where you go is your problem. Well live with her and the baby while she stays in a rented house.
George left. The walls seemed to press in on Eleanor; the flat fell into a heavy silence. She turned on the television, hoping some voice would fill the void. Twelve years had passed with George; it took her about a week to regain her senses, but she managed.
From her late parents she had inherited a cottage in a Kent village. Yet she could not imagine living alone in the countryside.
I cant stay there, she thought. Its far from civilisation, no comforts, no work, and at thirtyfive I dont want to spend my life in a remote village. Ill sell the place and use the money to rent a room in a council flat or a hostel, and let fate decide the rest.
She sold the cottage the moment she arrived back in the village. Her neighbour, Mrs. Margaret Clarke, was already waiting.
Darling, its a good thing youre here; we were about to go into town looking for you, Margaret said.
Whats the story? Eleanor asked.
My relatives from the north want to buy your cottage. They need a little house to rebuild on, close to usmy sister and her husband Margaret trailed off.
Oh, Margaret, thats why I came. Let them have it, well just negotiate a price. Heres my number
Within ten days the money was in Eleanors handshardly a fortune, just enough from the halfruined property. She bought a tiny room in a shared house with a communal kitchen; two other tenants occupied the remaining rooms, and she considered it her council flat.
The other occupants were quiet, respectable people. Eleanor rarely crossed paths with them, working long hours from dawn till dusk. It was at work that a romance with a colleague named Tim blossomed, and everything seemed fineat least to her.
A few days before International Womens Day, Tim said, I need to think about a lot of things. Im not sure about my feelings; lets take a break.
Fine, take a walk out into the woods, she snapped back.
That evening she returned home, angry, her thirtysixth birthday looming, with no patience for pauses. She tried to ease her stress by eating, opened the fridge, and found a small slice of ham missing. It shook her.
Who took my ham? she shouted across the kitchen.
It was me, dear. I threw it away two days agoit had gone green and smelled awful. I thought you wouldnt eat it anyway, no point risking your health, said the neighbour, Mrs. Vera Ivanovna, in a calm, slightly conspiratorial tone.
You dont get to decide what I can eat, Eleanor retorted, her anger spilling over. She had lost a husband, a home, a lovers promise, and now a neighbours food.
Mr. Arthur Whitmore, a sixtyyearold gentleman in the adjoining room, intervened. He was silverhaired, bespectacled, and always perched in the corner of the kitchen with a newspaper or a novel. Eleanor, youre angry because youve been hurt. Dont take it personally, he advised, never looking up from his paper.
What do you know? she snapped. No one asked you for advice.
Arthur smiled faintly. I know a little.
And if youre so wise, why do you live in this shabby council flat? Eleanor pressed, unstoppable.
She decided to apologise. Vera, who had been frowning, looked up when Eleanor entered the kitchen.
Forgive me, Vera, I dont know what came over me. So much has happened Arthur is right, Eleanor said, tears welling.
Vera smiled, embraced her, and said, It happens, love. Come, sit, well have tea with scones and sweets. You should also apologise to Arthur; hes been unfairly blamed. He once taught at the university, had a large flat in the city centre, a beloved job. Then his wife fell ill with a brain tumour. Doctors said it was too late, but a clinic in Israel offered a chancefor a price. Arthur borrowed a fortune, went with her, the operation succeeded but her health never fully returned. She died soon after. He quit his post, cared for her, sold his flat to clear the debts, and thats why hes here now.
Eleanors eyes filled with tears. Thank you for sharing that, she whispered. Tomorrow Ill apologise properly.
The next day, after work, she knocked timidly on Arthurs door, a small wrapped parcel in her hand.
Good evening, Mr. Whitmore, she said, extending the gift. Please accept my apologies, for Gods sake. I never meant to offend you yesterday.
Arthur opened the door, listened without interruption, then said, What a pleasant surprise. Ill accept both the gift and your apologyif youll celebrate my birthday with me today.
Congratulations, and the gift is just in time, Eleanor replied, delighted. How can I help?
Together with Vera they set the table. While arranging the dishes, Eleanor opened up about herself: how, as a naïve university student, she had once believed a married man, become pregnant, and he had taken her to the hospital and paid everything. They later split, and she was left unable to conceive, perhaps why her former husband left.
The table was ready when a knock sounded. A tall, smiling man in his forties stood at the door.
Good day, Im Veras son, Roman, he introduced. Please, come in.
Hello, Eleanor, Im a resident here, he said, stepping inside.
Conversation flowed around the table: birthday wishes for Arthur, laughter, and stories. Roman, once a geologist, now a longhaul truck driver, entertained everyone with colourful anecdotes.
Eleanor could hardly believe that only the day before she knew none of these people, and now they were sharing a meal as if family.
After a few hours Arthur and Vera retired to their rooms. Roman then said, Shall we take a walk? Tell me about yourself. Im not often here; my flat is in the city, Im away a lot, and my mother refuses to move. Shes rather taken a fancy to Arthur, I think she does. As for me, I married once when I was a geologist; while I was away another man took my place.
Winter had just arrived in the town, snow falling in thick, silent sheets. Eleanor and Roman walked for hours, warm despite the cold, then parted ways.
Three days later Roman announced he would be away on a long haul.
Long? Eleanor asked.
For a week, then Ill be back. Will you wait for me?
Of course, Ill be waiting, she promised.
Thus began their romance, which soon deepened into true love. They married, and a year later a little boy, little Arthur, was born. When Roman was away on long routes, Eleanor and her son would return briefly to the council flat.
Days passed swiftly in waiting. Vera and Arthur proved indispensable, caring for the grandchild with affection. No better nannies could be found for little Arthur.
