Fate
The day wasnt going well.
Oliver knew these things happened, but stilleverything felt tiresome.
He pondered life.
What had he achieved? Nearly forty, school behind him, college done, a stint in the army. A flat, a wife, two kids, a rickety old car for weekend trips to the dreadful allotment where he toiled endlessly. Lazing about with a beer? Not for him. There were beds to dig, weeds to pull, compost to haul, grass to mow. The shed roof sagged, the fence leaned, the house creaked.
The tram rattled like a tin can as it swayed along its route. Oliver sat by the window, watching streetlights flicker like a glowing chain in the dark. He thought about his life.
It was all so ordinary. Family, job, allotment, paycheque, kids, parents, in-laws. Football on weekends, a pint after a soak in the sauna. Birthdays and holidays with the familyjust like everyone else.
But suddenly, it all felt stale. Too quiet, too safe. He wanted somethingsparkle, excitement.
It hit him: hed always been the steady one, the *convenient* one. The man who never strayed from the path laid out for him.
What if he could start over?
For some reason, he thought of Lucy, his first love. Strolling hand in hand, dreaming big, that first dizzying kiss His eyes misted, and he wiped them with his sleeve.
It couldve been so different.
Lucybright, cheeky, always laughing. Hed been heartbroken when they split. Then came Emily, the polar opposite: calm, dependable. With Emily, everything was sensible. No jokes, no nonsense.
*Want to share a bed? Wait till were married.*
*Brought flowers? Stolen from the town hall garden?*
*Honestly, Oliver, they couldve fined youor worse, dragged you before the parish council!*
That was her way.
After the wedding, she called his parents *Mum and Dad* without hesitation. She settled into domestic life effortlessly. His parents adored hersensible, kind, a natural homemaker.
But maybe maybe he hadnt wanted *sensible*.
Oliver drifted deeper into his thoughts.
They never argued. Hed chickened out back then, never took the leap. And Lucy? She vanished. Rumor had it shed married someone else.
The tram jerked to a stop. Passengers spilled out, others crammed in, filling the carriage. Oliver squeezed toward the backthree stops to go. He rarely took public transport now, spoiled by his rusty but reliable car.
He turned to the windowthen froze at a voice.
*»Oliver, honestly, stand still!»*
He scanned the crowd. Tired faces, glazed eyes, people lost in their own worlds. A plump woman gripped a fidgety boys handabout ten, buzzing with unshared news.
*»Mum, guess what? Vicky at school»*
*»Oliver, I said behave.»*
*»But I want to tell you now! At home, youll just cook, then listen to Annie drone on about her boyfriends, then Charlies uni stories, then you and Dadll gab about the stupid allotmentwhat about me? Whyd I have to be the youngest? And whyd you name me Oliver? Its rubbish!»*
*»Dont be silly. Its a lovely name.»*
*»Oh yeah? Oliver Twist, ate a pie, got a prize, then told liesthats what they chant. Mum, its awful!»*
A woman in a red beret tutted. *»You should listen to your boy. One day, he wont want to talk at all.»*
The mother huffed, then glanced sharply at Oliver. Their eyes metjust a flashbefore she bent to her son. *»Go on, then. But quietly.»*
The boy babbled excitedly.
And thenOliver *knew*.
*Lucy.*
Of course. That was herhis road not taken. *That* couldve been his life: Lucy ignoring *their* youngest, grumbling about *their* allotment.
Would he really have been happier?
She hadnt recognized him. Just another passenger.
Oddly, he felt lighter. His routines with Emily, even the allotment, didnt seem so dull anymore. Fishing trips with his father-in-law, Emilys knack for listeninglife was good.
Funny how his car breaking down had led him here. A minor fix, reallyhe and the lads would sort it in two evenings. Without it, he mightve stewed forever.
At his stop, he paused near Lucy and the boy, leaned in, and whispered. The boy gasped, then giggled.
Oliver stepped off, heading home.
*»Whatd he say?»* Lucy asked.
*»That man? Taught me how to shut up the bully. If Im Oliver Twist, youre the Artful Dodgerall talk, no trousers!»*
*»…He always had a sharp tongue.»*
*»Who? You know him?»*
*»No one. Dont be daft.»*
Lucy sank onto a seat, pulling her son close. Almost to the terminus now. Her husband hadnt been able to pick them upjust as well. Lately, shed been irritable, discontent.
Shed started wondering what if shed waited for Oliver instead of marrying Michael?
Fate had arranged this meeting.
But the man she saw? Mid-forties, a hint of a belly, thinning hairjust another bloke heading home after work. The magic had evaporated.
*»Ollie lets bake a cake tonight.»*
*»Chocolate ripple?!»*
*»Yes, chocolate ripple.»*
*»YES!»*
*»Shh! Inside voice, Ollie.»*
Her husband had chosen the nameafter his granddad. Lucy didnt mind. Nice name, Oliver.
Oliver ducked into a closing florist. Only three white carnations left.
*»How much?»*
*»Eh?»* The shopkeeper glared.
*»For the flowers.»*
*»None left. See?»*
*»These?»*
*»Ohtake em. Theyre wonky anyway.»*
*»I cant justheres a quid.»*
*»Suit yourself. Want em wrapped?»*
*»Nah.»*
At home, he handed them to Emily. Instead of scolding him for wasting money, she smiled softly.
*»Whats this for?»*
*»Dunno. Just wanted to.»*
Later, lounging on the sofa, he overheard her on the phone.
*»Mine brought flowers today,»* she said, casual. *»No reason. Always been a bit of a romantic, that one.»*
