The day had not gone well.
Such things happened, Peter knew that, but still, hed had enough. He brooded over his life. What had he really achieved? He was nearly fortyfinished school, completed technical college, done his national service. He had a flat, a wife, two children, and an old car to take him to that ridiculous cottage where he had to toil endlessly. Lying about with a beer was never an optionthere were always vegetable beds to dig, weeds to pull, vines to clear. Hauling topsoil in a wheelbarrow all day, mowing the lawn, repairing the sagging roof, the rotting beams, the fallen fence.
The tram rattled and screeched like an old tin can as it swayed along the tracks. Peter sat by the window, watching the streetlamps flicker to life, forming a glowing chain in the gathering dark. He thought about his life.
By all accounts, it was just like anyone elsesfamily, job, the cottage, payday, the kids, his parents, the in-laws. Football on weekends and a pint after a sauna at the cottage. Holidays, birthdays with the familyeverything as it should be. Yet, suddenly, it all felt dull, lifeless. Too quiet. Too safe. He longed for something moreexcitement, new thrills.
It struck him thenhe had always been the steady one, the reliable one, convenient for everyone. As if hed spent his entire life walking a path laid out for him, never daring to stray. But what if he could start again?
For some reason, his mind drifted to Jenny, his first love. He remembered their walks hand in hand, their dreams, their first kisshow theyd kissed until they were dizzy. A lump rose in his throat, and he wiped his misty eyes. Things could have been so different…
Jennybright, full of laughter, always grinning. How hed suffered when they parted! Then came Margaretcalm, dependable, the opposite of Jenny. With Margaret, everything was sensible, measured. No nonsense.
“Want to take me to bed? Wait till were married.”
“Brought me flowers? The ones you picked from the town hall garden? Foolyou couldve been fined, or worse, dragged before the council…”
And so it went.
The moment they married, she started calling his parents “Mum and Dad.” She settled into family life effortlessly. Of course, his parents adored herclever, kind, accommodating, a proper homemaker.
But was this what hed wanted? Or had he…
Peter lost himself in thought.
They hadnt even argued back then. Hed just… chickened out. Never took that final step. And Jenny? She vanished, as if shed never existed. Later, he heard shed married someone else.
At the next stop, the tram lurched. The doors screeched open. One stream of passengers poured out while another flooded in, spilling through the carriage. Peter stood and squeezed toward the rearthree stops to go. He hadnt taken public transport in years, used to his own car, old as it was.
He turned back to the window, then froze at the sound of a voicebright, familiar.
“Peter, do be still, love.”
He spun around, scanning the crowd. Tired faces, worn down by their own worries, staring blankly ahead or out into the dark. Then he saw hera stout woman gripping the hand of a boy, about ten, who fidgeted impatiently.
“Mum, dyou know what Ellie”
“Peter, I said, behave.”
“But Mum, I wanna tell you”
“Later.”
“I dont want later! At home, youll be cooking, then listening to Annie go on about her boyfriends, then Dave droning on about uni. Then you and Dadll start talking about that stupid cottagewhat about me? Whyd I have to be the youngest? And whyd you give me such a stupid name?”
“Dont be ridiculous. Its a fine name.”
“Oh yeah? Peter, Peter, pumpkin eater, had a wife and couldnt keep herthats what they chant at me! Mum”
“You really ought to listen to your son,” cut in an old woman with garish red hair and a crimson beret. “One day, when hes grown, youll want to talkbut he wont want to.”
“Why not?” the woman snapped.
“Because you didnt listen now.”
The woman huffed and shot a sharp glance in Peters direction. Their eyes metjust for a secondbefore she looked away, bending down to her son.
“Go on then, tell me. But keep it down.”
The boy chattered excitedly as she listened.
And then it hit him.
That was… Jenny.
Of course it was. How had he not recognised her straight away?
So this was the life he might have had. That couldve been his son she ignored, his older children shed chatter with. Shed be the one complaining about the cottage.
Would he have been happier with her all these years? Hard to say.
She hadnt even known him. To her, he was just another face in the tram.
A strange lightness filled him. The greyness of his routine with Margaret and the kids didnt seem so dull now. The cottage wasnt so bad. He and his father-in-law had even planned a fishing trip. He smiled. NoMargaret always had time for everyone.
His life was good. More than good.
Funny, his car breaking down when it did. A minor fixhe and the lads would sort it in a couple of evenings. If it hadnt happened, he mightve spent who knows how long brooding over a life he thought had passed him by.
He edged toward the exit, pausing near Jenny and the boy. Bending down, he whispered something. The boy blinked, then grinned, stifling a laugh.
Peter stepped off at his stop and walked home.
“Whatd he say?” Jenny asked.
“That man? Taught me how to answer the bully.”
“How?”
“If Im a pumpkin eater, youre a lazy crowall squawk, no action.”
Jenny stiffened. “He always did have a sharp tongue.”
“Who? That man? Dyou know him?”
“Course not. Dont be daft.”
She sank onto a vacant seat, pulling her son down beside her. They had a long ride aheadalmost to the end of the line. Fewer passengers now. Her husband hadnt been able to fetch them today, so theyd had to take the tram. Just as well. Lately, shed been irritable, discontented.
Shed started wondering how different her life mightve been.
If she hadnt married Mike. If shed waited for Peter.
And now fate had thrown them together.
But he was just an ordinary man in his forties, a little paunchy, thinning on top, heading home after a long days work. The magic, the sparkgone.
“Peter… fancy baking a cake tonight?”
“Wow! Mumzebra cake?”
“All right, zebra cake.”
“Yesss!”
“Shh! No shouting, Peter.”
Mike had insisted on the nameafter his grandfather. Jenny hadnt minded. It was a good name.
Peter ducked into a florist near home, just before closing. Only three white carnations left in the display.
“How much?”
“Eh?” The shop assistant, weary and cross, glared at him.
“For the flowers.”
“None left. See?”
“These?”
“Oh, take em.”
“Cant do that. Heres a quid.”
“Dont be daft. Go onbloody nuisance. Wait, let me wrap”
“Dont bother.”
At home, he handed the flowers to Margaret. Instead of scolding him for wasting money, she smiled softly.
“Whats this for?”
“Just… felt like it.”
That evening, stretched out on the sofa, he listened as she murmured into the phone in the hall, door half-shut.
“Mine brought me flowers today,” she said, as if it were nothing. “Never does anything wrong… always been a romantic, that one.”
