Anne Bennett hurriedly packs her belongings. Her hands shake, tears well up. After twenty years of marriage, her husband declares he is leaving her for a younger, cheerful womannothing like Anne, who is weary from work, constantly occupied with household chores and raising children.
Her children have already grown up. Her son lives in another city and visits rarely. Her daughter is married and has moved in with her husband. Anne remains alone in a large flat that suddenly feels empty and foreign.
She throws items into a suitcase without thinking about what she actually takes. What does it matter? All she wants is to run, to hide from the pain and humiliation.
The phone rings as she zips the suitcase. She sees her friends name on the screen and sighs; she doesnt feel like talking to anyone.
Hello, she answers.
Anne, hi! Listen, I just heard How are you? Rachels voice sounds worried.
Fine, Anne replies curtly. Im packing.
Where are you going?
I dont know, Anne admits honestly. I just cant stay here any longer.
You still have that cottage up in the country, the one your grandmother owned. Why not go there?
Anne freezes. Indeed, she has a cottage in the village of Littleford, a small property inherited from her maternal grandmother. They used to visit when the children were small, then stopped. Her husband, George, always said the countryside bored him and he preferred holidays by the sea.
Rachel, youre a genius! Anne exclaims. Thats where Im heading!
Is it habitable? Does it have heating?
Theres a stove and electricity. Thats all I need.
An hour later Anne is on a commuter train heading north toward Littleford, about fifty miles from London. A completely different world awaits.
The village greets her with silence and the scent of lilacs. The grandmothers cottage sits on the edge of the lane, surrounded by ancient apple trees. Anne struggles to open the creaking gate and steps into the yard.
Everything looks neglected. Grass brushes her calves, the porch leans, one window is broken. Anne lets out a heavy sigh. What will she do here? How will she live? Shes a city dweller used to comfort.
A hoarse voice calls out, Whos there? A small, stooped old woman with a walking stick appears from behind the house.
Good morning, Anne says, bewildered. Im the granddaughter of Mary Bennett. This is her house.
The Bennett house? the old woman squints, studying the stranger. And youre Anne, I presume?
Yes, Anne replies, surprised. And you are?
Im Mabel, a neighbour. We were friends with your grandmother. What brings you here?
Im staying, Anne says suddenly, more firmly than she feels.
Staying? You cant live here. The house is dilapidated, needs repairs. And what would a city girl do? Youre not used to this, are you?
Ill manage, Anne insists, heading toward the cottage.
She finds the key in her bag, opens the door, and steps inside. The air smells of damp and dust. Old furniture lies under a blanket of cobwebs, a stove sits in the corner, a table, two beds. Yellowed photographs line the walls; one shows a young, beautiful grandmother smiling.
Anne collapses onto a bed and cries. For the first time in ages she lets the tears flow, sobbing hard, pouring out hurt and betrayal.
Gradually the tears dry, and a strange calm settles over her. In this old house she feels shielded from the world; no one will see her weep, no one will judge.
The next morning birds chorus outside. Sunlight streams through the window. She rinses her face with cold water from a bucket and steps into the yard.
Morning, Mabel, a familiar hoarse voice greets her. Mabel stands by the fence with a bundle of fresh bread and a jug of milk.
Morning, Anne replies.
I thought youd be hungry. Got some milk, bread, a few potatoes. The shop is a mile away.
Thank you, youre very kind, Anne says, touched.
Neighbours look after each other, Mabel waves her hand. Are you sure youre staying?
Yes, but I dont know where to start, Anne admits.
Start with cleaning, Mabel suggests. I have rags and a broom.
They spend the whole day sweeping, dusting, airing out the rooms. By evening Anne collapses from exhaustion, but for the first time in a long while she feels satisfied with what shes accomplished.
Tomorrow well check the stove, Mabel says as she leaves. Mays weather can be tricky.
Anne nods. She begins to understand that country life means constant work, but the thought no longer scares herit comforts her.
The following days are a blur of chores. They repair the stove, glass the broken window, straighten the porch. Anne learns to cook over the stove, draw water from the well, and tend a modest garden. Her hands blister, her back aches, but her body slowly adapts to the labour.
One evening a woman named Agnes arrives with Mabel.
This is Agnes, she works at the village library. She heard we have a new resident and wanted to say hello, Mabel introduces.
Nice to meet you, Anne smiles.
Likewise, Agnes replies, shaking Annes hand. We dont get many newcomers, especially ones who stay.
How long do you think youll be here? Anne asks, a little embarrassed.
What did you do in the city? Agnes inquires.
I was an accountant, Anne answers.
Whats your qualification?
Economics, Anne says with a shrug. And?
Were short of teachers at the primary school, especially for maths. Would you consider giving it a try, even temporarily?
The idea surprises Anne, but it sounds intriguing.
Ill think about it, she says.
A week later Anne stands before a small class of fifteen village children. The school uses a mixedage system, so she teaches several grade levels at once.
Good morning, class, she begins, her voice wobbling a bit. Im Anne Bennett, and Ill be your maths teacher.
The children watch cautiously. Anne takes a deep breath and starts the lesson. To her surprise, teaching becomes engaging; the kids ask curious questions, and she feels a lift of pride as the lesson ends.
Gradually Annes life weaves together teaching, gardening, and new friendships. She rarely checks her phone. Her son texts occasionally, asking how she is. Her daughter calls now and then. Anne answers simply, Im fine here, and its true.
The city feels distant and strange. Sometimes she remembers the flat, the office, George, but those memories no longer sting; they belong to a past she has left behind.
One evening James Whitaker, the local farmer, knocks on her door. Hes tall, broadshouldered, with a kindly face and a full beard.
Anne Bennett, may I come in? he asks, shifting from foot to foot.
Of course, James, come in, she replies, offering tea.
They sit at the table, sip honeysweetened tea, and chat. James talks about his farm, his plans for the next season. Anne listens attentively.
Anne, I need a hand with the accounts, he finally says. The farm is expanding, the paperwork piles up, and Im not good with numbers. Could you help?
The offer is unexpected but tempting. She needs a professional outlet.
Ill think about it, she says.
Take your time, but not too long. The seasons starting, James nods.
A few days later Anne accepts. Her days are now split: mornings at school, afternoons at Jamess farm, evenings in her garden.
One day James offers to help with the overgrown garden.
Youve let it get out of hand, he remarks. I have a tractor and a few extra hands.
Anne gratefully accepts. The next day James arrives with his tractor and ploughs the soil in a few hours. Together they plant potatoes, onions, carrots. They work side by side, occasionally bickering, often laughing.
Youve got a nice patch here, James notes, looking over the yard. Only the fence is ruinous. Well need a new one.
I have no money for a fence, Anne sighs.
Well share the work, James smiles. I have timber, you have meals to share. Deal?
Anne agrees, pleased by his practicality. The whole village pitches in: Mabel with her son, Agnes with her husband, others bring tools. By sunset they finish the fence and hold an impromptu celebration in Annes yard.
To new homes! James raises a glass of homemade cider.
To fresh starts! Agnes adds.
Anne watches these simple, open people and feels she has finally found her place. In the countryside, among nature and kind hearts, she discovers the life she lacked in the citya real, unpretentious life.
In autumn her exhusband Edward pulls up in his expensive car at the gate while Anne is weeding.
Anne, Edward calls, May I come in?
She straightens, wipes her hands on her apron, and nods. Edward steps onto the yard, eyes wide with surprise.
You live here? he asks.
Yes, Anne replies simply.
But you have a flat in London, with all the comforts
I like it here, she shrugs.
Edward studies her. Shes tanned, slimmer, moves with confidence, a sparkle in her eyes.
You look different, he notes.
I am different, Anne smiles. Would you like some tea?
They sit on the veranda, drinking tea with homemade blackcurrant jam. Edward talks about his new life, but his words no longer affect her.
Ive come to ask you to come back, he says finally. I was wrong. That other woman was just a phase. I love only you.
Anne looks at him, astonished. Those words would have made her heart race just weeks ago, but now she feels only calm.
Edward, Im grateful for what you said, she says gently. But I wont return. My home is here.
But this is just a village! he exclaims. There are no theatres, no restaurants, no shops!
There is a real life here, and real people, Anne replies evenly.
What about our marriage? Twenty years together
It ended when you left, she says without blame. If you hadnt gone, I might never have found myself.
Edward looks bewildered. This confident woman is nothing like the Anne he once knew.
Are you happy here? he asks at last.
Yes, she answers simply. I am happy.
When he drives away, James appears with a bucket of apples from his orchard.
Anne Bennett, fresh apples for you! he calls. Theyre the sweetest!
Thanks, James, she says. Could you help me pull the carrots? Its hard alone.
Anything for you, he replies, smiling.
They work side by side as the sun sinks, painting the sky pink, the air scented with apples and fallen leaves.
Who was that at the gate? James asks later, holding a carrot.
My exhusband, Anne says.
And what did he want?
To bring me back to the city.
James pauses, then says, And you?
I turned him down, Anne smiles. Im happy here.
James beams and returns to the work. Their silence is comfortable, a quiet understanding between two people who know each other without words.
That evening, as James prepares to leave, he turns to Anne.
Theres a concert at the village hall on Saturday, folk songs, then a dance. Would you like to go with me?
Annes smile widens.
Delighted, James, she answers.
On Saturday Anne dons her best dressa simple yet elegant frock. James arrives, tidy, with a bouquet of wildflowers.
You look beautiful, he says, presenting the flowers.
The concert is heartfelt, villagers singing traditional ballads, reading poems, dancing. James invites Anne to a waltz. Hes a bit clumsy but earnest. Anne feels his strong, gentle arms around her.
Anne Bennett, James whispers, looking into her eyes, Im a simple man, no city polish, but Im completely taken with you. I like you very much.
Anne sees his kind, earnest face and realizes she feels the same.
I like you too, James, she replies softly.
They dance until the hall empties, then James walks her home. At the gate he gently takes her hand.
May I come by tomorrow? he asks.
Please do, Anne says, Ill be waiting.
She watches him disappear down the lanetall, strong, reliableand finally understands she is truly happy, for the first time in her life.
Winter blankets the village in snow. Annes cottage is buried under drifts. Each morning James shovels the paths. They spend evenings together, sipping tea, chatting, making plans.
Agnes comments one day, You and James make a lovely pair. Whens the wedding?
Anne blushes. Were just friends.
Friends who look at each other with love in their eyes, Agnes teases.
By spring James gets down on one knee in the garden.
Marry me, Anne, he says simply. I love you.
She nods, tears bright. Ill marry you, James. I love you too.
The whole village helps with the ceremony. Annes grownup son and daughter arrive, initially shocked, but seeing their mothers happiness they accept it.
Youre happy, Mum, her daughter says, hugging her.
Anne truly feels happiness. She has found her placein a small English village, among honest folk, beside the man she loves. The joy is genuine, without pretence.
Every morning she wakes smiling, eager for the new day. Teaching, farming, caring for the home, evenings by the fire with Jamesall give her life meaning.
Sometimes she thinks of her former city lifeits rush, its empty conversations. She now knows that happiness is being where you belong, doing what you love, surrounded by people who truly value you.
