Life moved at its usual paceraising her son, building their home, being by her husbands side. Emma had chosen Michael herselfout of all the lads in the village, he was the one whod truly won her heart. When Mike returned from his military service, they married. Soon after, their son Oliver was born. As the boy grew older, Emma began longing for a daughter.
«Once we finish the house, Michael, well have a little girl,» she often said. «Well have our homea proper family idyll.»
Michael would just smile and nod. Hed have happily become a father again the very next day. Often, hoisting Oliver onto his shoulders, hed stride proudly through the village, greeting everyone they passed.
Then winter came. Snow buried the roads, the wind howled. Emma peered out the window, waiting for her husband to return. But Michael never did. Thered been an accident at workhe was gone.
«Time heals,» the neighbours and friends told Emma. «Youre not the only one. Cry it out, love. The years will pass, and youll find someone else.»
Emma listened in silence, but the tears wouldnt come, and that made it worse. A year slipped by. The turbulent nineties squeezed even the strongest families. Wages in the village went unpaid for months. Those who had land and werent afraid of hard work fared better.
Emma quickly felt the weight of those times. Oliver started schoolhe needed clothes, shoes, food. That meant planting the entire vegetable patch so shed have something to sell at the market come autumn.
She worked the garden late into the evening. Her hands grew rough, her smile faded, her heart seemed to harden.
«Fetch the bucket, you little rascal!» shed shout when Ollie tried slipping off to his mates. «Ill tan your hide if you run off! Done your homework?»
Oliver would silently grab the bucket, but in his head, he remembered when things were good with Dad, when Mum had been kind and cheerful.
At night, Emma often cried, furious at herself for snapping at him. But by morning, shed be stern and gloomy again.
One Saturday, her friendsMaggie and Lisadropped by. She hadnt had many friends beforeMichael had filled her need for company. But now these merry divorcees often visited, laughing, claiming theyd come «for tea.» Though tea wasnt really the point.
The morning started as usual. Emma got up without even glancing in the mirror. She knew her face looked worn. She fed the pig, scattered grain for the chickens, piled dirty dishes in the sink, and ordered Oliver to wash up and dash to school.
She wasnt expecting anyone that evening but knew one of her «regulars» might drop in. She was indifferent to their promisesif they came, fine; if not, thered be no second invitation. The men usually figured it out fast. Theyd see the boy, exchange a few words, then leave, muttering about «baggage.»
«Honestly, Emma, youll scare them all off,» Maggie laughed. «Youre too picky. Maybe its the bed? Need a new sofa?»
«Oh yes, Ill just dash out and buy a sofa,» Emma sighed. «With what money? If youre so bothered, take it yourself.»
«Alright, dont bite my head off. Just set the tablecompanys coming.»
Maggie sometimes irritated her, but Emma still wordlessly put out pickled cucumbers. Catching sight of her wedding photo, she sighed heavily.
«Sorry, Mike. Its hard without you.»
«Theyre all the same,» Maggie said, as if reading her mind. «Come on, Em, chin up! Were the best!»
The next morning, Emma cleared the remnants of the evening and went to work.
Aunt Eleanorher late husbands auntvisited.
«What are you doing, Emma? Youre not the same since Michael,» she said. «And these friends of yours theyre no help.»
«What, Eleanor, come to lecture me? Think Im some hopeless case? Ive got a home, a household, my sons in school, I check his homework» Emma suddenly stopped, realising she hadnt looked at Olivers books or diary in over a week. And just recently, his teacher had asked to meet.
She didnt know what to say, so she just started stacking dishes in the sink.
«You used to be different,» Eleanor pressed. «Lovely, hardworking, kind Ditch this nonsense.»
«Im not carrying on,» Emma argued. «Just chatting with friends now and then to take my mind off things. Dont I deserve a bit of rest after work?»
«Course you do,» Eleanor nodded, sighing.
«Then spare me the lecture. And frankly, keep your nose out, dear aunt. Doors open.» Emma turned back to the kitchen table.
Eleanor tightened her scarf and left quietly.
Emma frowned, a pang of guilt twisting inside. She hurried after her, catching her on the porch.
«Eleanor, waittake some carrots. Ive loads this year.»
«Dont trouble yourself, dear,» Eleanor waved her off.
«Please, I want to,» Emma insisted.
Eleanor, wise with years, understood. It was an unspoken apology. She stopped.
«Heres a bag,» Emma said, filling it generously. «Need help carrying?»
«Ill manage, love,» Eleanor said, thanking her, her heart aching for Emmas lost spark.
That Friday evening, Emma packed onions and carrots for the market.
«At least a few quidhavent seen a proper wage in ages,» she thought, hefting the bags.
«Off somewhere with all that?» nosy neighbour Betty called, peering into her sack.
«Market. Selling veg,» Emma replied.
She barely made it to the bus stop, where old George and Martha were already waiting. But the bus never came.
«Blasted things broken down again,» Martha sighed.
George cursed the entire transport system. Finally, they gave up and trudged home.
Emma stayed. She couldnt face dragging the bags back, so she waited for a lift.
A Morris Minor passed, then a Land Roverboth full. Then a Ford Cortina appeared. Emma squinted, trying to spot an empty seat, but the driver pulled over before she even raised her hand.
A man, slightly older than her, unfamiliar. Probably from townshed never seen him before. He eyed her, then her bags.
«Bus is knackered today. Im heading into townneed a lift?»
«Suppose so,» Emma sighed.
«Sorted,» he grinned, stepping out. Lanky but strong, he lifted the heavy bag effortlessly.
«Could you drop me right at the market?» she asked.
«Suppose I could.»
«Ill pay,» she said.
During the drive, Emma touched up her lipstick. The rearview mirror let her study him.
«Im Emma,» she finally said.
«James. James Whitaker.»
«Ooh, full namefancy title already? Boss or something?»
«Oh aye, director of factories and owner of steamships,» he joked. «Nah, foreman on a construction site.»
He dropped her at the market and even helped carry the bags. He took only half the fare.
«Pay the rest tonight. Ill be driving back same way,» he said.
«Generous, arent you?» Emma smirked. «Lucky me.»
That evening, James drove her home.
«Come in for tea, James Whitaker.»
«Drop the surname. Just James,» he grinned.
Emma hurried to set the table. Oliver peeked into the kitchen.
«Stop hovering! Go to your room. Homework done?»
«Almost,» he mumbled.
«Well, finish it!» she snapped.
James, lounging by the stove, smiled.
«Lets be proper. Im James Whitaker. And you?»
«Ollie.»
«Proper name Oliver?»
«Yeah.»
«Hows school? Tough?»
«Maths is rubbish. Cant get it,» the boy admitted.
«Lets have a look.» James gestured for his book.
Half an hour later, Oliver, grinning, went to bed.
«Clear this lot,» James said calmly, nodding at the table. «Just tea for me.»
«Well, since youre driving»
«Even if I werentjust tea. Maybe juice, cordial. Thats it.»
Emma eyed him suspiciously but silently poured hot water, added tea leaves, and set out a plate of potatoes.
«Best be off,» James said, standing. He hesitated, then added, «I like you, Emma. Mind if I drop by Friday?»
She almost smiledshed expected this.
«Suppose so.»
«Im single,» he said, though she hadnt asked.
«Youll forget me in a week,» she thought, doubting itd last.
Yet when Maggie and Lisa visited after work, Emma shooed them out early. Her mind raced: «What if he actually comes?»
«Not fair, Em,» Maggie huffed. «Come to the pub with us!»
«Am I some teenager, running to the pub?»
«Not the point! Were seeing a film!»
«No, girls, go on. Ive cleaning to do.»
She didnt finish cleaning. James arrived earlier than expected. He walked into the yard, and Emma led him inside. The table still bore traces of last night, but he pretended not to notice.
«Ill heat the stewgone cold,» she said.
James chatted with Oliver, helped with maths, explained horsepower. When the boy went to bed, Emma, pleasantly tipsy, felt like laughing and joking.
James stood, pulled her up, and wrapped his arms around her waist. She gasped, breath catching.
«Staying tonight,» he said simply.
«Whos stopping you?» She pulled back, steadying herself. The words were unnecessaryshe knew hed stay.
In the morning, as Emma scrambled eggs, James fetched water.
«Need any for the bath?» he asked.
«Fetch some,» she said flatly, though she never asked for helpshe didnt trust it to last.
Over tea, James said quietly, «Emma, if you want this, those drinks on your table last nighttheyve got to go.»
She froze, spoon in hand.
«That a condition?» she asked, more surprised than angry.
«Suppose so. Cant stand the smell. And Im decentyou know that.»
He smiled. «So, bath tonight?»
She wanted to argue, to shove him outbut something stopped her. Unexpectedly, she wanted to say yes.
«Come round,» she said shortly.
That evening, Maggie dropped by.
«Heard you poured it all out, Em. True?»
«True, Mags. All gone.»
«Madwoman! How could you waste good stuff like that?»
«Good stuff? Its poison. Not now, Maggie.»
Emma mopped the floors, changed the sheetsfreshly washed and sun-dried. Stew waited on the stove, but she wanted to cook something nicer. Pies would take too long, so she whipped up pancakes. Oliver sneaked them off the table, washing them down with juice.
Time passed. Emma even managed a bath, but James didnt show.
«Three years for a promise,» she sighed bitterly. «Fool. Knew better. Theyre all the sameexcept my Mike. Maybe I shouldnt have poured it out?»
She smiled at the thought. Glancing around the bright kitchen, smelling of fresh food, she felt oddly calm.
«No, not a waste,» she said firmly. «Enough.»
She turned to Oliver.
«Dont wait up, love. James probably isnt coming. Lets check your homeworkyouve slacked off.»
Thenan engine outside. James appeared with a small travel bag, pulling out sausages, tinned goods, biscuits, butter.
«Mate at the depot hooked me up,» he said. «For you and Oliver.»
Emma sat, chin in hand, watching him.
«Thats gold these days. Not seen stuff like this in ages.»
«Know. Thats why I brought it.»
Casually, as if hed just come home from work, she asked, «Eating first or bathing?»
«Bath first.»
Outside, it was dark. Setting the table, Emma felt something long-forgottenthe warmth and comfort shed once had with Michael. Smiling, she glanced at Jamess jacket on the hook.
«He came todaymeans hell stay. I want him to stay,» she thought with sudden certainty.
The autumn day was grey but peaceful.
Aunt Eleanor sat by her gate, watching the road. She smiled when the now-familiar car pulled up at Emmas for the second month running.
«Good. Let them be. Young stillmight have a child,» she murmured. «Emmas herself againsmiling, gentle. Let her enjoy life. It always moves forward. Just gotta keep living. The kettle sang softly on the stove. Emma poured tea into two cups, then paused, looking out the window at the falling leaves. James came up behind her, warm and steady, and placed a hand on her shoulder. She leaned into him, just slightly, and said nothing. Outside, Oliver pedaled his bike in slow circles, laughing at something only he could see. The garden was bare but tidy, ready for winter. Emma sipped her tea, feeling the quiet settle in her bonesnot the heavy silence of grief, but the soft hush of something tender taking root. She reached for Jamess hand, and this time, she didnt let go.
