No ones holding you back, the voice crackled through the speaker, muffled by the whir of an angle grinder. Its going to be late; weve got a massive backlog on site.
Can you hear me? Edward pressed the phone to his other ear.
Yes, he replied, wont be waiting for dinner?
Dont wait. I may not even make it backdeadlines are on fire.
Alright.
A brief buzz. It always ended like that.
Edward set the handset down on the kitchen table and stared at the pot of cooling borscht, a habit he kept despite the fact hed long ago promised himself to quit cooking for one. Eleanor worked as a tiler, her schedule a jagged heartbeat: frantic spikes of activity followed by long, flat stretches. For six months she bounced from site to site, laying expensive porcelain slabs in strangers flats, earning enough money for Edward to feel a quiet envy. Then came six months of absolute stillness, when no orders came and she lingered at home.
Both extremes were unbearable in their own way. When Eleanor was on a job she vanishedphysically, emotionally, mentallycompletely. She would set off at seven in the morning and return, if she returned at all, after midnight. Sometimes she slept on the scaffolding because whats the point of hopping back and forth when I have to start again at six? Edward ate dinner alone, watched sitcoms in solitude, and collapsed onto a cold, empty bed. The only reminder that he was still married was a crumpled marriage certificate tucked somewhere in a file folder.
He tried to count how many dinners theyd shared in the past three months. Four. Four!
The real nightmare began when the workday ended. Eleanor would come home, and instead of relief there was frustration. After half a year of hopping into countless apartments, shed seen so many design choices that her own home started to drive her mad. Shed stare at the bathroom tilesthe very ones shed laid two years agoand her eye would twitch.
This is a disaster, she muttered, running a finger along the grout line. How could I have let this happen? A misalignment of one and a half millimetres. One and a half millimetres, Edward!
Edward, who couldnt tell a oneandahalfmillimetre shift from a fifteenmillimetre one, merely nodded politely.
Then the cascade began. First shed say, Let me see if it can be fixed. Next, Ill chip out one tile, replace it, and thatll be it. Then, If were doing this, we might as well redo the whole wall. And finally Edward would get home to discover the bathroom had vanished entirelybare walls, piles of construction waste, and Eleanor in a respirator, merrily mixing tile adhesive.
In three years of marriage theyd survived four bathroom overhauls, three kitchen revamps, and one corridor redo.
The job was completed on schedule, and another lull settled over Eleanors workload. Not for Edward.
Bring me the tile spacers, Eleanor called while Edward was at the office. And the grey groutIll text you the brand.
Im at work.
Drop by at lunch. I need to finish this corner before evening.
Fine.
Bring, fetch, order, help. Edward became courier, loader, and handyman all at once. Eleanor never left the house except for trips to the builders merchantsometimes three times a daybecause I didnt know the grout would run out, what was I supposed to guess?
She was perpetually exhausted, drained by a renovation shed herself launched. In the evenings Edward would find her in the kitchendirty, ragged, tile dust in her hairand she would stare at him with vacant eyes.
Do you want dinner?
Later. No energy.
She had no energy for conversation, for movies, for intimacy. Edward was only needed to fetch rollers when she was too lazy to dress, to haul a sack of cement from the van, or to hold a level while she aligned a row of tiles.
Were married, Eleanor would say whenever Edward complained. Married people help each other.
Married sounded like a joke for a relationship where one person exists solely as a service crew for the others professional ambitions.
One Saturday night Eleanor was rearranging a splashback above the stove. The previous one didnt suit the colour scheme. Edward sat amid the chaos, trying to sip tea from a kettle perched on a stool in the hallway because the countertop was buried under tiles. He found sugar in the bathroom and couldnt locate a spoon at all.
Ellie, he began gently, couldnt we have had enough?
What enough of? she didnt even turn, snapping another slab into place.
All of this. The endless refurbishing. You keep redoing the flat.
And so? she shot back. I like it. This is my home; I want it perfect.
It will never be perfect for you. Youll finish one job, then move on to another site, get inspired by something new, and start over again.
Eleanor set the tile down and swiveled slowly, a dangerous gleam in her eyes.
What are you suggesting? Living like this, with everything driving me mad?
Im suggesting a normal life. Like ordinary people. Going to the cinema. Eating together. Talking about anything but grout lines. Do you even remember the last time we went out as a pair?
Work.
You dont have work now! You invented it yourself!
Its not invented, Edward. Its called improving living conditions. Some people specialise in that.
And some people just want to live. Not in a construction zone, not in dust, not in a fetchandcarry mode. Living with a wife who remembers she has a husband.
Eleanor crossed her arms as if shielding herself.
You just dont get it. Youre a programmer, sitting in your cosy office, tapping keys. I create things with my handssomething real you can touch. When I see a chance to make it better, I do it.
At the expense of everything else!
If youre not happyno ones holding you.
She said it almost offhand, as if referring to a wobbly chair that could be tossed aside. Edward fell silent. Those seven words contained their whole problem, compressed into a single sentence. For Eleanor, he was an option, not a necessity, not a husband, not a belovedjust an optional extra to switch off when inconvenient.
You know, he said, shaking dust from his jeans, maybe youre right.
About what?
That nothing really holds me down.
They stared at each other through piles of tiles, bags of adhesive, and the remnants of what had once been a kitchen. Both understood the fight was never about the renovations; it was about lives that had drifted apart long before the grout set.
They signed the divorce papers in three months, surprisingly amicable. There was nothing to split.
Edward wandered through his new flata small, spotless place with no sack of cement in the cornerand could hardly believe the silence. No drilling, no banging, no frantic calls for sealant because the old stock had run out.
He could plan for the first time in three years, knowing exactly what he would do each evening. Yet something was missing, a hollow in his chest that no schedule could fill.
Almost two years passed.
Did you hear the news? Dave, an old mate, called on a Friday night. About your ex?
Edward tensed. Hed avoided any mention of Eleanor since the split.
What news?
Shes married. Just recently.
Quickly, wasnt it?
Yeah. Guess who shes with? Dave paused theatrically. A tiler, can you imagine?
Edward snorted.
How are they?
People say theyre glowing. Going from site to site together, a twoperson crew. Perfect partnership.
For weeks Edward replayed the thought that Eleanor had found someone who understood a oneandahalfmillimetre misalignment as a catastrophe, someone who knew the difference between epoxy and cement grout not because hed explained it, but because he lived it. The very details that had grated his teeth now underpinned a new relationship.
He ran into them three months later in a supermarket, purely by chance. Hed stopped for groceries after work, grabbed a basket, and drifted toward the dairy aisle, then froze.
Eleanor stood by the yogurts, a man about her age, broadshouldered, hands clearly accustomed to hard work. They argued softly over a brand, laughed, and she nudged him playfully; he poked her side, she squealed and hopped away.
They looked like teenagers in love, oblivious to anyone else, the world narrowed to the person beside them. Eleanor seemed differentno longer weary, no empty stare of someone whod spent eight hours chipping away at walls. She looked alive, just as Edward remembered her on their first meeting.
He hesitated, set his basket down, and left the shop emptyhanded.
In his car he smiled. They simply werent meant for each other. Their divorce had been inevitable.
He turned the key.
If Eleanor found her person, Ill find mine too.
The thick fog that had settled over Edwards life after the divorce finally lifted.
