She Needs a Married Man

17April

Eleanor asked me over the couch, Shall we go to the pictures this weekend? Weve barely been together lately, and she seemed eager to stitch back the closeness we once had.

I told her I was tied up. Ive already promised Mum Id help her with the roof. Winters coming and the tiles are leaking again. Ill be stuck there all weekend, I said without even looking up from my phone, scrolling through the news feed.

She nodded, trying not to show disappointment. A cold knot settled in my gut, but I brushed it aside.

Friday evening I was about to leave for Mums house. Eleanor stared at my outfit new trousers and the shirt shed bought me for my birthday, a decent piece from a Savile Row store. Youre heading up to the roof, arent you? she said, eyeing the shirt. Dont you think youll ruin it? Theres tar, mud

Its all right, I replied hastily, grabbing the car keys. Mum has work clothes in the shed. Ill change there. No need to worry about the shirt.

She walked me to the door, gave me the usual kiss wed shared for five years of marriage, and gave me a tight hug that felt more like a shove. When the door shut, I felt a strange tension in the air, as if something had shifted between us.

In the bedroom I collapsed onto the bed, the scent of my aftershave still clinging to the pillowcase. Over the past two months Id been distant, colder, staying late at the office more often. All the signs pointed to one thing I was seeing someone else. Eleanor, of course, tried to deny it. Its just work stress, love. The autumn blues, she whispered to the pillow.

Yesterday shed told me how much she loved me, how I was the best thing in her life. She repeated it like a mantra. People change, she knew that. But I, James, was supposed to be the steady rock wed built our future on children, retirement, everything. I had let the thought of infidelity creep in and I didnt even try to stop it.

Saturday morning Eleanor went to the local supermarket early, the shop almost empty. She loaded a trolley with my favourite meat for a roast, fresh veg for a salad, even bought an expensive piece of salmon that we only ever treated ourselves to on special occasions. She spent the afternoon cooking with a tenderness that reminded me of my own mothers kitchen. The borscht was hearty, the meatballs fluffy she even added a splash of cream, just as my Granddad had taught her.

Ill take these over to Mums, she said, noting that Mum would be at a friends for the day while I was stuck on the roof. She packed everything carefully, checked for spills, and drove out of town.

The journey to Mums in Kent took about forty minutes on the A20, then a few more on a narrow country lane. Mums cottage was a modest, cosy house with a large garden. When Eleanor pulled up to the familiar green gate, she expected to see my car parked in the yard. There was none.

She stepped out, peered through the gate, and saw the roof of the house gleaming in the autumn sun brandnew metal tiles, freshly installed gutters. Mum, in a faded housecoat, was humming while tending her vegetable patch.

Eleanor slipped back into the car and drove away without even ringing the doorbell. The hurt inside her swelled; Id lied, shamelessly. Why? The answer seemed obvious, but she clung to the last sliver of hope.

On the drive home she tried to rationalise. Maybe the roof work was finished early? Maybe Id gone off to get more materials? The brandnew roof told a different story it hadnt been installed yesterday or the day before.

Sunday evening I trudged back home, exhausted but smelling faintly of someone elses perfume. My shirt was still clean, just a little crumpled.

Hard work, love, I muttered as I kicked off my boots, not meeting Eleanors eyes. Finished the roof just before dusk. Mums thrilled.

Yes, well done, she replied from the kitchen, watching every move. How about we visit Mum together next weekend? Id like to catch up with her, see the work for myself.

I hesitated, then grudgingly agreed, rubbing my neck my usual sign of nervousness.

Sure, though shell probably be busy with her jams and pickles, she added with a forced smile, though a dread lingered in her chest.

The whole week I pretended nothing was amiss, going to work, returning at night, avoiding her gaze, even turning my back to the wall when we shared the bed.

The following Saturday was bright and warm as we drove to Mums in silence. I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel, constantly adjusting the rearview mirror. Eleanor stared out at the golden fields, rehearsing how to bring up the roof.

At the kitchen table Mum was bustling as ever laying out salads, slicing bread, pulling jars of pickles from the pantry. I sat stiffly, barely touching my food.

Mrs. Parker, Eleanor began, hows the new roof? James mentioned you replaced it just last weekend. Must have cost a pretty penny?

A heavy silence settled over the table. Mum looked bewildered, then glanced at me.

We didnt replace it last weekend, she said slowly. We had it redone back in June while you two were on holiday. I even called you about the colour of the tiles

Mom, youve got it wrong, I interjected, voice shaking. It was the old one

Oh dear, I must have mixed it up, Mum rushed, turning pale at the sight of my face. I was thinking of the old roof, and James told me about a few patches he did over the weekend

Dont play games, Eleanor snapped, eyes locked on me. Ive put the pieces together. Are you cheating on me?

I mumbled something unintelligible, eyes down on my plate, fists clenching under the table. Eleanor rose, her legs barely supporting her, but she forced herself upright.

Honestly, I didnt expect this from you, she said. Weve always been open, or so I thought. If youd met someone else, you should have told me. Id have left without drama.

Mum, calm down! Eleanors mother shouted, standing abruptly. Men slip up. It happens. Forgive him, keep the family together. All men stray; itll pass, trust my experience

No, Eleanor answered firmly, heading for the door. I cant forgive that betrayal. James, stay with Mum; Ill collect your things in the next few days. Dont come back.

Wait, Eleanor! I lunged after her, grabbing her wrist at the gate, spinning her around. Im sorry! It was a moment of madness, I didnt mean anything. She meant nothing to me, I swear! It was a stupid mistake!

She ripped my hand away, tears flashing in her eyes, but she refused to cry out loud.

You lied, you betrayed me. Whether you call it a trance, a solar eclipse or Mercury retrograde doesnt matter. You broke us, and Ill never forgive you, she said, heading toward the bus stop without looking back. Mum muttered about youth and passion, as if everything would sort itself out.

At home I packed my belongings the shirts, my razor, the silly SpiderMan mug Id brought in our first year. I loaded the boxes onto a van the next day and drove them to Mums. She tried to coax me back, even shed a tear.

Think it over, James. Lets talk calmly. Five years isnt nothing, she pleaded.

Its decided, I told her, unloading the final box. Ill file for divorce on Monday. No contact, please.

Mum stood in the doorway, dishevelled in a crumpled tee, looking lost. I turned and left, never once glancing at her again.

The divorce went through quickly no children, no joint assets, the flat had been mine before we married, so there was nothing to split. I didnt resist, only asked for a meeting through a solicitor, which Eleanor declined.

Three months later I ran into Olivia, a mutual acquaintance, in a café near my office.

Did you hear about James? she asked, stirring her coffee, eyes bright with gossip.

No, I havent and I dont want to, I replied, but she continued in a lowered voice. Word is he was dumped right after the divorce. He wanted a married man, the excitement, the danger Now hes living with his mum, lost his job. A sorry sight, honestly.

I shrugged, finishing my tea. Thats not my problem any more.

I left the café onto a crisp autumn street, the weak sun hanging in the sky. Life goes on, stripped of lies, stripped of James.

Lesson learned: honesty isnt just a moral choice; its the only foundation on which a life can be rebuilt.