**Diary 14May**
I was waiting for Edward to come home from work, perched at the kitchen table with a mug of thymeinfused tea, sipping slowly, letting the steam curl around my thoughts. The click of a key in the lock made me rise, pause in the doorway, and watch as the man I married enteredstern, silent, his shoulders still heavy with the days grind.
Hey, I managed first, trying to sound light, late again, love? Ive already had dinner and Ive been waiting for you
Hey, Edward replied, voice flat. You could have skipped the wait; Im not hungry. Ill just grab a few things and be off. He slipped off his shoes without a word, moved straight to the bedroom, opened the wardrobe and began stuffing a suitcase.
I stood frozen, bewildered, watching him toss his belongings in without a hint of hesitation.
Edward, what on earth is happening? I blurted.
Dont you see? Im leaving you, he said, his eyes never meeting mine.
Where to?
To another woman
Ah, I suppose someone youngerthough Im still barely forty, thats not exactly old, I replied, a bitter edge to my voice as the reality sank in. I wont weep; he wont see my tears, I whispered to myself, then out loud, And how long have you been seeing her?
Almost a year, he said calmly. Seeing my shock, he added, If you hadnt noticed anything, I must have been very good at keeping it hidden.
Youre really going? I asked, my voice trembling.
Emily, cant you understand? Listen carefullyIm leaving you for her. Were expecting a child together. We couldnt have one, so Kate will give me a son. Im giving you a month to clear out of my flat. Where you go, thats your problem. Well be living with Kate and the baby while she stays in a rented house.
Edward walked out, the door closing behind him with a finality that seemed to press the walls of the flat inward. The silence was deafening. I turned on the television, hoping any noise would be easier to bear than absolute quiet. Twelve years with Edward had felt like a lifetime, and it took me a week to start stitching myself back together.
My parents had left me a cottage in a small village when they passed early. The thought of living alone in the countryside never appealed to me.
I cant live out there, I mused, its far from civilisation, no amenities, no work. At thirtyfive I dont want to spend my days in a remote hamlet. Ill sell the place and use the money to rent a council flat or maybe a hostel room. Life will tell me what comes next.
So I sold the cottage the moment I arrived back in the village. My neighbour, Maggie, was waiting for me on the doorstep.
Lovely to see you, dear. We were about to head into town looking for you, she said.
Whats happened? I asked.
My relatives from the north want to buy your cottage. They need a modest home they can knock down and rebuild. Theyd like it near usmy sister and her husband are here
Goodness, Maggie, thats why I came. Let them have it, just lets agree on a fair price. Heres my number
Within ten days the money landed in my accountnot much, just enough to cover the halffinished ruins. I managed to secure a tiny room in a purposebuilt council block. The kitchen was communal, two other flats shared the hallway, and the third I called my own. I called it a council flat.
My neighbours were quiet, respectable folk. I rarely crossed paths with them; my days were filled with work from dawn till dusk. It was at work that I began a tentative romance with a colleague, Mark. Everything seemed to be going wellat least, thats how it felt.
A few days before International Womens Day, Mark said, I need to think about a lot of things. Im not sure about my feelings. Lets take a break.
Fine, take a break and why dont you just disappear into the woods? I snapped.
That night I went home feeling angry, thirtysix and with no patience for pauses. I tried to drown my frustration in food. When I opened the fridge, a small slice of ham was missing, and I felt a jolt of panic.
Who took my ham? I shouted at the ceiling.
My dear, I threw it away two days ago. It had gone green and smelled off. I thought you wouldnt eat it anyway, why risk your health? said my neighbour, Mrs. Ivy Clarke, in a calm, slightly conspiratorial tone.
You dont get to decide what I eat, I snapped. Dont touch other peoples food.
My fury exploded. Not only had I lost my marriage and my home, but now my colleague was pulling away, and my neighbours were pilfering my food.
Mrs. Clarke, dont be upset, said my other neighbour, Mr. Henry Clarke, from the next flat. He was a sixtyyearold gentleman, silverhaired, spectacles perched on his nose, always settled in his old armchair with a newspaper or a book. He watched me, his eyes soft.
Eleanor, youre angry because someone else has upset you. Dont take it personally, he said, never looking up from his paper.
What do you know? I retorted. No one asked you a thing.
He smiled faintly. Ive seen a bit more than you think.
Then why are you living in this shabby council block? I demanded, my voice rising.
After a moment of silence, I realised I needed to apologise. I swallowed my pride, walked over to Ivys door and knocked gently, holding the halfeaten piece of ham as an offering.
Mrs. Clarke, Im sorry. I dont know what came over me. So much has happened and Henry was right, I said, my voice trembling.
She smiled, gave me a quick hug. It happens, love. Come in, have a cup of tea, some cake and sweets. And perhaps you should apologise to Henry as well; hes been unfairly accused. She paused, then continued, Henry used to be a professor at the university. He lived in a spacious flat in the city centre and had a beloved job. Then his wife fell ill with a brain tumour; the doctors said it was too late. He found a clinic in Israel that could operate, but it cost a fortune. He borrowed heavily and went with her. The operation succeeded, but her health didnt improve. She lived a little longer, then passed away. He quit his job and cared for her until the end. After she died he sold his city flat and paid off his debts, which is why hes here now.
I felt tears prick my eyes.
Thank you for sharing that, I whispered. Tomorrow Ill definitely apologise.
The next day, after work, I knocked timidly on Henrys door, a small box of biscuits in my hand. He opened it with a warm smile.
Good evening, Henry, I said, extending the gift. Please accept this and my apology. I didnt deserve to insult you yesterday.
He listened without interrupting. When I finished, he said, What a pleasant surprise. Ill accept both the gift and your apologyif youll join me for a little celebration. Its my birthday today.
Happy birthday! I replied, genuinely pleased. Id love to help in any way.
Together with Ivy we set the table. While we were arranging plates, I opened up about my pasthow, as a naive university student, Id fallen for a married man, become pregnant, and he had taken me to the hospital and paid for everything. Then we split, and I was left unable to conceive, which perhaps led to my exhusbands departure.
Just as the table was laid, a knock sounded. I hurried to answer it; a tall, smiling man in his forties stood on the doorstep.
Good day, Im Roman, Maggies son, he introduced himself. Nice to meet you.
Hello, Roman, welcome, I said, stepping aside.
The conversation at the table was lively. We toasted Henry, wished him health, and laughed heartily. Roman turned out to be a fascinating conversationalist, full of stories from his days as a geologist and now as a longhaul truck driver. He spoke of his mothers lingering affection for Henry, and of his own brief marriage that ended while he was away.
Outside, the first snow of winter was falling, blanketing the town in white silence. Roman and I walked for a while, our breath forming tiny clouds, the cold surprisingly gentle. He told me he would be away on a weeklong route soon.
Will you wait for me? I asked.
Of course, he replied, his eyes bright. Ill be back.
Thus began what felt like a fresh romance, quickly deepening into something stronger. We married, I moved into his flat, and a year later our son, Archie, was born. Whenever Romans routes pull him away for long stretches, Archie and I return to my modest council flat for a few weeks, the days passing like fleeting moments of anticipation.
Maggie, Ivy, and Henry have become an extended family, doting on little Archie. I could not have asked for better caregivers.
Eleanor.
