**Diary Entry A Summer Storm**
I remember the day Matthew told me he was leaving for the North Sea to work on the rigs. “Emily, Ive got debts piling up,” he said, rubbing his temples. “I wont turn to crime, but Ive got to earn my way out. Once Ive paid it offmaybe a yearIll come back. Enough to fix up your cottage, even buy little Sophie that bicycle shes been on about.”
The whole village knew Matthew had been courting me since my husband passed. Wed talked of marriage, but those debts hung over him like a storm cloud.
“I see,” I said coldly. “So youre off to the North, just like your ex-wife. What is it about that place?”
“Em, you know shes got nothing to do with me anymore.”
But I couldnt stop. I lashed out, said things I didnt mean. He left without another word. After that, I ignored his callseven changed my number.
Summer rolled in, heavy and stifling. The old folks muttered, “Therell be a storm by nightfall,” and sure enough, by evening, the sky blackened. Winds tore through the villagefences flattened, roof tiles flew, trees toppled. We huddled inside, waiting it out.
Next morning, the damage was clear. Mrs. Thompson from down the lane wailed about her flooded chicken coop. Old Anna fretted over her trampled tomatoes. Worst of all, the storm had fried the wiring in my cottage. The wall was scorched blackone spark, and the whole place mightve gone up.
“Dont fret,” Mrs. Thompson said. “Theres an electrician, Charlie, from the next village. Does good work, fair prices.”
Little Sophie tugged my sleeve. “Mum, whens supper?”
“Soon, love. At least the gas still works.”
Charlie arrived the next morningbroad-shouldered, grinning. “Heard youve got a wiring problem.” Inside, Sophie hid behind me until he winked at her.
“Couldve been a fire,” he said, examining the damage. “Lucky. Ill replace the lot.” He worked till noon, refusing payment. “Just feed me, eh?”
Over lunch, he asked, “You live here alone?”
“My husband died when Sophie was a baby.”
He reached for my hand. “I like you, Emily.”
Ill admit, I was flattered. Here was a strong, steady manno drinker, hard worker. But Sophie scowled at him the whole time.
Charlie kept coming backfixing the fence, the gatealways with that easy smile. “Fancy a drink tonight?” he asked weeks later, bringing wine. I sent Sophie to her grans.
But my mind kept wandering to Matthew. Charlie noticed. “Cheers to us,” he said, eyes glazing. “Ive a soft spot for pretty women.”
“Had many, then?”
“Course not.” His grin turned sharp. When he grabbed me, I pushed back. “Waityoure hurting me!”
“Dont play hard to get,” he slurred, yanking me toward the bedroom. “You owe me.”
A slap sent me reelingthen suddenly, he was airborne. Matthew stood in the doorway. Drunk and wild, Charlie lunged, but Matthew threw him out like rubbish. The neighbours saw him stumble away, shirt torn, lip bleeding.
Matthew gave me one hard look and left.
Days later, he returned. Sophie bolted to him, laughing as he scooped her up. When I stepped outside, he smirked. “Cant leave you unsupervised, can I?”
Then he pulled me close. “Missed you, Em.”
Sophie beamed. Shed known all alongsome hearts dont need convincing.
**Lesson learned: A childs instinct is sharper than any grown-ups doubt.**
