**Circumstances**
Life carried on at its usual paceraising a son, building a home, standing by the man she loved. *Margaret* had chosen *Michael* herself; among all the boys, he was the only one who truly captured her heart. When he returned from his service, they married. Soon after, their son, *Oliver*, was born. As the boy grew older, Margaret began dreaming of a daughter.
«Once we finish the house, Michael, we’ll have a little girl,» she often said. «Then well have a proper family homejust like we always imagined.»
Michael would simply smile and nod. He was ready to be a father again whenever she was. Often, hed hoist Oliver onto his shoulders and walk proudly through the village, greeting every neighbour they passed.
But then winter came. Snow buried the roads, and the wind howled. Margaret waited by the window, watching for her husbands return. But Michael never came home. There had been an accident at worka tragic oneand just like that, he was gone.
«Time heals,» the neighbours and friends told Margaret. «Youre not the only one. Cry it out, and before you know it, years will pass, and youll find someone else.»
Margaret listened in silence, but no tears camesomehow, that made it worse. A year passed. The troubled nineties squeezed even the strongest families. Wages in the village went unpaid for months. Those who had livestock and werent afraid of hard work managed best.
Margaret quickly felt the weight of those times. Oliver started school and needed clothes, shoes, food. That meant planting the garden to its fullest, ensuring thered be something to sell at the market come autumn.
She worked the garden until dark. Her hands grew rough, her smile faded, and her heart hardened.
«Get that bucket, you little rascal!» shed shout when Oliver tried to sneak off to his friends. «Where do you think youre running? Have you done your homework?»
Oliver would silently pick up the bucket, but in his mind, he remembered how things used to be when Dad was herewhen Mum was kind and laughed.
At night, Margaret often cried, furious with herself for snapping at her son. But by morning, shed be stern and gloomy again.
One Saturday, her friends*Faye* and *Lydia*dropped by. Shed never had many friends before because Michael had been all the company she needed. But now, these two, both divorced and always laughing, often turned up «for tea»though tea was hardly the point.
The morning started as usual. Margaret got up without even glancing in the mirror. She knew her face was drawn. She fed the pig, scattered grain for the chickens, piled dirty dishes into 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 stop by. She was indifferent to their promisesif they came, fine; if not, they wouldnt get another invitation. Men usually took one look at Oliver, muttered a few words, and left, muttering something about «another mans leftovers.»
«Honestly, Meg, youll chase them all off like this,» Faye teased. «Youre too picky. Or maybe its your beds fault? Need a new sofa?»
«Oh yes, let me just rush out and buy a new sofa,» Margaret sighed. «With what money? If you feel sorry for it, take it yourself.»
«Fine, dont get cross. Just set the tableyouve got a guest to entertain.»
Faye annoyed her sometimes, but Margaret wordlessly placed pickled cucumbers on the table. Catching sight of her wedding photo, she exhaled heavily.
«Forgive me, Mike. Its hard without you.»
«Theyre all the same,» Faye said, as if reading her mind. «Come on, Megto us! Were the best!»
The next morning, Margaret sighed, cleared the remnants of the evening, and went to work.
Later, *Nina Edwards*, her late husbands aunt, paid a visit.
«What are you doing, Margaret? I barely recognize you since Michael,» she said. «And these friends of yourstheyre no good for you.»
«Oh, Nina, have you come to lecture me? Think Im some kind of failure? Ive got a house, I manage the farm, my sons in school, I check his homework» She suddenly stopped, realising she hadnt looked at Olivers books or his diary in over a week. Just recently, shed run into his teacher, whod asked to speak with her.
At a loss for words, Margaret simply began stacking dirty dishes into the basin.
«You used to be different,» Nina continued. «Kind, hardworking, lovely Give up this foolishness.»
«Im not being foolish,» Margaret retorted. «I just talk to friends sometimesto take my mind off things. Dont I deserve a little break after work?»
«Of course you do,» Nina sighed.
«Then dont lecture me. And really, keep your nose out of my business. The doors open,» Margaret snapped, turning back to the kitchen table.
Nina tightened her scarf and quietly left.
Margaret winced like shed been struck. She felt awful, weighed down, and something pulled at her to follow. She rushed out and caught up with Nina on the porch.
«Nina, waitlet me give you some carrots. Ive got loads this year.»
«Dont trouble yourself, dear,» Nina waved her off, already stepping down.
«No, pleaseI mean it,» Margaret insisted.
Nina knew life too well. Her years had taught her to sense others pain. She understoodthis was Margarets silent apology. Without another word, she stopped.
«Here, take this bag,» Margaret said, generously filling it with carrots. «Can you carry it, or shall I help?»
«Ill manage, love,» Nina replied, thanking her before walking off, her heart aching for Margarets troubled soul.
By Friday evening, Margaret had packed onions and carrots to take to the market.
*At least therell be a bit of cash. Heaven knows I never see a penny otherwise,* she thought, hefting the bags.
«Where are you off to with all that?» her nosy neighbour *Zoe* asked, peering into the sack.
«Market,» Margaret replied curtly.
She barely made it to the bus stop with the heavy bags. An elderly couple, *Old Tom and Granny Mabel*, were already there, also waiting to go into town. But the bus never came.
«Another breakdown, I suppose,» Granny Mabel sighed.
Old Tom cursed the bus and the whole transport system. Finally, giving up, they turned back, deciding to try another day.
Margaret stayed, unwilling to drag the bags home. Shed hitch a ride instead.
First, a beat-up *Austin* passed, then a *Land Rover*, but both were full. Finally, a *Rover* appeared. Margaret squinted, trying to see if there was space, but the driver stopped before she even raised her hand.
The man, slightly older than her and a stranger, glanced at her and then at her bags.
«Bus broke down again. Im heading into townneed a lift?»
«If you dont mind,» Margaret sighed.
«Hop in,» he smiled. Despite his lean frame, he lifted her heavy bags effortlessly, as if they weighed nothing.
«Could you drop me right at the market?» she asked.
«Might do.»
«Ill pay,» she said.
During the drive, Margaret pulled out a compact and touched up her lipstick. The backseat gave her a chance to study the driver.
«Im Margaret,» she finally broke the silence.
«George Foster.»
«George Foster? Thats awfully formal for someone so young. Boss or something?»
«Director of factories and owner of steamships,» he joked. «Actually, just a foreman at a construction site.»
George dropped her at the market and even helped carry her bags. He only took half the fare.
«Pay the rest tonight. Ill be coming back the same way,» he said.
«Generous, arent you?» Margaret smiled. «Lucky me.»
That evening, George drove her home.
«Come in for a cuppa, George Foster.»
«Just George is fine,» he chuckled.
Margaret quickly set the table. Oliver peeked in.
«Dont just stand there! Go to your room. Homework done?»
«Almost,» the boy mumbled.
«Then finish it!» she ordered.
George, sitting by the stove, crossed his legs and smiled at the boy.
«Lets introduce ourselves. Im George Foster. And you?»
«Ollie.»
«Proper name Oliver?»
«Yeah.»
«Hows school? Tough?»
«Maths a nightmare. Cant make sense of it,» Oliver admitted.
«Lets have a look.» George gestured for the boys notebook.
Half an hour later, Oliver, pleased with the help, went to bed.
«Clear all this,» George said calmly, nodding at the table. «Just tea for me.»
«Well, if youre driving, tea it is,» Margaret agreed.
«Even if I werentjust tea. Or squash, cordial, juiceanything but the hard stuff.»
Margaret eyed him suspiciously but silently poured hot water into a cup, added tea leaves, and set out a plate of potatoes.
«Best be off,» George said, standing. He hesitated, then added, «I like you, Margaret. Can I come by Friday?»
She smirked slightlyshed expected this.
«Alright, then.»
«Im not married,» he offered, though she hadnt asked.
*Youll forget in a week,* she thought, not expecting more.
But after work, when Lydia and Faye dropped by, Margaret sent them away early. Her mind raced*What if he really comes?*
«No, Meg, thats not fair,» Faye protested. «Come to the pub with us!»
«Am I some silly girl, running to the pub?»
«Who said anything about silly? Were seeing a film!»
«No, girlsyou go. Ive got cleaning to do.»
She never got around to it. George arrived earlier than expected. He walked into the yard, and Margaret led him inside. Traces of the nights drinks still lingered, but he pretended not to notice.
«Let me heat this upthe soups gone cold,» she explained.
George chatted with Oliver, helped with maths, explained horsepower in cars. When the boy went to bed, Margaret, slightly tipsy, felt talkative, even playful.
George stood, placed his hands on her shoulders, and pulled her up. Then he wrapped an arm around her waist. She gasped, breath catching.
«Staying the night,» he said simply.
«Whos stopping you?» She stepped back, inhaling sharply. Words seemed unnecessaryshe already knew.
In the morning, as Margaret scrambled eggs, George took the buckets to fetch water.
«Need any for the washhouse?» he asked.
«Fetch some,» she replied, though she never usually asked for helpshe never believed it would last.
Over breakfast, sipping tea, George said quietly,
«Margaret, if you want this to work, those drinks on your table last nightthey cant be there.»
She froze, teaspoon in hand.
«Is that a condition?» she asked, more surprised than angry.
«Call it that. Cant stand the smell. And honestlyIm decent. You know that.»
He smiled.
«Soshall I come by later for the washhouse?»
She wanted to protest, to shout, even to throw him outbut something stopped her. Unexpectedly, she wanted to say yes.
«Come, then,» she said simply.
That evening, Faye dropped by.
«Heard you poured it all out, Meg. True?»
«True, Faye. Its all gone.»
«Have you lost your mind? Wasting good stuff like that!»
«Good stuff? Its nothing but trouble. Go on, FayeIm not in the mood.»
Margaret mopped the floor, changed the sheetsnow crisp and fresh, having washed and dried them outside. The stove held leftover soup, but she wanted to cook something nicer. Pies would take too long, so she made pancakes instead. Oliver sneaked them from the table, washing them down with squash.
Time passed. Margaret even managed a trip to the washhouse before dark. But George never showed.
«Promises are like pie crustsmade to be broken,» she muttered bitterly. «Foolish to believe him. Theyre all the sameexcept my Mike. Maybe I shouldnt have poured it out after all?»
She smiled at the thought. Glancing around the bright kitchen, smelling of fresh food, she suddenly felt calm.
«No, it was right,» she said firmly. «Enough of that life.»
She turned to Oliver.
«Dont wait up, love. George isnt coming. Lets check your homework insteadyouve been slacking.»
Thenthe sound of an engine outside. George appeared at the door with a small travel bag, pulling out sausages, tinned goods, biscuits, butter.
«A mate from the depot gave me thesehelps out sometimes,» he explained. «For you and Oliver.»
Margaret sat at the table, chin propped on her hand, watching him.
«Thats gold these days. Havent seen stuff like this in ages.»
«Know its scarce. Thats why I brought it.»
Casually, as if he came home every day, she asked,
«Eating first or heading to the washhouse?»
«Washhouse first,» he replied.
Outside, it was dark. Setting the table, Margaret felt something long forgottenthe warmth and comfort shed once had with Michael. Smiling, she glanced at Georges jacket hanging by the door.
*He came todaythat means hell stay. I want him to stay.*
The autumn day was gloomy but peaceful.
Nina Edwards sat by her gate, watching the road. She smiled when she saw the car that had become a regular sight at Margarets house these past months.
«Well, good. Let them be happy. Theyre young yetmight even have another child,» she murmured. «Margarets herself againsmiling, gentle. Let her enjoy life. It always moves forward. The important thing is to live. The kettle whistled softly on the stove, and Oliver, now used to Georges presence, poured the hot water without being asked. Margaret watched from the window as George carried the last bucket of water to the shed, his breath visible in the cool air. She wrapped her shawl tighter and stepped outside, meeting him halfway.
Cold, he said, taking her hand in his.
Not anymore, she replied.
And for the first time in years, she believed it.
