The alarm didnt go offweekend. No reason to rush out of bed. No one to cook breakfast for, no plans for the day. After lingering a little longer, Eleanor finally dragged herself up, showered, and sipped black coffee. Now what? How to fill the hours? She had friends, but they were busy with husbands and children. Visit her parents? Her mother would just replay the same old record: *You made a terrible mistake.*
A heaviness settled in her chest. Eleanor knew shed been wrong to leave, but it was too late to put out the firethe house had already burned down. Truth was, Victor hadnt been a bad husband. Didnt drink, didnt cheat, ate whatever she put in front of him. He wouldnt have noticed if shed served him cardboardhis mind was always glued to his computer.
He worked late into the night, slept till noon. Dragging him out was a battle. He yawned through social gatherings, dozed off at the cinema, and counted the minutes until he could get back to his screen.
When he finally went to bed, it was time for Eleanor to get up for work. And when they *did* share the same sheets, Victor treated it like a sprintover before she could catch her breath. Three years of marriage, and shed never fallen pregnant. No medical reason.
The lack of a child wasnt the only reason shed left. She was just tired of talking to the back of his head. She saw his spine more than his face. How do you build a life with someones shoulder blades? At least a cat would purr when she spoke.
But to her mother, a divorced woman was a scandal. *”Half of London would kill for a man like that. So what if hes dull? What more do you want?”*
No one understoodnot even her friends, who had *normal* husbands. Men who worked nine-to-five, slept beside their wives, filled their homes with kids. Men who drank too much sometimes, argued, made up, needed a hangover cure the next morning.
She and Victor had known each other since school. Eleven years. Hed always been the bookish type, nose buried in pages. By sixth form, computers swallowed him whole. Eleanor and her friends giggled at the awkward boy in thick glasses. When he talked tech with the lads, it might as well have been Mandarin.
Years later, they bumped into each other in Covent Garden. The glasses were gone, replaced by contacts. Hed grown into his looks. He knew thingsinteresting things. And Eleanor was a good listener. They dated. Three weeks in, he proposed, blunt as a brick.
*”Why are we acting like teenagers? Lets just get married.”*
*”Alright,”* shed laughed.
*”Hes clever, Mum. Interesting,”* shed said when she broke the news.
*”But do you love him?”* her mother had asked.
The question threw her. Theyd known each other forever. Love? They never talked about love. But if a man proposed, didnt that mean he loved you? Their marriage felt like friendshipjust with shared bedsheets.
Her mother never approved. The divorce sent her into orbit. *”Have you lost your mind? He doesnt drink, doesnt stray, brings home a wageand you throw that away? Where dyou think youll find better? Shouldve had a baby. Maybe then you wouldnt be so restless.”*
Eleanor said nothing. Shed have a baby now if*if, if, if.*
Victor had just blinked when she asked for the divorce. Packed his things, moved back to his mums. His mother called within the hour, spewing venom down the line. Eleanor hung up. The papers were quickno kids, no fight over the computer.
At first, relief. Then autumn came, heavy and grey. The walls of her flat closed in. Winter loomed, long and lonely. She missed Victor. At least hed been *there.* But regrets were useless.
Her mother kept ringing, offering setups. Eleanor refused.
Plenty of women divorced. Shed grieve, move on. Meet someone better. But how, when she never left the house?
A friend signed her up for a dating site, made her pose for photos. *”Smile sexy.”* As if she knew what that looked like. Shed played along, half-hoping Victor might see and care.
Now, laptop balanced on her knees, she scrolled. Men everywhere. Handsome, plain, young, oldtake your pick. The womens profiles were all the same: *”I cook like Nigella, knit like Gran, just need love to complete me.”*
Eleanor had no talents. Couldnt sew, hated the gym. Then she rememberedVictor had loved how she listened. Men liked an audience. So she wrote: *”Good listener.”*
Messages flooded in. All from gods. Why were *they* single? One stood outstubble, sharp eyes.
An hour of banter later: *”Meet me.”*
*”Bit soon,”* she typed.
*”Why waste time?”* he replied.
His name was probably fake. So was the photo. But his logic made sense. No travelhe was local.
*”Tonight. Café Rouge. One hour.”*
She lunged for the wardrobe, then stopped. Let him see her as she was. Jeans, a fitted jumper. She still had the figure for it. A touch of mascara, hair down. The mirror approved.
He was waiting outside. Looked just like his picture. The café was quiet. They took a window table. Coffee for him; she passed on cake.
His gaze roamed freely. It prickled her skin.
*”Disappointed?”* she asked.
*”Thought youd be older.”*
*”Prefer pensioners, do you?”*
He laugheda proper laugh, not the usual male honk. *”Hes alright,”* she decided, dropping her eyes.
He talked. Nothing extraordinary. But the more she listened, the more she liked him. Confident, not arrogant. She summarised herself in three lines: job, divorced
*”The interesting bits are still to come,”* she said.
He laughed again.
Definitely liked him.
*”More coffee? Or my hotel?”*
*”What?”* She knew exactly what.
*”Were adults. We both know where this goes. Why wait?”*
*”Hes testing me,”* she realised. *”How desperate am I?”*
*”Alright,”* she said.
In the hotel room, he sat on the bed. She hovered, coat still on.
*”Keeping that on?”* he teased.
*”Im not sure Im ready to”* She wanted to bolt.
*”Then why come?”* No irritation. Just curiosity.
*”Dunno. Thought you were joking.”*
*”Fair. Ill take you home.”* He stood. Close now. The space between them buzzed.
*”Youve paid for the room,”* she mumbled.
*”Staying, then?”*
*”Hes playing with me.”*
She wanted him. Itd been so long. But shame flaredshe wasnt *that* kind of woman.
*”Weve just met. What ifwhat if one of us is… you know.”*
He laughed. The sound, his nearnessgoosebumps raced down her arms.
*”Another time,”* she whispered.
He drove her home. Didnt ask for her number.
*”Arrogant prick. And I acted like a schoolgirl,”* she grumbled later.
Days passed. No word. His confidence had hooked her. On the third day, she cracked.
*”You angry?”*
*”Not at all. When youre ready, message me.”*
A week of wrestling later, she did.
*”Ill pick you up in an hour.”*
She sat frozen, then scrambled into clothes. At the hotel, she yanked off her coat, went for the jumper. He caught her wrists. Fabric trapped her face.
*”Sure?”* His eyes searched hers.
*”No. Its been years. Imterrified.”* Her voice shook.
*”Shhh.”* He pulled her close. His heartbeat thudded against her ear. Then his mouth found hers. She soared, plummeted, lost all sense of gravity.
*”If he asks if I liked it, Im leaving,”* she thought, lying beside him.
*”Fancy a drink?”* he asked.
*”Youre driving.”*
*”Stay the night. No ones waiting, right?”*
Silence.
*”Get dressed,”* he said.
She blinked.
*”Dinner. Food. Wine.”*
That night was revelation. Victor faded to dust.
They met a few more times. Thenthe stick turned blue. Joy, panic. Three years with Victor, nothing. With Daniel?
