Life Has a Way of Changing Plans
Eleanor grew up in a modest family in a cramped council flat in Manchester. Her parents, both engineers, worked hard, but money was always tight. She often envied the girls at school with their stylish clothes while she had little more than her uniform and a couple of plain dresses.
When she finished school and enrolled at university, she made herself a promise:
*My home will be different. My life will be different.*
And she kept that promisethough not straight away. For a while, she taught English literature at a local school before transferring to the councils education department. Then, by chance, she ran into an old classmate who offered her a job at a well-funded international firm.
“Come on, Ellie,” her friend urged. “Youve got nothing to lose and everything to gain. The pay is decent” she named a figure that nearly made Eleanors jaw drop. “The teams brilliant, and I know youve got the brains for it.”
“Thanks, love,” Eleanor smiled. “Ill take it. We could all use the money.”
By then, Eleanor was married to William, and their son, Oliver, was four. They lived with Williams parents, which meant cramped quarters and little independence. William worked as a dental technician.
The new job exceeded all Eleanors expectations. She loved the work, the salary was more than comfortable, and soon they bought a spacious flat on mortgage. A luxury car followed. Her bosses quickly noticed her ambition, and before long, she was receiving hefty bonuses. Time flew, her career soared, and eventually, she became deputy director.
It changed her. She grew a little arrogant, especially around Williams family. After all, she and William lived far better than his sister, Claire.
“Ellie, hurry up, love,” William called as they prepared for Claires birthday party. “And please, try to be pleasant. I want today to go smoothly.”
Eleanor nodded. She fully intended to be on her best behaviour. William fidgetedhe knew she took ages getting ready. Meanwhile, Eleanor meticulously applied her makeup, in no particular rush to visit Claire and Simon.
*Everything about them is so ordinary,* she thought, eyeing her reflection. *Dated little sandwiches, cheap wine, no caviar, no smoked salmon. And the flatworn-out wallpaper, battered furniture. Three kids, that little greengrocers shopmust barely break even.*
At last, she emerged, elegant in a designer dress. William and Oliver sprang up from the sofa.
“Finally!”
The walk to the fifth-floor flatno lift, of coursedid nothing for Eleanors mood. The tiny hallway, the crowded room, the shrieking children. Claire wore faded jeans and a checked shirt.
*Couldnt even dress up for her own birthday.*
She handed Claire an expensive bottle of perfume.
“Thank you, Ellie,” Claire beamed. “You always know just the thing.”
Eleanor glanced aroundsame tired decor, same sagging sofa. Simon, Claires husband, had always rubbed her the wrong way. That smug half-smile of his. She was sure he envied her. Claire never bothered with manicures, after all.
“So, Ellie,” he said, grinning. “Director soon, eh?”
“Hopefully,” she forced a smile. “Lots of guests today.”
“Claires well-loved,” Simon said, casting an adoring glance at his wife.
The evening passed without incident. Back home, Eleanor and William relaxed on their plush sofa, sipping Spanish wine.
“Claires do went alright,” William remarked.
“It was tolerable. You know I dont like them, and they dont like me. Lets drop it,” she said, swirling her glass.
William let it go.
“Ive got a salon appointment tomorrow,” she added. “So you and Oliver will have to manage. Take him out for lunchthe fridge is nearly empty.”
“Did you even ask us first?” William sighed. “Fine, go. Well figure it out.”
After the weekend, news broke at workthe company was downsizing. Their director was leaving, and everyone assumed Eleanor would take his place.
“Ellie, theyll probably promote you,” a colleague said over coffee.
“I doubt it. No ones mentioned it.”
Then came the meeting with the CEO. She strode down the corridor, certain of her promotion.
“Eleanor,” he began politely before shifting tone. “Youre brilliant, capablebut theres an issue. The directors being let go, and unfortunately, his entire team with him. I fought it, but cuts had to be made. Its not about performancejust restructuring.”
She left in a daze, collected her things, and went home. Oliver was still at school, William at work. She sank onto the sofa and wept.
*What good is a generous severance? I gave everything to that companystayed late, worked hard. And now Im disposable.*
“Dont worry,” William said later. “Well manage. Youll find something else.”
“William, where am I supposed to find that kind of salary?”
“Youll take less, then. Ive got my job, weve savings. Itll work out.”
“Youre the best,” she murmured, leaning into him. “But that doesnt help.”
The next day, she sent out CVs, scoured job listings. A month passednothing. No calls, no offers. She felt lost, adrift after years of relentless work.
“We need to cut back,” she said one evening. “The severance wont last forever, and I cant stay on benefits indefinitely. No more eating outnot that Im much of a cook.”
“Home cookings better anyway,” William smiled. “Youll learn.”
Then, a call. An interview. The man across the desk wore a crisp white shirt, his suit impeccable.
“Impressive client management experience,” he noted.
“Ive climbed every rung at my last firm.”
“Except the top. Your sons olderno plans for more children?” She stiffened.
“Thats hardly relevant.”
“Just being thorough. Now, salary expectations?”
She named a figure close to her old wage. His brows shot up.
“Thats ambitious. We offer half, partly bonus-based. Frankly, you wont find better elsewhere just now.”
She left, furious. At home, she ranted about undervalued experience, insulting wages. January and February were bleak. They sold the Mercedesa bitter pill.
“Dont fret,” William said, stroking her hair. “Well get something smaller. Tough times pass.”
Then Claire called.
“Ellie, can I come round? Need to talk.”
They sat at the kitchen table over tea.
“Come work at the shop,” Claire said. “Simons starting a tiling businesshes good at it. I cant run the place alone. Theres stock to fetch, shelves to fill. Supermarkets are stealing trade, but I trust you. Wed make a good team.”
Eleanor was speechless.
“You want me to haul potatoes?” she finally choked out.
“Ill handle deliveries at first. Youll get the hang of it.”
She didnt insult Clairebut made no promises. When William came home, she exploded.
“How dare she offer me that? A shop girl? Its humiliating!”
William snapped.
“Enough. Im sick of this. Youre unemployed, miserableyet too proud to accept help. Claire meant well. Theres no shame in honest work. If lifes forcing a change, you adapt.”
Shed never seen him so angry.
“But she pities me. Theyve never liked me”
“Can you blame them? You flaunt your degree, sneer at her for raising three children. Yet shes a wonderful mother, a hard worker.”
Two days of silence followed. Then, when William returned from work, she met him at the door.
“Ill take the job. Ive already told Claire.”
“Thats my girl. Your skills will shine there too.”
A year and a half passed. The first month, Eleanor cried over her roughened hands, her ruined manicure. Rude customers tested her patience, but she held her tongue. By the third month, shed found her footing.
Then Claire broke her leg. Eleanor took chargedrove the van, fetched produce, found helpers. They closed briefly for renovations, Eleanor investing her savings.
She drafted a business plan, brainstormed ways to compete with supermarkets. Slowly, things turned. Profits grew. Staring into the mirror one day, Eleanor saw a confident womanin jeans and a checked shirt, trainers instead of heels. Salon visits were rare now, but her smile was genuine. Life had settled.
Theyre even thinking of opening a second shop. And they will.
