After my divorce I meet my own prince at a bus stop on the country lane!
Two years ago everything turns upside down. My dad dies, and after twenty years of marriage I sign the papers. I move back into my fathers cottage in Yorkshire because Ive been made redundant. Im forty and I think theres no chance of finding a decent job or a new love.
Bad luck follows me. The roof, put on by a dodgy builder, starts leaking. Im too exhausted to haul timber. The tradesmen who replaced the windows never finish the job, and drafts slip through the gaps. To keep warm I gather pine cones and use a stack of books as kindling for the old stove. Then the electricity cuts out and I have to switch the heating off.
The landlord of the pub opposite starts sliding me hot offers for a nightcap and a warm meal. I wonder whether to laugh or to cry I tell myself things cant get any worse, yet suddenly everything improves.
My prince, Jack, pulls up on the local bus at the little village stop. Hes got messy hair, dressed in work overalls, and he fixes roofs for a living. He asks if I need a hand. I admit I do, but I have no money to pay him. He says well settle up when I can. He patches the roof, the tap, the water meter, the fence, the steps and the windows.
One freezing evening I find a cosy fire burning in the hearth and, beside it, a steaming mug of herbal tea. It feels like a miracle for my chilled throat and frozen feet.
I know who my hero is and Im trying to think of a way to thank him. Hes talented but modest, so I keep his name out of the village gossip the place is tiny and everyone knows him already.
Now my cottage and garden look completely transformed; you can see a firm, masculine hand at work. With my Jack it feels warm, Im happy, and Im most afraid of ever losing him.
