Eleanor had spent three days wrestling with the choice of wallpaper cream custard or ivory bone and the shopkeepers were nearly at the end of their patience. She ran a hand over the new textured lining in the hallway, a smile tugging at her lips. Now when I step back into the house I feel its finally mine, she said, her voice warm.
Mabel, Eleanors schoolyard confidante, nodded approvingly while nibbling a slice of homemade cabbage scone. The kitchen was scented with freshbaked loaves and a strong brew of tea, a comfort that had displaced the stale smell of tobacco that once seemed to have seeped into the very walls.
Eleanor, youve truly blossomed, Mabel observed, setting her teacup on its saucer. And the renovation its like a fresh point on a map, a clean break from the old, greasy past. Im glad you didnt sell the flat back then but chose to remake it, as if shedding old skin.
Eleanor sighed, smoothing her napkin. When Stephen slammed the door and declared the marriage a sinking swamp, it had felt as though her twentyyear life had collapsed in an instant. A grown son, a steady routine all gone for the sake of a phantom freedom and a new muse who turned out to be the young receptionist from his garage. Yet a year and a half later, the tears had dried, her son Kyle had steadied her, and her work at the bank kept her from falling entirely. Now, sitting in the newly bright kitchen, Eleanor felt a lightness she had not known for years.
Honestly, Mabel, I never believed it would happen, she confessed. The first months were a fog. I kept waiting for the key to turn in the lock. Then one morning I realised silence isnt frightening. It simply means no one is chattering about oversalted soup, no one is scattering socks, no one is demanding an accounting of every penny.
Their quiet chat was broken by a sharp, demanding doorbell nothing like the gentle chimes of a neighbours parcel or Aunt Veras occasional visit for a pinch of salt.
Are you expecting anyone? Mabel whispered.
No, Kyles at his church group, I havent called a courier, Eleanor frowned, rising from the table. A strange cold prickle ran down her spine.
She slipped on a simple linen dress, far removed from the worn robe of her past, and approached the door. Without peering through the peephole she called out, Whos there?
A heavy pause stretched, then a voice she had once found terrifying now sounded merely irritating. Eleanor, open up. Its me.
Stephen.
Eleanors hand rested on the lock, fingers steady. In earlier days she would have darted to the mirror, smoothing her hair, dusting invisible specks, trying to please him. Now she simply wanted to return to her tea and Mabels company.
She turned the latch slowly and opened.
Stephen stood in the stairwell, looking almost cinematic, clutching an enormous bouquet of burgundy roses wrapped in crinkly kraft paper. He wore a new coat that hung loosely, a scarf carelessly draped over his shoulder clearly rehearsed for this moment.
Seeing Eleanor, his trademark smile the one that once melted her resolve like a battered dogs unfolded again.
Good day, Eleanor, he said in a velvety baritone, taking a step forward.
Eleanor remained in the doorway, a silent sentinel.
Good day, Stephen. What brings you here?
He seemed caught offguard, expecting tears, screams, an embrace, an invitation to sit. Instead he faced her steady, appraising gaze.
I was passing by and thought Id drop in. Were not strangers after all. Twenty years, Eleanor, you cant just erase that.
You cant, she replied, unmoved. But you called those twenty years a mistake and a swamp. Forgotten? I remember it vividly.
Stephen winced as if his teeth ached.
Eleanor, let bygones be bygones I was in a midlife crisis, didnt know what I was doing. Women are clever; you understand that. Men are weak and impulsive, thats all.
He tried to step forward, his shoe hovering above the fresh doormat.
Stop, Eleanor said softly but firmly. Dont come in.
What do you mean? Stephens eyes widened. Im standing here with flowers, the neighbours can see. Let me in a bit, we can talk. I see youve redecorated the wallpaper must have cost a fortune, huh?
He craned his neck, trying to gauge the scale of her investment.
Stephen, were speaking here. I have guests, Eleanor replied, not breaking her stance.
Guests? he retorted, a note of jealousy seeping through. Who? Some bloke? Quick replacement?
Its Mabel, Eleanor said. Even if it were a man, it no longer concerns you. Were divorced, Stephen. Officially, a year and a half ago. You wanted liberty.
Stephen exhaled, a sigh of relief at the sight of Mabel rather than an imagined rival. He forced a wider smile, his eyes glistening.
Eleanor, stop this. I see youre angry. I was wrong. Ive thought a great deal these months.
Really? Eleanor crossed her arms. What have you rethought? That a muse cant make borscht? That a rented flat is cheap and a garage salary is stretchy?
Stephens mask cracked for a heartbeat. Rumours had circulated: his young lover was demanding, his business was faltering. Eleanor felt no spite, only a cool indifference that unnerved him more than hatred.
What about borscht? he asked, irritated, shifting his weight. Im speaking of the soul, of the family. Ive realised theres no one nearer than you. Weve been through so much Hows Kyle? He called last week, short chat, didnt ask for money
Kyle is grown, has his own head. He remembers how you left, Stephen. How you shouted that youd drag us down.
I never shouted! Stephen snapped, then steadied himself. Enough with the lectures at the door, as if I were a schoolboy. I came in peace. Look, the flowers are your favourite roses, burgundy.
Eleanor examined the blossoms. They were expensive, beautiful, the sort of gesture that once would have made her weep. He gave flowers only on grand occasions or when guilt weighed heavily. Now they seemed out of place, like a Christmas tree in July.
Thank you, but I dont need them, she said calmly. I have no vase for such things, and Ive long lost the scent of roses. I prefer tulips now, or simply some greenery.
Youve stopped loving roses? Stephen stammered. How can you not love them?
At that moment Mabel emerged from the kitchen, curious about the disturbance. She leaned against the hallway wall, eyes on Stephens bouquet.
Oh, Stephen! Youve arrived, not dusty, she announced loudly. We were just indulging in treats, without you.
Hello, Mabel, Stephen muttered, displeased by the extra witness. You could have told my exwife to let her husband in.
Exhusband, Mabel corrected. And its her house whoever she wants in it. Have you lost weight? You look shrunken.
Stephen ignored her jab and refocused on Eleanor, realizing his usual tactics were failing. He needed to go allin.
Eleanor, listen, his voice softened. I made a monstrous mistake. I lived alone, tried this freedom you speak of Its all empty glitter. I want to come home. I think I love you still. Lets start again. Ill help finish any work left. My hands are still capable.
Eleanor saw not the man she had married for two decades, but a weary, weatherbeaten soul seeking a safe harbour. He did not need her; he wanted comfort, a tidy kitchen, a feeling of importance that he had taken from her over the years.
Stephen, she said, her tone gentle yet steeltoned, theres nothing left to finish. Ive done everything in this flat and in my life.
But I Ive changed! he stammered.
People do not change, Stephen. They merely adapt for a time. You left because you were bored. You returned because you felt miserable elsewhere. And where do I fit in? Im not a spare runway for your adventures.
What runway? Im a family man! Im my sons father!
You were, for a while. Then you chose another path. You made that choice, and I accepted it. You know what? I liked the choice. I like my new life. Without you.
Stephen stood, stunned. He had anticipated a tirade, a hysteric outburst the usual weapons he wielded. A calm, reasoned no pierced his armour. He realised that the woman in the stylish dress, standing in the bright doorway of her renovated flat, was no longer his wife. The threshold was no longer a wooden plank but an unbreachable line.
So youre serious? he asked, his voice hoarse. Youll just send me away? Not even a cup of tea?
I wont, Eleanor replied. My tea is only for those who cherish me, not use me. Go home, Stephen, to the one you burned bridges for, or to your mother, wherever you wish. This is no longer your home.
She began to close the door. Stephen instinctively placed his foot to block it, but meeting Eleanors icy stare, he withdrew his shoe. In her gaze was no fear, only a weary resolve that could summon the police if needed.
Youll regret this, Eleanor! he shouted, his mask finally shattered. What use have I now at fortyfive? Men dont just lie on the road waiting for you! Youll weep into your pillow!
Ive already wept, Stephen. Two years ago. All the best.
The door shut with the solid click of a quality lock. The bolt slid into place.
Stephen lingered on the landing, the echo of his own words bouncing hollowly in the stairwell. He glanced at the massive bouquet, the thorns biting his fingers through the paper. It was heavy, absurd, utterly useless.
He lifted the flowers, intending to fling them, but simply let his hand fall, drained of any dramatic energy. He turned and shuffled down the stairs, shoulders slumped, the weight of defeat bearing down. He did not summon the lift.
Behind the closed door, Eleanor rested her forehead against the cool metal, closed her eyes, inhaled deeply, exhaled. Her hands trembled just a fraction, not from love nor pity, but from the release after hard work.
Did he go? Mabel asked softly from the corridor.
Eleanor turned, her face pale yet eyes bright. He went, Mabel. And you know what? I dont feel the slightest remorse.
Good, Mabel said, embracing her friend firmly. Theres nothing to feel sorry for. He had his chance, he squandered it. At least the roses were nice, werent they?
Theyre pointless, Eleanor waved a hand, stepping back with a genuine smile. My violets on the windowsill are far more fitting. Lets go, the tea is cooling and the scone is halfeaten.
They returned to the kitchen. Eleanor set the kettle on, letting the water hiss. Sunlight filtered through the light curtains, casting lacelike shadows on the table. The flat settled into a peace that was no longer emptiness but a sturdy calm, a fortress that had withstood a siege.
Listen, Mabel said, spreading jam on a scone, how about we go to the theatre this weekend? Theres a new play everyones talking about, then maybe a stop at that little café with the divine desserts.
Eleanor glanced at the sunlit cup, then at her friend, and laughed light, ringing, truly free.
Lets do it! Ill wear my new dress, not for any exhusband, but for myself.
Below, the heavy lift door thumped shut. An old motor car coughed, revved and chugged away from the courtyard, but Eleanor no longer heard it. She poured fresh, fragrant tea and made plans for the weekend, a future that held no room for the past.
