After Dropping His Mistress Off, Butchin Said a Tender Goodbye and Drove Home

After dropping his mistress off on a rainy London side street, Reginald gave her a tender goodbye before heading home. He lingered momentarily outside his terraced house in Croydon, mentally rehearsing what exactly he would say to his wife. With a heavy sigh, he trudged up the steps and unlocked the door.

Hello? Reginald called out. Eleanor, are you in?

I am, replied Eleanor, her tone drier than a stale digestive biscuit. Evening. Shall I go start frying the pork chops?

Reginald silently vowed to himself to act decisivelydirectly, boldly, like a Proper Englishman! Time to put an end to this double life, while the lipstick from his lovers peck still tingled and before he sank again into the bog of the everyday.

Eleanor, Reginald cleared his throat dramatically, Ive come to tell you that we ought to part ways.

Eleanor met the news with the composure of a librarian on a slow Tuesday. It was nigh impossible to ruffle Eleanor Reginald, and once upon a time he affectionately teased her, dubbing her Eleanor the Frosty.

Meaning what, exactly? she inquired, poking her head from the kitchen. Do I put the pork chops back or what?

Entirely up to you, replied Reginald. Fry or dont fry. Im off to be with another woman.

Most wives, upon hearing such news, would either launch the cast iron skillet at their husbands head or stage a tempestuous scene worthy of Shakespeare. Eleanor, peculiar soul that she was, did neither.

Oh, big whoop, she shrugged. Arent you just the dashing Lothario. Did you pick up my boots from the cobbler, at least?

Reginald faltered. No, but if it matters to you Ill nip out right now and fetch them!

She muttered, Typical. Send a man to fetch boots, hell come home with wellies from the charity shop.

Now Reginald felt ever so slightly wounded. This marital rupture wasnt at all as dramatic as hed envisioned; where was the rage, the sobbing, the grand gestures? But then, what could one expect from Eleanor the Frosty?

I dont think youre taking this seriously, Eleanor! he insisted. I am officially declaring that Im leaving you for another woman, and all you care about is boots!

Too right, Eleanor replied. Unlike me, youre free to walk wherever you please. Seeing as your shoes arent at the menders, whats stopping you?

Theyd lived together for years, yet Reginald never quite understood when Eleanor was being ironic and when she was deadly earnest. It was, truth be told, precisely her calm, conflict-averse nature that had attracted him in the first placeplus her sensible housekeeping and, if he was being honest, her rather delightful curves.

Eleanor was as reliable, steadfast, and emotionally chilly as a double-decker bus radiator. But now Reginald loved someone else. Loved deeply, wickedly, deliciously! It was high time to dot his is and swan-dive into his new life.

So, Eleanor, Reginald said, striking a chord of solemnity and wistful regret. Thank you for everything, but Im leaving because I am in love with another woman. I do not love you anymore.

Good heavens, Eleanor drawled, he doesnt love me! My mum fancied the milkman, my dad loved a pint and the telly, and look at meI turned out alright.

Reginald knew there was no point arguing with Eleanor; each word from her was like a brick to the temple. His initial fire for a marital meltdown quickly fizzled out.

Youre really rather wonderful, you know, Eleanor, he said glumly. But I love someone else. Passionately. Sinfully. Sweetly. And I intend to be with her, you understand?

Someone else? Who, thenCharlotte Hawkins, perhaps?

Reginalds heart stuttered. A year ago, hed quietly had a fling with Charlotte Hawkins, and never suspected Eleanor even knew her!

How did you?… Actually, never mind. No, Eleanor, not Charlotte.

Eleanor yawned as if this conversation bored her silly. What about Victoria Jenkins, then? Are you running off to her?

Reginald went cold as a tub of Walls ice cream. Victoria had also been a brief, discreet encounter. How on earth did Eleanor know? Of course, she was tough as old boots, never one to gossip.

No, not Jenkins or Hawkins, he managed. This is a different, magnificent woman, the stuff of my dreams. I simply cant live without her and I am leaving. And dont try to talk me out of it.

Let me guess: its Maya, isnt it? said Eleanor, fixing him with a knowing look. Oh, Reginald, you cracked teapot. Hardly state secret, is it? The epitome of your dreamsMaya Valentina Thompson. Thirty-five, one child, two regrettable smears in her medical recordseh?

Reginald clutched his head. Bullseye! He was, indeed, besotted with Maya Thompson.

But how? he stammered. Did you have me followed?

Its elementary, Reginald, Eleanor replied with a hint of long-suffering amusement. My dear, Im an NHS gynaecologist with years on the wards. Ive checked up on half the women in this blasted town, whereas youve only sampled a small corner. It doesnt take Sherlock Holmes to spot where youve been, you cheeky monkey!

Reginald summoned his last vestiges of dignity. Fine! Lets just say youre right! Even if it is Maya Thompson, Im still leaving you for her.

You muppet, Reginald, Eleanor sighed. If youd only asked my medical opinion for interests sake! Nothing special about Thompson, trust meId know. And have you ever seen your dream girls medical chart?

N-no Reginald confessed.

Exactly! First things first: jump in the shower. Then tomorrow, Ill ring Dr. Williamsget you into the clinic, no waiting list, Eleanor instructed crisply. Well talk after. Really, imaginea gynaecologists husband who cant pick a healthy girlfriend!

So what do I do now? Reginald whined morosely.

Im making those pork chops, Eleanor said over her shoulder. Go scrub up and suit yourself. And if you ever decide you want a dream girl without the baggage, come see meIll recommend a few.Reginald paused at the foot of the stairs, sodden coat drooping, shoes squeaking on the hall tiles. In the kitchen, Eleanor clattered pans, humming a tune he couldnt quite placesomething rousing, something bold. He found himself grinning despite the ache in his chest. What a fool hed been, forever chasing sparks instead of appreciating the steady flame.

He glanced over his shoulder at the woman hed underestimated for yearsher back straight, her head held high, a monarch with an apron for a crown. Suddenly, Reginald wondered if perhaps the greatest adventure in his life had just closed the door behind him with a battered umbrella and an unclaimed pair of riding boots.

Without another word, he trudged up the stairs. At the landing, he stopped, listening to the sizzle and hiss of pork and the low hum of Eleanors song. The smell drifted upcomforting, familiar, utterly ordinary. He let the bittersweet warmth settle.

Maybe new love wasnt always better. Maybe, sometimes, the truest life was the one that stayed behind and fried the pork chops, no matter the weather outside or the dreams that tugged at your sleeve.

And as Reginald stepped into the bathroom and the water began to run, Eleanor plated up two pork chops, set the table with unceremonious grace, and poured herself a generous glass of wine. She raised it silently, toasting the storm, the stillness, and everything clever women are wise enough to endureand cleverer men just wise enough, at last, to notice.