“You’ve got a right talent for making things messy,” Max said, rubbing his temples. “I’m done, Eleanor. I can’t go on like this, and yesI’m filing for divorce.”
The words left her mouth as if she were reciting the daily news. Eleanor blinked at her own ease. All the years of simmering resentment, sleepless nights waiting for him until dawn, inventing excuseseverything was compressed into two blunt sentences.
Max turned his head toward her. A flicker of bewilderment crossed his face.
“Come off it youre serious? Over what, exactly?”
“Eternally over everything,” Eleanor said with a halfsmile. “Over the scent of other women’s perfume on his shirts. Over the messages I spied on by accident. Over the way he looked through me like I were a piece of furniture hed meant to toss out but never got around to. Over the colleague from the office. Over the neighbour upstairs. Over that waitress at the bistro where we celebrated our anniversary.”
“All of it,” she shrugged. “I’m tired.”
The divorce dragged on for months, turning into such a draining marathon that Eleanor sometimes forgot to eat. Courtrooms, endless paperwork, backtoback hearings became a viscous nightmare with no exit. She showed up in a drab dress she’d owned before she got pregnant; the fabric strained at the hips, the zipper at the back never quite caught, and she hid it under a cardiganthe only decent one left without pills and stretched sleeves.
Max sat opposite her in a crisp new suit. The jacket fit like it was made for a runway, the tiean absurdly bold patternwas the height of fashion. Eleanor stared at that tie and tried to recall the last time shed bought anything for herself. Just two days earlier she’d scraped together enough for a pair of winter boots for Arthur. They were barely used, five hundred pounds, bought from a shop in a neighbouring suburb. On the way back, packed like sardines on a jamfilled bus, she thought about how Arthur still needed trousers, a jacket, a hathis summer had left him a bit lean.
Then the solicitor slapped a stack of documents on the table.
“According to the bank statements,” the lawyer intoned, businesslike, “over the past eighteen months the defendant has spent in restaurants and leisure venues an amount equivalent to the familys annual budget.”
Eleanor stared at the figures, unable to stitch them into a coherent picture. Restaurants. Leisure spots. A separate line for a floristry shopshe knew he never bought her bouquets. Jewellersearrings, a pendant, a ring. Gifts definitely not for her.
Meanwhile she wondered whether she could even afford a single banana for Arthur. Not a bunchone banana was already a luxury. She sliced apples thinly to stretch them over days, boiled porridge in water because milk had become pricey, and sipped empty tea, convincing herself it was better for the figure.
Max cleared his throat, adjusted that gaudy tie.
“Those are my personal funds. I earned them.”
After the hearing Max cornered her in the car park, grabbed her elbow, and spun her around.
“Think youll win anything?” his voice dripped venom. “Ill take Arthur, you hear me? Ill take him.”
Eleanor stared silently at the man shed spent five years with, the father of her childthe very reason shed taken maternity leave, lost her job, her qualifications, a part of herself.
“Youre clueless,” he crowed. “You cant do anything. What can you give him? Poverty? Ill raise a man out of him, not a mush. And youll pay alimony, not the other way round!”
“Clueless” was a word hed used before.
“Youre clueless, you dont grasp the basics.”
“Youre clueless, you forgot again.”
“Youre clueless, what can I get from you.”
Eleanor swallowed it, because she loved him, because she was family, because thats what she thought she owed.
Her ex kept calling, demanding that she hand over their son so he wouldnt spoil him with her influence, so the alimony wouldnt disappear on whoknowswhat.
During another call Eleanor finally snapped.
“Fine,” she said. “Take him.”
Silence hung on the other end.
“What?”
“I said fine. Ill bring Arthur tomorrow.”
And she did.
Arthur stood in Maxs hallwaya small boy with a dinosaurshaped backpack and a tote bag stuffed with his favourite pyjamas, a book about space, and a plush rabbit with a clipped ear. Max stared at his son as if the lad had materialised out of thin air.
“Right then,” Eleanor set the bag down. “Raise him.”
“Mum?” Arthurs voice wavered.
Eleanor sat in front of him, wrapped him tight, burying her nose in his hair, inhaling the scent of baby shampoo and sunshine.
“Youll stay with dad for a bit, okay? Think of it as an adventure. Ill miss you and call every day.”
She walked out without looking back, slipped around the corner, pressed her palms to her face against the wall, and slid down. “Lord, what am I doing?” she muttered. She was exhausted from Maxs calls, his voice, his nitpicking.
An hour later Max called.
“Lena? Uh whens Arthur going to nursery? Tomorrow?” he stammered.
“The nursery?” Eleanor blinked. “Max, he goes to nursery every weekday from eight in the morning. Didnt you know?”
“How should I right, Ill sort it out.”
He never did. He dropped Arthur off with Valerie Petty at the same eveningfor a couple of hours while I sort things outand vanished.
On the fourth day a call came from his mothers number. She let a brief, wicked grin slip before answering.
“Lost your conscience, have you?” Valeries voice crackled with outrage. “You handed your child over and went off gallivanting? And you expect me, at my sixtysomething, to watch him? My blood pressure!”
“I didnt bring him to you,” Eleanor said evenly, almost kindly. “I brought him to his father. The same bloke who swore hed raise a proper man, banged his chest, threatened court.”
“He works! Hes got no time!”
“And I have time? I work too, every day. I cope on my own.”
“But he”
“Valerie, I handed the child to Max because he asked. Let him raise him as he promised. I cant help you.”
Silence, then a few beeps.
Two days later Valerie called again, voice hoarse.
“Come and collect Arthur. I cant do this any longer.”
Eleanor arrived in the evening. Arthur lunged at her the moment she stepped in, clinging to her legs, his face pressed to her stomach.
“Mum, mum, mum” he chanted like a mantra, and she stroked his head.
“Alright, love, adventures over. Lets go home.”
Valerie stood in the doorway, arms crossed, a flicker of irritation in her eyesno remorse, just a sigh that the plan had flopped. The daughterinlaw turned out not to be as clueless as theyd thought.
Max disappeared. No calls, no messages, no doorstep threats. He simply evaporated. His parents didnt drop by either; they visited once, years later, by which time Arthur was seven, in Year 2, swimming lessons, and a budding Lego architect.
One day Arthur opened the front door to strangers.
“Who are you?” he asked.
“Arthur!” Valerie shouted, waving her arms. “Its us! Grandma and Grandpa!”
Arthur frowned, turned back.
“Mum, there are strangers here.”
The exchange was brief and a little awkward. Valerie complained that her grandson didnt recognise her, didnt greet her, didnt throw himself into a hug. Grandpa Nigel shook his head, muttering something about modern parenting.
They left, muttering that the boy was illbehaved and as clueless as his mother. Eleanor shut the door behind them and laughed. What had they expected?
Time sped on. Arthur turned eleven, stretched tall, now looking more like Eleanors own fatherstubborn chin, sharp, teasing eyes. Hed inherited her tenaciousness and her wry stare. He never asked about his father. Maybe one day he will, and Eleanor will answer plainly, without sugar or spite. For now they manage, just the two of them.
The past nudged back in via an old friend, Katie, sobbing in Eleanors kitchen, mascara smeared across her cheeks.
“Hes threatening to take Sam,” Katie wailed. “He says hell hire a solicitor, collect paperwork Im at my wits end!”
Eleanor poured tea, nudged the sugar bowl forward.
“Katie,” she said with a cornerlip smile, “you want advice?”
“I want anything. Im losing it.”
“Give him the child yourself.”
Katie froze, tea cup trembling.
“What?”
“Pack your stuff, take Sam to his dad, say Raise him and walk out. Three daysmaybe less. Problem solved.”
“Are you serious?”
“Completely. Been there, done that.”
Katie stared, bewildered, a flicker of hope stirring.
“And then?”
“Eddie?” Eleanor sipped her tea, leaning back. “Then you live your life, free of those who need you only for the family badge on social media.”
She thought of Max, his parentseverything now a distant memory. But Eleanor had learned her lesson, with flying colours.
