Eleanor roused herself from a restless night, the cold kitchen light casting a thin glow as she padded to the tap for a glass of water. While the water dripped, she caught the low murmur of her husbands parents in the hallway, their words slipping through the thin walls. By dawn she had decided: she would file for divorce.
She brushed her hair smooth, glanced up at Jamess parents housea grand twostorey redbrick manor in Surrey that always seemed too spacious for two elderly people.
Ready? James asked, hauling the suitcases from the boot.
Of course, she replied, forcing a smile. Fifteen years of marriage had taught her how to mask discomfort.
The door swung open and Margaret, dressed in a fresh housecoat, greeted them with a warm hug for her son and a quick kiss on his cheek. She gave Eleanor a fleeting glance. Good morning, Eleanor.
Morning, Eleanor said, handing over a box of chocolates.
Dont, Margaret began, your fathers diabetes is getting worse.
James said nothing, as he always did.
In the sitting room, Arthur was glued to the news, nodding politely before returning his eyes to the screen.
Dinners in an hour, Margaret announced. James, give me a hand in the kitchen. Eleanor, you just rest.
Rest, as if she were a invalid.
Eleanor slipped into the guest bedroom, dumped her bag into the wardrobe, and sank onto the bed. Through the thin plaster she could hear James and his mother chatting about work, neighbours, health.
Why did they come each month? To keep up appearances? Did James truly miss his parents?
Eleanor, come and eat! Margaret called. The table was set with roast chicken, potatoes, and saladexactly the same as always.
James told us you spent your holiday in Spain again, Margaret said, sliding a fork toward him. When we were your age we went to the country house and helped the nation.
Times have changed, Eleanor replied.
Yes, they have. Back then family mattered more than any entertainment.
Eleanors fists clenched. James chewed his chicken in silence.
And when are you two planning children? Arthur asked, looking up from his plate. The years are slipping by.
Weve discussed it, Mum, James muttered.
Talked and talked. What did it achieve?
Eleanor rose from the table. Excuse me, Im feeling a headache. I think Ill head to bed early.
She shut the door behind her and perched on the edge of the bed, hands trembling. The same old hints, the reproaches, the disapproving glances.
James stalked back half an hour later.
Whats wrong with you?
Nothing. Just tired.
They mean well. Theyre only worried about us.
Worried. Eleanor lay back, staring at the ceiling.
Good night, she whispered.
James stripped off his shirt, lay down beside her, and soon was snoring.
Eleanor stared at the ceiling, replaying the inevitable snide remarks that would greet her over breakfast tomorrow, Jamess practiced indifference. Fifteen yearswas this how it would always be?
She awoke at three a.m., mouth dry, head buzzing. James was a sprawling silhouette, still snoring. She slipped out of bed, threw on a robe, and padded to the kitchen for water. A nightlight flickered down the hallway; the floorboards creaked under her feet.
At the kitchen door, voices roseher fatherinlaw and motherinlaw.
shes a barren cow, hissed Margaret. Fifteen years, no children, no use.
Shh, someone might hear, growled Arthur.
Let her hear! Maybe shell finally feel shame. James could have any womanhandsome, welloff.
Eleanor pressed herself against the wall, heart hammering.
So, whats the plan?
Talk to him tomorrow. A serious talk. He needs to realise time isnt endless. At fortythree you can still start a proper family.
And the flat? The car?
The flat is in Jamess name; we funded the deposit. The car too. Shell only have what she earns herself.
Margaret let out a harsh laugh. And thats peanuts. A damned librarian.
You think hell agree?
Of course. Im his mother; I know how to sway him. Frame it rightIm unhappy, son, suffering with that whats her name
Eleanor.
Right. Time to get rid of the dead weight.
Eleanor felt as though a blade had sliced through her. Dead weight. Fifteen years, and she was a burden.
And if he refuses?
He wont. James has always listened to me. Hell listen now too.
The kitchen clattered with dishes. All right, time for bed. Big day tomorrow.
Eleanor rushed to the bathroom, locked the door, and sat on the toilet lid, covering her face with her hands. Dead weight. A barren cow.
For fifteen years she had cooked for holidays, given gifts, endured the hints and the rebukes. Now they plotted to discard her like old furniture, and James would obeyhed never disobeyed his mother.
She returned to the bedroom, James still snoring. She pulled the blanket over herself, waiting for daylight.
At seven she rose, dressed, and packed her suitcase. James stirred at the rustle.
Eleanor, why so early?
Im going home.
How? We were staying till evening.
Im leaving now.
James sat up, rubbing his eyes. What happened?
Nothing. I just want to go home.
And your parents? Theyll be angry.
Tell them I said hello. Say I had a headache.
Ill come with you.
No. Stay. Spend time with them.
She left the room, slipped on her coat in the hallway, grabbed her phone and called a cab.
Eleanor, where are you off to? Margaret poked her head out of the kitchen. Breakfast is ready.
Im heading home. Thank you for the hospitality.
But why so early?
Eleanor met her gazepainted lips, startled eyes, a tone that tried to be gentle.
I have things to sort out at home.
The cab arrived ten minutes later. Eleanor slipped into the back seat, closed her eyes. The dead weight was finally shedding itself.
At her flat, she brewed a strong cup of tea and sat at the kitchen table. The apartment felt unusually quiet; usually they returned in the evening, tired, ate, and then went straight to bed. It was Saturday, eleven oclock, and she was alone.
The phone rang. James.
Eleanor, got home okay?
Yes.
Whats up? Mum says you were acting oddly.
Eleanor smiled thinly. All is well. How are your parents?
Theyre fine Listen, Ill pop round tonight. Well talk.
Alright.
She hung up, looked around the flat theyd chosen together, the wallpaper, the furniture. The downpayment had come from Jamess parents, so by their logic the flat wasnt really hers.
She opened the wardrobe, pulled out a foldermarriage certificate, lease papers, everything in both names.
A lie from the old hag.
On Monday she took a day off and visited a solicitor, a sharpdressed woman in her early thirties.
Divorce, then?
Yes.
Any children?
No.
Anticipate any property disputes?
Possibly.
Itll go through the courts. Well file a petition; youll be summoned. If he consents, it can be wrapped up in about six to eight weeks.
She filled out the forms, paid the court fee of £150, feeling as if a heavy pack had been set down on the floor.
That evening James arrived at eight, weary and irritated.
What a day Mums been nagging nonstop. She says you shouted at her.
I didnt shout.
So what? Why did you bolt?
Eleanor placed a bowl of homemade soup before him.
James, do you love me?
He choked on his spoon. Whats with the questions?
Just curious. Do you love me?
Of course I do. Fifteen years together.
Thats not an answer. You can live fifteen years out of habit.
James set the spoon down. Eleanor, whats happening? Youve been different these past two days.
Answer the question.
Well I love you. So what?
What will you say if your parents push us to divorce?
Jamess face fell. He lowered his gaze. Thats nonsense. Why would they?
And if they do?
They wont.
James, Im askingwhat will YOU say?
A long silence. James crumpled the napkin in his hand. Eleanor, why are you talking like this? Were fine.
Fine isnt an answer.
I dont know! He pushed away from the table. Im exhausted by these questions. One day we were fine, the next what changed?
Eleanor rose. Nothing changed. I just realised something.
Realised what?
That Ive been a fool for fifteen years.
She fetched the folder from the wardrobe, placed the divorce petition on the table. James read it, his face blanching.
Are you mad?
On the contrary. For once I think clearly.
Because of my mother? She didnt mean it seriously!
I know. She just sees me as dead weight.
James froze. How did you
I overheard their little strategy meeting, in the kitchen, at night.
Its not what you think
What then?
He stayed mute, the petition trembling in his grip.
Speak, Eleanor said, sitting opposite him.
James laid the petition on the table. Mum really did bring up children. That there isnt much time.
And she also said dead weight?
Shes old, says stupid things.
And what did you say?
I said nothing.
Exactly as always.
Eleanor stood, poured herself a cup of tea. Her hands were steady. No hysteria, no tearsjust a cold calm.
For fifteen years I waited for you to finally stand up for us, to tell your mother Im your wife, not a temporary guest.
Theyre used to calling the shots
And youre used to obeying. You made me obey.
James sprang up. I never forced anyone! I just hate conflict.
Conflict? Eleanor laughed. Defending your wife, thats what you call it. Yet youd rather I just endured.
So what now? The past cant be changed.
Nothing left to do. Its already over.
James snatched the petition. I wont sign this!
You dont have to. The court will grant it.
Eleanor, think! Where will you go? What will you do?
I dont know yet. But Ill do it without you three.
He paced, gesturing wildly. This is madness! To tear a family apart over an old womans words!
Family? Eleanor set her cup down. What family? Where do you see it?
We we live together
We live like flatmates in a shared house. You work, I work, we meet in the evenings, watch TV. On weekends we go to your parents, where I pretend to be grateful they tolerate me.
James sank back down. And whats wrong with that? Its normal.
For you. Im tired of being nobody.
The phone rang. It was Margaret.
Dont answer, James begged.
Eleanor picked up. Hello.
Eleanor, dear! Is James home? I wanted to check in.
Everythings fine. Im divorcing your son.
Silence. Then Margaret stammered, What? What are you saying?
What you wanted to hear. Im getting rid of myself for you.
Eleanor, I dont understand
You will. Say hello to Arthur.
She hung up. James stared at her, horrified. Why tell her?
Why hide it? Let her be happy.
Half an hour later Margaret barged in, unannounced. Whats happening? James, explain this at once!
Mother, not now
Eleanor! she snapped at her daughterinlaw. What are you up to? Have you lost your mind?
Eleanor sat calmly. On the contrary. Ive finally seen clearly.
Over what? Did James mistreat you?
He ignored me. And you were planning to get rid of me.
Margaret flushed. Who told you that?
You did. Last night. In the kitchen.
You were eavesdropping?
I just wanted a drink of water. And I heard you call me dead weight.
Margaret glanced between them, bewildered. Eleanor, you misunderstood. I worry about Jameshes unhappy
Enough, James interjected suddenly. Enough lies. Yes, you wanted us to split. And yes, I listened and kept quiet. As always.
James!
And now Eleanor has made her own decision. Shes done the right thing.
James looked at his mother, stunned. For the first time in fifteen years hed spoken the truth.
But its too late, she added.
James nodded. I understand.
Margaret darted between them. Youre both crazy! Eleanor, I apologise if I said something wrong!
Thank you, but the decision is made.
A month later the court finalised the divorce. The flat was divided; Eleanor sold her share to James. The proceeds bought a modest studio in a leafy part of Manchester.
The new flat was small but bright. She placed fresh flowers on the windowsill, hung pictures of herself. For the first time in years she did what she wantedwatched the films she loved, ate when she pleased, faced no criticism.
James called in the early weeks, pleading, promising to talk to his parents. Eleanor answered politely, then the calls stopped.
Friends were shocked: how could she leave a welloff husband? Her answer was simplemoney never replaces respect.
At fortyone she started a new life: no domineering fatherinlaw, no snide motherinlaw, no indecisive husband. Hard? Yes. Lonely at times? Occasionally. But for the first time in many years, Eleanor was no longer dead weightshe was simply herself. And that was worth any struggle.
