**Diary Entry**
Life had been moving at its usual paceraising my son, building our home, being by my husbands side. Id chosen Michael myself; out of all the lads, he was the only one who truly touched my heart. When he came back from his service, we married. Soon after, our son, Oliver, was born. As he grew, I began dreaming of a daughter.
“Once we finish the house, Michael, well have a little girl,” Id often say. “Then well have a proper family homeeverything just right.”
Michael would only smile and nod. Hed have been happy to be a father again the very next day. Often, hed hoist Oliver onto his shoulders and stroll proudly through the village, greeting everyone we passed.
Then winter came. The roads vanished under snow, the wind howled. I waited by the window, but Michael never returned. Thered been an accident at work.
“Time heals,” the neighbours would say. “Youre not the only one. Cry it out, and before you know it, years will pass. Youll find someone else.”
I listened in silence, but the tears wouldnt come anymoresomehow, that made it worse. The months dragged on. The hard years of the nineties squeezed even the strongest families. Wages in the village went unpaid for months. Those with land and the strength to work it fared better.
I felt the weight of it all at once. Oliver started schoolhe needed clothes, shoes, food. That meant planting every inch of the garden, just so wed have something to sell at the market come autumn.
I worked until dark. My hands roughened, my smile faded, my heart felt like it had turned to stone.
“Grab that bucket, you little rascal!” Id shout when Oliver tried to sneak off to his friends. “Think you can run off? Done your homework?”
Hed pick up the bucket without a word, but I knew he was remembering the days when his dad was here, when I was kinder, happier.
At night, Id cry, hating myself for snapping at him. But by morning, the hardness always returned.
One Saturday, my friends, Emily and Lucy, dropped by. Id never had many friends beforeMichael had been all the company I needed. But now, these two divorcees came round often, laughing, claiming theyd just popped in “for tea.” We all knew it wasnt about the tea.
The morning started as usual. I got up without even glancing in the mirrormy face was always drawn these days. Fed the pigs, scattered grain for the chickens, piled dirty dishes in the sink, then told Oliver to wash up and hurry to school.
I wasnt expecting anyone that evening, but I knew one of the “regulars” might show up. I didnt care much for promisesif they came, fine; if not, they wouldnt get another invitation. Most men took one look at Oliver, muttered a few words, and left. “A woman with baggage,” theyd say.
“Honestly, Emma, youll scare them all off,” Emily laughed. “Youre too picky. Maybe its your beds faultneed a new sofa?”
“Oh yes, let me just buy a new sofa,” I sighed. “With what money? If you feel sorry for me, take it yourself.”
“Alright, dont snap. Just set the tableyouve got a guest to entertain.”
Emily irritated me sometimes, but I still wordlessly put out pickled cucumbers. Glancing at my wedding photo, I sighed heavily.
“Forgive me, Michael. Its hard without you.”
“Theyre all the same,” Emily said, as if reading my mind. “Come on, Emmato us! Were the best!”
The next morning, I cleared the remnants of the evening and went to work.
Then Aunt Margaret, my late husbands aunt, visited.
“What are you doing, Emma? I barely recognise you since Michael left,” she said. “And these friends of yourstheyre no good for you.”
“What, Margaret, decided 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” I trailed off, realising I hadnt looked at his schoolbook or diary in over a week. Just days ago, his teacher had asked to meet.
I didnt know what to say, so I just started stacking dirty dishes in the sink.
“You were different once,” Margaret continued. “Kind, hardworking, gentle Drop this foolishness.”
“Im not being foolish,” I protested. “I just need friends sometimessomething to take my mind off it all. Dont I deserve a little rest after work?”
“Well, of course,” Margaret conceded with a sigh.
“Then dont lecture me. And honestly, keep your nose out of my business. The doors open.” I turned back to the kitchen table.
Margaret tightened her scarf and left quietly.
I exhaled sharply, scowling as if in pain. The guilt gnawed at me, and before I knew it, I was running after her onto the porch.
“Margaret, waitlet me give you some carrots. Ive got so many this year.”
“No need, love,” she waved me off, already stepping away.
“Please, I mean it,” I insisted.
Margaret knew life too well. She could see the unspoken apology in my eyes. She stopped.
“Heres a bag,” I said, pouring in a generous heap of carrots. “Need help carrying them?”
“Ill manage, Emma,” she said, thanking me before walking off. Her heart ached for me.
That Friday evening, I packed onions and carrots to sell at the market.
“At least Ill have a few quid,” I thought bitterly. “Havent seen my own money in months.”
“Where are you off to with all that?” nosy Mrs. Wilkins asked, peering into my bags.
“Market. Selling veg,” I replied.
I barely made it to the bus stop with the heavy sacks. Old Tom and Mrs. Harris were already there, waiting to go into town. But the bus never came.
“Mustve broken down again,” Mrs. Harris sighed.
Tom cursed under his breath. Eventually, they gave up and trudged home.
I stayed. Dragging the sacks back seemed worse than waiting. I decided to hitch a ride.
First a Morris, then a Land Rover passedno room. Finally, a Ford pulled up. I squinted, trying to see if there was space, but the driver stopped before I even raised my hand.
A man, slightly older than me, unfamiliar. Probably from the next town over. He looked at me, then at my bags.
“Bus is out today. Im heading into townneed a lift?”
“Suppose so,” I sighed.
“Good,” he smiled. He got out, and though he was lean, he lifted the heavy sack like it weighed nothing.
“Mind dropping me at the market?” I asked.
“Could do.”
“Ill pay.”
During the drive, I pulled out a compact and touched up my lipstick. From the back seat, I watched him.
“Im Emma,” I finally said.
“James Wilson.”
“Ooh, first name and last name already? You someone important?”
“Director of factories and owner of steamships,” he joked. “Actually, just a foreman at a building site.”
He dropped me at the market and even helped carry the bags. He only took half the fare.
“Pay the rest tonight. Ill be driving back the same way.”
“Generous, arent you?” I smiled. “Lucky me.”
That evening, James drove me home.
“Well, come in for tea, James Wilson.”
“Just James is fine,” he grinned.
I hurried to set the table. Oliver peeked in.
“Dont just stand there! Go to your room. Homework done?”
“Almost,” he mumbled.
“Then finish it!” I snapped.
James, sitting by the stove, crossed his legs and smiled at Oliver.
“Lets get acquainted. Im James Wilson. And you?”
“Ollie.”
“Proper name Oliver?”
“Yeah.”
“Hows school? Tough?”
“Maths is a nightmare,” he admitted.
“Lets have a look.” James gestured for his book.
Half an hour later, Oliver went to bed, pleased with the help.
“Clear this up,” James said calmly, nodding at the table. “Just tea for me.”
“Well, if youre driving, just tea then.”
“Even if I werentjust tea. Maybe some squash. Thats it.”
I eyed him suspiciously but poured hot water into a cup, added teabags, and set out a plate of potatoes.
“Time to go,” James said, standing. He hesitated, then added, “I like you, Emma. Mind if I drop by Friday?”
I smirkedjust as Id expected.
“Sure.”
“Im not married,” he added, though I hadnt asked.
“Youll forget me by next week,” I thought, not daring to hope.
Yet when Lucy and Emily visited after work, I sent them away early. My mind raced: “What if he really comes?”
“Emma, this isnt fair,” Lucy huffed. “Come out with us! Just to the club!”
“Am I some silly girl, running to clubs?”
“Who said anything about silly? Were seeing a film!”
“No, you two go. Ive cleaning to do.”
I didnt get to clean. James arrived earlier than Id thought. He stepped into the yard, and I led him inside. The table still bore traces of last night, but he pretended not to notice.
“Ill heat the soupits gone cold,” I said.
James chatted with Oliver, helped with maths, explained horsepower in cars. Once Oliver was in bed, I felt light, almost giddy, wanting to talk and laugh.
James stood, came over, placed his hands on my shoulders, and made me rise. Then he pulled me close. I gasped, breath catching.
“Staying the night,” he said simply.
“Whos stopping you?” I pulled back, finally steadying myself. The words were unnecessaryId known hed stay.
In the morning, as I scrambled eggs, James took buckets to fetch water.
“Need any for the bathhouse?” he asked.
“Go on,” I said, though I usually never asked for helpnever trusted it to last.
Over breakfast, sipping tea, James said quietly,
“Emma, if you want this to work, those drinks on your table last nighttheyve got to go.”
I froze, spoon in hand.
“Is that a condition?” I asked, more surprised than angry.
“Call it that. Cant stand the smell. Im decentyou know that.”
He smiled.
“So, tonightbathhouse?”
I wanted to argue, to shout, even to throw him out. But something stopped me. Unexpectedly, I wanted to agree.
“Come round,” I said simply.
Later, Lucy dropped by.
“Heard you poured it all out, Emma. True?”
“True, Lucy. Its all gone.”
“Have you lost your mind? Wasting good stuff like that!”
“Good stuff? Its nothing but trouble. Go on, Lucynot in the mood.”
I mopped the floors, changed the bedsheetsfreshly washed, sun-dried. Soup waited on the stove, but I wanted something better. No time for pie, so I made pancakes instead. Oliver sneaked them off the table, washing them down with squash.
Time passed. I even managed a bath. Dusk fell. James never came.
“Fool me once,” I sighed bitterly. “Shouldve known. All the same except my Michael. Was it even worth pouring it all out?”
I smiled ruefully, then looked around the bright kitchen, the smell of fresh food in the air. Suddenly, I felt calm.
“No. It was worth it,” I said firmly. “Enough is enough.”
I turned to Oliver.
“Dont wait up, love. James isnt coming. Lets check your homeworkyouve been slacking.”
Thenthe sound of an engine. James stood in the doorway, a small travel bag in hand. He unpacked sausages, tinned goods, biscuits, butter.
“A mate at the depot gave me these. Helps sometimes,” he said. “For you and Oliver.”
I sat at the table, chin propped on my hand, watching him.
“Thats gold these days. Havent seen stuff like this in ages.”
“I know. Thats why I brought it.”
Casually, like Id been expecting him, I asked,
“Eating first or the bathhouse?”
“Bathhouse first.”
Outside, it was dark. As I set the table, I felt itthat long-lost warmth, the comfort Id once had with Michael. Smiling, I glanced at Jamess jacket hanging by the door.
“If hes here tonight, hell stay. I want him to stay,” I thought, with a sureness I hadnt felt in years.
The autumn day was gloomy but peaceful.
Aunt Margaret sat by her gate, watching the road. She smiled when she saw the car parked outside my house for the second month in a row.
“Well, good. Let them be. Young stillmight even have a baby,” she murmured. “Emmas herself againsmiling, gentle. Let her be happy. Life moves forward. The important thing is to live.”
