Life carried on at its usual pace: raising a son, building a home, standing by the man she loved. Emily had chosen Michael herselfof all the lads in the village, he was the only one whod truly captured her heart. When Mike returned from his military service, they married. Soon after, their son, Oliver, was born. As the boy grew, Emily began dreaming of a daughter.
“Once we finish the house, Michael, well have a little girl,” she often said. “A proper homea real family idyll.”
Michael would only smile and nod. Hed have been happy to be a father again the very next day. Often, hed hoist Oliver onto his shoulders and proudly stroll through the village, greeting everyone they passed.
Then winter came. Snow buried the roads, the wind howled. Emily peered through the window, waiting for her husband to return. But Michael never came home. A tragic accident at work took his life.
“Time heals,” the neighbors and acquaintances told Emily. “Youre not the only one. Cry it out, and who knows? The years will pass, and youll find someone else.”
Emily listened in silence, but the tears wouldnt come anymore, and that only made it worse. A year slipped by. The turbulent nineties squeezed even the strongest families. Wages in the village went unpaid for months. Those with land and a willingness to work hard fared better.
Emily felt the weight of those times keenly. Oliver started school and needed clothes, shoes, food. That meant planting the entire garden so shed have something to sell at the market come autumn.
She worked the plot until late. Her hands grew rough, her smile faded, and her heart seemed to harden.
“Take the bucket, you little rascal!” shed shout when Oliver tried to sneak off to his friends. “Ill teach you to run away! Done your homework?”
Oliver would silently pick up the bucket, but in his mind, he remembered how things used to be with Dadwhen Mum was kind and cheerful.
At night, Emily often cried, scolding herself for snapping at her son. But by morning, shed be stern and gloomy again.
One Saturday, her friendsMaggie and Lucydropped by. Shed never had many friends before; Michael had filled all her need for companionship. But now, the two divorced women often visited, laughing and claiming theyd just come “for tea.” Of course, tea wasnt the real reason.
The morning started as usual. Emily got up without even glancing in the mirror. She knew her face would look tired. She fed the pig, scattered grain for the chickens, piled the dirty dishes in the sink, and ordered Oliver to wash up and hurry to school.
She wasnt expecting anyone that evening, but she knew one of her “regular” visitors might drop by. She was indifferent to their promisesif they came, fine; if not, the invitation wouldnt be repeated. The men usually understood quickly. Theyd see the boy, exchange a few words, and leave, muttering about “a woman with baggage.”
“Honestly, Emily, youll chase them all off like this,” Maggie laughed. “Youre too hard to please. Maybe its your bed thats the problem? Need a new sofa?”
“Oh, brilliant idea, Ill just run out and buy a sofa,” Emily sighed. “With what money? If youre so keen, take it yourself.”
“Alright, dont get cross. Just set the tableyouve got a guest.”
Maggie sometimes annoyed Emily, but shed still wordlessly put out pickled cucumbers. Glancing at her wedding photo, she sighed heavily.
“Forgive me, Mike. Its hard without you.”
“Theyre all the same,” Maggie said, as if reading her thoughts. “Come on, Emily, toast to us! Were the best!”
The next morning, Emily cleared the remains of the evening and went to work.
Aunt Nora, her late husbands aunt, stopped by.
“Whats gotten into you, Emily? I hardly recognize you since Michael,” she said. “And these friends of yours theyre not helping.”
“What, Aunt Nora, come to lecture me? Think Im some kind of failure? Ive got a house, I manage the household, my sons in school, I check his homework” Emily suddenly trailed off, realizing she hadnt looked at Olivers schoolbooks or diary in over a week. Just recently, his teacher had asked to meet.
Emily didnt know what to say, so she just started stacking dirty dishes in the sink.
“You used to be so different,” Nora continued. “Lovely, hardworking, kind Drop this silly drinking.”
“Im not drinking,” Emily protested. “I just talk with friends sometimes, to take my mind off things. Dont I have the right to relax after work?”
“Well, of course you do,” Nora nodded with a sigh.
“Then stop preaching. And frankly, keep your nose out of my business, dear Aunt. The doors open.”
Nora tightened her scarf and quietly left.
Emily exhaled sharply, as if in pain. She felt awful, heavy, and something tugged at her to follow. She rushed out and caught up with Nora on the porch.
“Aunt Nora, waittake some carrots. Ive got loads this year.”
“Dont bother, dear,” Nora waved, already stepping off the porch.
“But I mean it, from the heart,” Emily insisted.
Nora knew life well. Her years had taught her to sense others pain. She understood this was Emilys silent apology. Though unspoken, her voice and eyes begged forgiveness. Nora stopped.
“Heres a bag,” Emily said, generously filling it. “Can you manage?”
“Ill manage, Emily,” Nora replied, thanking her before walking home. Her heart ached for Emilys troubled soul.
By Friday evening, Emily had packed onions and carrots to sell at the market.
“At least Ill make a few quidhavent seen a penny of my own in ages,” she thought, hefting the bags.
“Where are you off to with all that?” nosy neighbor Doris asked, peering into the sack.
“Market. Selling veg,” Emily replied.
She barely hauled the heavy bags to the bus stop. Old Tom and Granny May were already there, also heading to town. But the bus never came.
“Blasted things probably broken again,” Granny May sighed.
Tom cursed the bus and the whole transport system. Finally, realizing it wouldnt arrive, the pair trudged home, deciding to try another day.
Emily stayed, unwilling to lug the bags back. She decided to hitch a ride.
First came a Ford, then a Land Rover, but both were full. Finally, a Vauxhall appeared. Emily squinted, trying to see if there was space, but the driver stopped before she even raised her hand.
The man, slightly older than her, was a stranger. She guessed he was from the townshed never seen him before. He glanced at her, then at the bags.
“Bus broke down today. Im heading into townneed a lift?”
“If you dont mind,” Emily sighed.
“Sorted, then,” he smiled. He stepped out, and though lean and not tall, he lifted the heavy sack effortlessly, as if it weighed nothing.
“Could you drop me right at the market?” Emily asked.
“Might do.”
“Ill pay,” she said.
During the ride, Emily touched up her lipstick. The rearview mirror let her study the driver.
“Im Emily,” she finally broke the silence.
“Geoffrey. Geoff for short.”
“Geoffrey? Bit posh for a bloke your age. Manager or something?”
“Oh aye, director of factories and owner of steamships,” he joked. “Nah, just a foreman on a construction site.”
Geoffrey dropped her at the market and even helped carry the bags. He only took half the fare.
“Pay the rest tonight. Ill be driving back the same way,” he said.
“Generous, arent you?” Emily smiled. “Lucky me.”
That evening, Geoffrey drove her home.
“Come in for a cuppa, Geoffrey.”
“Just Geoffs fine,” he grinned.
Emily quickly set the table. Oliver peeked in.
“Dont lurk there! Go to your room. Homework done?”
“Nearly,” he mumbled.
“Then finish it!” she snapped.
Geoffrey, sitting by the stove, crossed his legs and smiled at the boy.
“Lets get acquainted. Im Geoffrey. And you?”
“Ollie.”
“Proper names Oliver?”
“Yeah.”
“Hows school? Tough?”
“Maths a nightmare. Cant get it.”
“Right, lets have a look.” Geoffrey gestured for the exercise book.
Half an hour later, Oliver, pleased with the help, went to bed.
“Clear this up,” Geoffrey said calmly, pointing at the table. “Just tea for me.”
“Well, if youre driving, tea it is,” Emily agreed.
“Even if I werentjust tea. Or juice, squash, cordial. Thats it.”
Emily eyed him suspiciously but silently poured hot water, added tea leaves, and set out a plate of potatoes.
“Best be off,” Geoffrey said, standing. He hesitated, then added, “I like you, Emily. Mind if I drop by Friday?”
Emily smiled faintlyshed expected this.
“Alright, then.”
“Im single,” he said, though she hadnt asked.
“Youll forget in a week,” she thought, not expecting more.
Yet when Lucy and Maggie visited after work, Emily sent them away early. Her mind raced: “What if he really comes?”
“No, Emily, thats not fair,” Maggie huffed. “Come to the pub with us!”
“Am I some daft girl, running to the pub?”
“Who said daft? Were seeing a film!”
“No, girls, go without me. Ive cleaning to do.”
She never finished. Geoffrey arrived earlier than expected. He walked into the yard, and Emily led him inside. Traces of the evenings drinks lingered on the table, but he pretended not to notice.
“Ill heat the soupits gone cold,” she explained.
Geoffrey chatted with Oliver, helped with math, explained horsepower in cars. When the boy went to bed, Emily was tipsy and talkative.
Geoffrey stood, placed his hands on her shoulders, and pulled her up. Then he wrapped his arms around her waist. Emily gasped, breath catching.
“Staying the night,” he said simply.
“Whos stopping you?” She pulled back, finally steadying herself. The words were unnecessaryshe knew hed stay.
In the morning, as Emily fried eggs, Geoffrey took the buckets to fetch water.
“Need any for the bath?” he asked.
“Fetch some,” she said flatly, though she usually never asked for help, doubting it would last.
Over breakfast, sipping tea, Geoffrey spoke quietly.
“Emily, if you want this to work, those drinks from last nightthey cant be here.”
She froze, spoon in hand.
“Is that a condition?” she asked, more surprised than angry.
“Call it that. Cant stand the smell. And Im decentyouve seen that.”
He smiled.
“So, shall I come back tonight for the bath?”
Emily wanted to protest, to scold him, even throw him outbut something stopped her. Unexpectedly, she wanted to agree.
“Come back,” she said simply.
That evening, Maggie dropped by.
“Heard you poured it all out, Emily. True?”
“True, Maggie. Its all gone.”
“Have you lost your mind? Wasting good stuff like that!”
“Good stuff? Its poison. Go on, Maggienot in the mood.”
Emily mopped the floors, changed the sheetsnow fresh from washingand left the borscht warming on the stove. She wanted to cook something nicer, but pies would take too long, so she made pancakes instead. Oliver sneaked them from the table, washing them down with juice.
Time passed. Emily even managed a bath, and soon it was dark. But Geoffrey never showed.
“Promises are like pie crusts,” she sighed bitterly. “Foolish to believe him. Theyre all the same, except my Mike. Maybe I shouldnt have poured it out?”
She smiled at the thought. Glancing around the bright kitchen, smelling of fresh food, she suddenly felt calm.
“No, it wasnt wasted,” she said firmly. “Enoughs enough.”
She turned to Oliver.
“Dont wait up, love. Uncle Geoffs not coming. Lets check your homeworkyouve slacked off.”
Thenthe sound of an engine. Geoffrey appeared at the door with a small travel bag. He pulled out sausages, tinned goods, biscuits, butter.
“Mate from the depot gave me these. Helps out sometimes,” he explained. “For you and Oliver.”
Emily sat at the table, chin in hand, watching him.
“Thats gold dust these days. Havent seen stuff like this in ages.”
“Know it. Thats why I brought it. Take it.”
Casually, as if hed just come home from work, Emily asked,
“Eating first or heading to the bath?”
“Bath first,” he said.
Outside, it was dark. Setting the table, Emily felt a long-lost warmth returnthe comfort of home shed once had with Michael. Smiling, she glanced at Geoffreys jacket hanging by the door.
“If hes here tonight, hell stay. I want him to stay,” she thought with uncharacteristic certainty.
The autumn day was gloomy but peaceful and quiet.
Aunt Nora sat by her gate, watching the road. She smiled when she saw the car that had appeared at Emilys house every Friday for the past two months.
“Well, good. Let them be happy. Young enoughmight even have another child,” she murmured. “Emilys like her old self again: smiling, gentle. Let her enjoy lifeit always moves forward. The main thing is to live.”
