**”Now, Now, Girls, No Fighting”: A Tale of Betrayal and Unexpected Friendship**
James found himself trapped in a mess of his own making. At home waited his wife, Margaret—a woman whose weight had long surpassed fifteen stone, the mother of his son. Divorce? His conscience wouldn’t allow him to abandon her, nor did he wish to appear a scoundrel in his boy’s eyes. Besides, the house was in Margaret’s name—a gift from her parents. To leave meant being left without a roof over his head. And then there was Eleanor. Young, graceful, with laughter sparkling in her eyes. For two years, James had fed her promises of divorce, and she had waited, believing every word.
Eleanor had her own flat in the heart of London, but she shared it with her younger sister, a university student, leaving no room for James. They met in secret—sometimes at her place while her sister was in lectures, sometimes in hotels. Those moments were like gulps of freedom—Eleanor never nagged, always smiled, wrapped him in warmth and lightness. Margaret, meanwhile, had become a storm of discontent at home: his shirts were never in the right place, he never earned enough, he forgot to take out the rubbish. A typical wife, what could one do? But he had loved her once. Surely there had been something about her that made him marry her? James couldn’t recall what it was anymore.
Life trundled on until Eleanor took a desperate step. Knowing James was out, she knocked on Margaret’s door. Margaret, enjoying a rare day off, had just smoothed a face mask over her skin, relishing the chance to pamper herself, when the doorbell rang. Assuming it was her neighbour, old Mrs. Wilkins, dropping by for a chat, Margaret opened the door without checking the peephole. A young woman stood there, her gaze steady.
“Good afternoon. Are you Margaret, James’s wife?” the visitor asked.
“Yes, that’s me. What’s this about?” Margaret frowned.
“It’s personal. We need to talk. May I come in?”
“No. I don’t let strangers into my home. You might be some sort of con artist—”
“You’re wrong. I’m no con artist. I’m Eleanor—your husband’s mistress. And I’ve something to say.”
Shock sent Margaret slamming the door shut. What was this? Some cruel joke? Yet something told her it was real. After a pause, she opened the door again. Eleanor hadn’t moved, as if she’d expected it.
“Come in, since you’re here. Say what you’ve come to say.”
Eleanor stepped inside quickly, slipped off her shoes, and followed Margaret into the kitchen.
“It’s cosy here,” she remarked, glancing around. “You know, James is so indecisive. We’ve been together two years—he keeps promising to leave you, but he drags his feet. I grew tired of waiting and decided to fix things myself. What do you say?”
Margaret stared at the girl, her world crumbling. James and this… woman? Two years? She was pretty, slender—unlike Margaret, whose weight had long been her private curse. Why hadn’t he left straightaway? Their son, perhaps. He didn’t want to hurt the boy. Or maybe he pitied her? Or simply had nowhere to go? Thoughts whirled in her head. She had to respond.
“You know, Eleanor, I wasn’t always like this. When we married, I weighed seven stone, had long, thick hair—everyone called me a beauty. Then something in my body changed, and here I am. Hard to blame a man when there are women like you about—slim, vibrant. So he chose you. It stings, of course. But there’s been no love between us for years. We live out of habit, no spark left. Our talks are just about chores: meals, laundry, socks. No warmth. Thank you for opening my eyes. Now I know it’s time to let him go. I hope you’ve a place to live. I won’t tell our son the truth—why should he know his father strayed? We’ll say we grew apart. A child’s heart is fragile.”
Suddenly, Eleanor burst into tears. Margaret faltered, snatched a tissue, and handed it over.
“Why are you crying? I’m the one who ought to be weeping, but the tears won’t come. I refuse to grieve.”
“You see, Margaret,” Eleanor sobbed, “my father left my mother and me when I was little. Found another woman and walked out—even took the telly off the wall, said it was his right. Mum begged him to stay, wept, and he just scoffed and left. I loved him so much. And now I’ve become just like him. I meant to wreck your marriage, cause you pain. I thought you were just some bitter, overweight wife making James miserable. But you’re… different.”
“Well, I am overweight, and I do lose my temper—mostly because James drives me mad, and I do the same to him. Why live like that? Our son sees everything; he’s no fool. Who are we helping? Maybe he’ll be happy with you.”
At that moment, the key turned in the lock. James stepped inside, heard voices, and froze. Eleanor? Here? His heart pounded as he rushed into the sitting room, shouting,
“Now, now, girls, no fighting!”
But instead of a row, he found Margaret and Eleanor seated on the sofa, flipping through a family album.
“Ah, here’s our gallant lover!” Margaret smirked. “We’re reminiscing over our wedding—look, our little Tommy here.”
James was lost. Where were the screams, the scandal, the drama? Wife and mistress peacefully browsing photos? Had the world ended?
“Oh, James, what a wonderful wife you have, and still you strayed!” Eleanor scolded. “Shame on you!”
James nearly choked. Was she reprimanding *him*?
“You were the one begging me to leave her, and now *I’m* the villain? What’s got into you, Eleanor?”
“That I want nothing more to do with you! If we’d been together and I’d put on weight, you’d have left me too! You men only love us while we’re pretty—the moment we’re not, we’re rubbish to you!”
“You’re the one causing trouble!” James snapped. “Turning up at my wife’s door, spilling everything, making me out to be the villain!”
“Enough, you two, no fighting!” Margaret cut in. “I know everything now, and I won’t keep up this farce. James, pack your things and go. We’ll divorce quietly—do as you please.”
James stared at his wife, expecting tears, hysterics—just like in the telly dramas. But Margaret was calm, and that somehow stung worse.
“Meg, I’ve nowhere to go,” he mumbled. “This is all so sudden—”
“Stay the night, but don’t drag it out—find somewhere else,” she said firmly.
Eleanor stood.
“I’d best go, Margaret. It was… good to meet you. Truly. My whole world’s turned upside down. I’ll call, as we agreed.”
Margaret saw her out. When she returned, James sat with his head in his hands. Against her will, she pitied him.
“Jim… what just happened?” she asked softly.
“I don’t know,” he sighed. “How did it come to this?”
James quit his job and moved to his parents’ village near York. There, he took up with a widow who had two children, lodging with her because his brother’s family occupied the family home. He often thought of Margaret, missed his son, but there was no going back. He resented Eleanor, convinced she’d ruined his life.
Margaret befriended Eleanor and her mother, who turned out to be a dietician. With her help, Margaret shed the weight, took up dancing, and for the first time in years, felt truly happy. She had no interest in remarrying—life was good as it was.
Eleanor met a decent bachelor, married him, and tried to forget her fling with James, calling it a youthful mistake. She reconciled with her father and even grew close to his daughter from his second marriage.
Who knows how things might have turned out had Eleanor never knocked on Margaret’s door? But in the end, everything fell into place as it was meant to be.
