My mum told me not to marry her.
Eleanor watched as Paul shoveled spoonfuls of porridge into his mouth, thumb flicking through the news on his mobile with his left hand. He sat hunched at their small kitchen table, eyes trained on the screen. Eleanor stood at the cooker, back turned, stirring soup. Two years ago when theyd first moved in together, Paul used to put his phone away during meals. Hed laughingly say, Ive got you, and youre far more interesting than the Internet. He didnt say things like that anymore.
Paul didnt even look up. Oi, whys this soup so watery? He pointed the spoon towards the pot. Seriously, El? I come home starving and all there is is some thin broth.
Eleanor gripped the ladle tighter. Ill make it thicker tomorrow. Were out of potatoes tonight.
Out of potatoes? He finally put the phone down, staring at her suspiciously. Why didnt you show me the receipt yesterday? Did you buy spuds at forty-five quid a bag? I told you, get the type for twenty-nine. You had to get the dear one, didnt you?
There was none left. I asked the man specially, she replied, flat.
Oh aye, thats what theyll say to sell you anything. Ever actually think, or what?
She stayed silent. If she started defending herself, it would spiralfirst potatoes, then her incompetence, then that he supports the entire family, that he should have listened to his mother: Dont marry that Eleanor, she only wants an easy life, shell bleed you dry. Hed repeat that he was an idiot not to listen.
Eleanor finished the soup, poured it into containersone for the fridge, one for the freezer, just in case she failed to cook the next day. Paul dropped his bowl into the sink, didnt bother rinsing, and vanished into the sitting room. Within a minute, the TV exploded with the sounds of gunfirehe was playing his wartime game again. Eleanor washed up, hands stinging under water too hot, but she didnt bother running it cold. The pain in her fingers distracted her from what burned inside.
It was odd to recall how it all began, because at first, everything seemed fine.
Paul Saunders appeared in her life five years ago, one spring. Eleanor was working on reception at a small building supply company, answering phones, making tea for her managers. Paul came for a job as a sales manager. He was tall, sturdy, with laughing eyesnot handsome in a film star way, his nose too long, ears a bit odd, but there was a solid honesty about him. He didnt grovel to the boss; he spoke calmly, confidently. She had thought, Thats someone who wont let you down when things get hard.
The first six months were almost perfect. He took his time, bought her takeaway coffee in the morning, waited outside for her, brought little thoughtful giftsa tiny cactus in a pot. Fresh airs hard to come by in an office, hed smiled.
Eleanor, twenty-three and still believing kindness was permanent, laughed with him. A year on, he proposed: sat her on the battered sofa in his one-bed flat and said, Flats not much but its my own. Ive got a job, a car, and Ill look after you. Marry me? Eleanor agreed. It felt like real, grown-up happinessfirm, unsentimental.
She couldnt remember much of the early years. Life was good: they bought a new sofa on credit, did up the kitchen, took a trip to the seaside. Paul brought home bonuses, they sometimes went to the cinema, sometimes drank tea and ate biscuits at home, dreaming of a bigger place.
Back then, he didnt quibble about tights, or demand receipts. He never said, my money.
It all changed when Daisy was born.
The pregnancy hadnt been planned, but theyd both been pleased. Paul rubbed her belly, chatted to the bump, even signed up for a dads antenatal classthough gave it up after two sessions: Work, too knackered, cant traipse across London tonight.
Labour was long and hard. Eleanor was in hospital for a week, then barely able to walk for a fortnight. When she came home, Paul carried her, spun her around. Baby Daisy slept in her carrier, pink and puckered. Paul bent over her and smiled. Afternoon, little one. Took your time getting here.
For two months he helpedgot up in the night, changed nappies, rocked her. Sometimes hed snap, Cant she stop screeching? I need sleep, I work in the morning!but a moment later, hed soothe the baby, There there, Daddys here, shh.
And then, everything changed.
Eleanor hadnt noticed the exact moment. One night Paul came home, glanced at his plate, and said, Why just porridge? Wheres the rest?
Were out of meat, she replied, breastfeeding Daisy. Ill pop to the shop tomorrow.
And why not today? I gave you cash, he retorted.
I needed nappies and formula. There wasnt enough left for meat.
He stared at her, hard. Did you even count? I gave you £30. Nappies£7, formula£8. Wheres the rest gone?
Flustered, she listed the baby cheese, veg puree, juice, detergent, cream for nappy rash. The more she explained, the darker he grew.
Cheese? Shes three months old! No cheese till four, says the health visitor.
I got some for later, Eleanor said.
For later? Try thinking about today before worrying about tomorrow.
The comment hurt; she locked herself away and sobbed for half an hour, before deciding maybe he was overtired.
A week later he grilled her over chicken. The next, about eggs and butter. Paul now demanded a daily tally of every expense. Eleanor listed every purchase, hoping hed see: she wasnt wasteful, just that everything cost so much, the baby needed things, or she sometimes wanted a decent tub of yoghurt, not just the cheapest one that made her ill.
But the scrutiny didnt stop. His questions got more pointed, his demands more belittling.
Receipt? Show me. Whys there marshmallows here? You complaining you never lost weight after Daisy and now youre eating sweets?
Theyre not for me. You like them with tea. I took them for you.
I never asked for them. You shouldve asked. Stop spending my money on rubbish.
Ijust wanted to do something nice.
Well, you didnt think, did you?
She stopped buying marshmallows. Then biscuits. Then yoghurts and cheese for herself. Daisyshe only got what was strictly necessary. Paul insisted she keep a notebook of spending; every night Eleanor sat over it like a child doing homework, writing: nappies £8, formula £8.50, baby food £1.30. Paul checked receipts, nodded or shook his head.
Next time get formula at Lidl, not Sainsbury’s. Saves you fifty pence.
Theyre always out of date there. I dont want to risk it for Daisy, shed venture timidly.
Dont whinge, theyd never sell it. Youre just always after the overpriced stuff.
Eleanor said nothing. It felt like she was sinking into dark water, words not coming to the surface, each breath harder.
One day, she ran out of shampoojust a drugstore one, two pounds. She waited for a moment when he was in a good mood and quietly asked, Paul, I need a little for myselfjust shampoo. Can I get it tomorrow?
He was watching the telly and didnt turn. Use mine. Its on the shelf.
Yours is for greasy hair. Mines dry. I need a different kind.
What, itll do. Wont kill you.
Its just a couple of quid.
He spun round, angry. A couple of quid? Do you know how hard I graft for those couple of quid? You sit around all day, stuff your face, watch telly, and now ask for more money.
Eleanor nodded and washed her hair with his. Her hair stuck in clumps for days, her scalp itched, but she endured it.
She convinced herself that if she was patient, biddable, invisible enough, one day Paul would remember the man hed been. He was a good manit was just stress, nerves, work, pressure. It would all blow over.
It didnt.
By November, Daisy was eight months. Eleanor asked for money for a winter suit for her baby. It was getting cold, she couldnt take Daisy out in thin things.
How much? Paul frowned.
Thirty, she said. I found one on sale.
Thirty! Out of your mind? Shell outgrow it in a month. Get a used one.
I checked. Used ones are fifteen or twenty and battered. Shell get cold.
He stepped up too close. Eleanor instinctively hugged Daisy to her.
Look here, Paul said, voice low, which was scarier than shouting. Im tired of your endless demands. I bust my back for you and that child, and you cant even say thank you. All you say is buy this, buy that. Im not a cashpoint, you know?
Im not saying you are. I want Daisy to be warm.
Shell be fine in what she has. If not, stay indoors a weekwont kill her.
He gave Eleanor ten pounds. She used her meagre savings to add the rest, lied about hitting a sale.
She lay awake that night, staring at the ceiling. Daisy breathed faintly in her cot, Paul sprawled and snored. Who is this man? she wondered. Wheres the one who brought me coffee, that cactus Had I invented him?
But morning came, and there was a baby to feed, clothes to wash, porridge to make, toys to tidy. The self-doubt was bottled away for another day.
And so a year passed.
A year of humiliation, receipts and notes, tears in the bathroom. Eleanor hardly asked for anything for herself. Daisy was her only solaceshe would bear anything for her daughter. Sometimes, when Paul had gone to work, shed linger by the window, looking out at the other mums chatting and laughing by the swings, coffee in hand. She never joined themshe was sure, if she approached, theyd see right through her: the old jeans shed patched herself, her empty gaze, and know she was a failure.
Her mum, Margaret Evans, rang every week. All fine, Mum, Eleanor would reply, bright as a bell. Daisys doing well, eats, sleeps, Paul works hard. Were managing. She never mentioned counting receipts, the shampoo, that Paul had called her a parasite and repeated his mothers old warnings. She didnt want pity.
The turning point came suddenly, as it often does.
Paul came home angrya telling-off from the boss, a client gone bad, no bonus. Eleanor met him in the hallway and tried to take his bag. He shrugged her away.
Whats for dinner?
Soup and meatballs. Made them this afternoon, she said.
Soup? Again? Im sick of soup. Why cant you make anything proper? Ildars wife makes something new every day and here its all the same. What sort of life is this?
She said nothing, put his bowl in front of him. Paul tasted it and scowled. Too salty. I cant eat this.
Its fine, youre imagining it.
Are you arguing with me now? He slammed the spoon down. You waste my money, ruin food, and mouth off too?
Im not. Sorry if its not tasty. I just wont salt it next time.
He mimicked her. Next time, next time. When will you learn to cook? All you do is sit about, cant earn a penny, no respect for your husband. My mum warned me, I didnt listen.
Eleanor bit her lip till it hurt. Daisy woke and cried. Eleanor rushed to her.
Stay thereIm not done with you! Paul barked.
She froze. Daisys cries grew shriller. Eleanors hands went numb, her breath caught.
Paul stepped up. Youthink I dont see? You despise me. Just biding your time till I die so you get the flat?
Paul, what are you talking about? What flat? What death? We have Daisy
Always hiding behind Daisy. Think popping out a kid means you can do what you like? Anyone can give birth! Try raising a real person first. You? You cant even look after yourself, you useless spender!
Daisy howled; Eleanor bolted to her, clutching her baby tight.
Paul didnt follow. The usual clang of dishes, the usual row, the usual night.
Eleanor sat in the armchair rocking Daisy, staring at the wall. She remembered, five years ago, Pauls empty fridge, the bowl of toffees hed brought out. Ive got nothing, but Ill make a life for us. All you have to do is stay.
Shed done just that. For five years. Look where it got them.
The next morning, Eleanor got up first. Daisy slept on; Paul snored. The thin autumn sun caught on the hardened cactus in the kitchen window. She hadnt watered it for ages, but couldnt quite throw it away.
She studied its dead spikes and thought: thats us. Dried out, too hard to discard.
That day, after Paul left for work, Eleanor phoned her mum.
Mum, her voice trembled. Can Daisy and I come to yours?
Her mother paused a moment. Does he hit you?
No. He doesnt. But
But what, love?
She swallowed tears.
Alright, her mum said. Come. Ill leave the key under the matIm at work, wait for me.
Eleanor packed two bagsT-shirts, jeans, tights, papers, Daisys toys, nappies. Each trip around the flat felt lighter, as if shucking a heavy coat shed worn for a year.
She left a note on the kitchen table. I cant do this anymore. Dont try to find me. When Im ready, Ill call.
She took a taxi, pram and bags in tow. Outside the flats, by the playground, mums watched their children. One, a blonde with long earrings, waved. Eleanor nodded awkwardly and hurried on. She was sure everyone was staring and whispering.
Paul didnt ring for three days. Eleanor lived back at her mums, in her childhood bedroom, sleeping on her old bed. At night the tick of the cuckoo clock seemed impossibly loud. Her mother didnt pry, just smoothed Daisys hair like she used to when Eleanor was ill.
On the fourth day, Paul turned up.
Margaret opened the door, judged him coldly and let him in. Daisy was sleeping, Eleanor, fresh from the shower in an old dressing gown, stopped short in the hallway.
What are you doing here?
We need to talk, he looked lost, almost sad. El, whats this about? Left a note, grabbed the baby, gone. Im going mad.
You havent called in three days.
I thought youd cool down and come back. El, Im sorry. Works been hell, I snapped. You know I love you.
Love? her laugh was bitter. You call that lovecalling me a freeloader, making me beg for shampoo?
I said I was sorry! he raised his voice but glanced nervously at Daisys door. Honestly El, I dont know what got into me. Just give me a chance. Ill prove I care. Ill give you all my wages if you want. Please, come home.
She eyed his big, calloused hands, his wedding ring, and felt nothing.
Im tired, Paul. So tired I hardly feel anything anymore. Not even anger. I just dont care.
You cant not careweve years together and a daughter. You love me, I know you do!
She didnt speak. He caught her wristsshe braced herself for pain, almost by habitbut then he released her and slumped against the window.
Im lost without you two. The flats empty. Yesterday, I tried boiling dumplings, forgot the salt. I ate the mush and just thoughtwhat an idiot Ive been.
She stayed silent.
Give me a month, he said. One month. No receipts, no counting. Ill show you.
She nodded. The first time anything happens againIm done. No talk, Ill just leave. Do you understand?
He promised. Even crossed himself, wide and desperate. Her mother, on her way in, barely disguised her misgivings but said nothing.
That night Eleanor and Daisy returned.
For a month, Paul was as good as his word. He brought home groceries, asked what Daisy needed, left cash without question. He never asked for a receipt.
Eleanor didnt believe it at first. She lay at night, insomnia sharp, listening to his sleep and thinking, Has he learnt? Has he really changed? Gradually, tension seeped away. She went back to joking with Daisy, even laughed sometimes.
Paul played with Daisy, built towers, pushed trains along the carpet. Eleanor started to feel warmth again.
She bought a new shampooproper quality, coconut-scented. He saw the bottle and said nothing.
Another month. Then another.
Eventually, the cash got less. Still, she kept quietafter all, he was trying.
Paul started getting in late. Work, hed say, rubbing his face. Wish I could knock it on the head. Eleanor nodded, served tea. He ate in silence, eyes on his phone.
The phonealways face-down. He leaned away to answer his messages now.
Whos texting? she asked once.
Work mate, Ildar. Reports due.
She didnt push; she was afraid to. If she started poking, the fragile truce might shatter.
A fourth month passed.
Now Paul didnt comment on the price of potatoes, didnt check her purchases. He simply left less money. Eleanor chanced no complaint; she couldnt be accused of ingratitude.
At dinner one night, Paul prodded his steak. Bit tough. How long did you cook it?
Two hours, same as always.
Hmm. Used to be tender. I told you, get the fillet cut.
I did.
Well youre not great at choosing, thats all. Never mind.
He no longer said waster or sponger, but the words still echoed.
By Friday, he came in late. Daisy was asleep; Eleanor waited in the kitchen. Paul threw his bag down, opened the fridge.
Anything to eat?
I can warm the meatballs for you?
Just give them cold.
He ate in silence, drinking from the milk carton. Eleanor watched his back.
Why are you still up? he said, not looking.
Waited for you. We need a highchair for Daisy.
Is it necessary? Why cant you just not buy one? I give you moneywork from that.
He finished up, washed his plate, hesitated, and left the kitchen.
Next day, Eleanor wrote up her spending in the notebook again. Nappies £7.99, formula £8.20, baby cauliflower £1.30. Butter, £2. Bread, 45p. Baby shampoo, £3.50.
Paul flicked through the book. Counting again? Probably for the best. Ill handle the money from now on.
He wandered off.
Eleanor closed the book and remembered the day at her mumsPaul solemnly crossing himself, promising the earth. Shed melted, started to hope again.
Now, it was all coming backnot as loud or obvious, but the needle pressed in at the same old spot.
She could speak up, she knew. Youre doing it again, Paul. Threaten to leave.
But she stayed silent. She simply had no strength. Not for a row, not for another move, not for her mothers I told you so.
It was easier to bear these tiny, familiar pains. Like an old wound, only throbbing in bad weather.
That night, she stood under the scalding shower, scrubbing the day away. Her hair smelt of coconut from that hopeful period. There was barely any left. She turned the bottle, set it back. When it was gone, shed use Pauls.
Wrapping herself in a towel, she walked into the bedroom. The telly was still on, Paul in his armchair.
You were ages. Wasted a fortune in hot water! he grunted, not looking up.
She said nothing, slid into bed facing the wall. Paul flicked off the telly, turned away, and was soon asleep.
Eleanor stared into the dark. Outside, lorries rumbled, dogs barked, footsteps ran overhead. Daisy whimpered in sleep and rolled over.
Everything was painfully usual. And nothing would change.
Tomorrow thered be soup. Paul would say it was thin.
Perhaps, one day, shed pack her bag and find the strength to leave
But not today. Not tomorrow. Not this year.
Eleanor curled herself small, like Daisy did, knees up, enveloped in darkness. Through the gloom she tried to remember the Paul whod waited with that first coffee, whose bright eyes had smiled kindly. But memory only served up the stern look, the sharp line at his mouththe man who would not turn towards her, even in dreams.
Perhaps that first Paul was gone forever. Perhaps shed imagined him.
Outside, dawn greyed the windows. Eleanor finally slept. And in the morning, thered be Daisy to feed, porridge to make, clothes to washa regular day, a regular life.
She made the soup thicker that day, added more potatoes and meat. Paul ate quietly. Only nodded, buried in his phone.
Eleanor washed the dishes, scalding her fingers without flinching. Sometimes, the pain outside is preferable to the pain insideits somehow easier to bear.
She had learned how to endure. But she was starting to realise: endurance is not the same as living.
And perhaps, one day soon, Eleanor would learn to choose living.
