A Late Farewell: Saying Goodbye on the Journey Home

Late Farewell: A Goodbye on the Way Home

After kissing his lover tenderly goodbye, Philip Carter slid into his car and drove home. He paused for a moment outside the building, taking a deep breath, rehearsing the words hed say to his wife. He climbed the stairs and unlocked the door.

“Hello,” said Philip. “Eleanor, are you home?”
“I am,” replied his wife, tonelessly. “Hello. Right then, shall I fry the chops?”

Philip had promised himself hed be direct, firm, no beating around the busha man of action! It was time to end this double life while his lovers warmth still lingered on his lips, before the mundane swallowed him whole again.
“Eleanor,” Philip coughed, adjusting his voice. “Ive come to tell you we must separate.”
The news was met with unsettling calm. Eleanor was not a woman easily ruffled. In better days, Philip had even nicknamed her “Eleanor the Ice Queen” for it.
“What do you mean?” she asked, standing in the kitchen doorway. “Shall I not fry the chops?”
“Thats up to you,” said Philip. “If you want to, fry them; if not, dont. Im leaving. For another woman.”

Most wives would react with furyperhaps a frying pan hurled at their husbands head. But Eleanor was not most wives.
“Oh, what a tragedy,” she murmured. “Did you fetch my boots from the cobblers?”
“No,” Philip admitted, surprised. “If its so important, Ill go and get them now!”
“Listen to you” grumbled Eleanor. “Thats just like you, Philip. Send a fool for your boots, and hell bring back the old ones.”

Philip was offended. The grand drama hed imagined was crumbling. Where were the tears, the shouting, the righteous fury? But what else could he expect from a woman with the chill blood of Eleanor the Ice Queen?

“I dont think youre hearing me, Eleanor!” he said, raising his voice. “Im telling you Im leaving you for another, and youre talking about boots!”
“Exactly,” said Eleanor. “Unlike me, you can go wherever you please. Your boots arent at the cobblers. Whats stopping you?”

Theyd lived together for years, but Philip had never learned to tell when Eleanor was serious or mocking. At first, it was precisely her calm, her quiet poise, that had drawn him in. Not to mention her striking beauty and practical nature.
Eleanor was solid, loyal, and unmoved as a block of granite. But now Philip loved another. Loved with passion, sin, and sweetness! It was time to cut ties and start anew.

“So, Eleanor,” Philip declared, solemn yet stung. “Im grateful for everything, but Im leaving because I love another. I dont love you anymore.”
“Fascinating,” said Eleanor, without raising her voice. “Doesnt love me, poor thing. My mother adored the neighbour, my father adored dominoes and whiskey. And look what a splendid woman I turned out to be.”

Arguing with Eleanor was futile. Every word she spoke carried the weight of stone. His initial fervour dimmed, and the thought of conflict soured.
“Eleanor, you really are incredible,” said Philip bitterly. “But I love another. Love her with passion, sin, and sweetness. And Im leaving, understand?”
“Whos the other one?” asked his wife. “Not Tanya Miller, surely?”

Philip recoiled. A year ago, hed had a fling with Tanya, but he never dreamed Eleanor knew her!
“How do you know about her?” he began but cut himself off. “It doesnt matter. No, Eleanor, its not Miller.”
Eleanor yawned.
“Then its Sandra Clarke? You went back to her?”

A shiver ran down Philips spine. Sandra had also been his mistress, but that was long over. If Eleanor knew, why had she never said a word? Of courseshe was a fortress, revealing nothing.
“Wrong again,” Philip insisted. “Not Clarke or Miller. Another woman, wonderful, the love of my life. I cant live without her, and Im leaving. Dont try to stop me!”
“Then it must be Mabel,” concluded Eleanor. “Oh, Philip, Philip you really are dim. Your grand secret. The love of your lifeMabel Vane, thirty-five, one child, two miscarriages Am I right?”

Philip clutched his head. She had hit the mark! His affair was indeed with Mabel.
“Buthow?” he stammered. “Who told you? Have you been spying on me?”

“Elementary, Philip,” said Eleanor. “Ive been a gynaecologist for years. Ive examined half the women in this city, while youve only known a handful. One glance tells me where youve been, you silly sod!”

Philip took a deep breath, scrambling for dignity.
“Suppose youre right!” he declared haughtily. “Even if its Mabel, nothing changes. Im leaving.”
“You really are thick, Philip,” sighed Eleanor. “You couldve just asked. Honestly, theres nothing special about hershes just like the rest. And I say that as a doctor. Have you seen your beloveds medical history?”
“N-no,” he admitted.
“Right. First, get in the shower. Second, tomorrow Ill ring Dr. Harrison to see you straight away. Then well talk. What a disgracea gynaecologists husband picking a sick woman!”

“So what do I do?” Philip whined.

“Ill fry the chops,” said Eleanor, turning away. “You, wash up and do as you please. If you want a healthy woman, just sayIll recommend someone.”