“Every meeting has its time.”
“Why does love fade? It was there, real and alive. I was so happy I didn’t notice a thing. Loved him with everything, lived only for him. And then I missed the moment he changed. Stupid, naive fool. Serves me right, letting my guard down. Should’ve known better.” Emily stared out the window at the tree branches swaying in the wind. The icy pavements were gritted with salt. A few snowless days, and the yard had turned muddy.
“All I cared about was laundry, ironing, cooking his favourite meals. And then he wanted passion, wanted a younger body. Midlife crisis. I noticed him trying to act younger—thought he just wanted to hold onto time… I wonder, does she cook well? Or do they eat out all the time? God, what am I even thinking? It’s been months, and I still can’t move on. Maybe I never will.”
Emily frowned. “What’s today? The 14th? Old New Year’s. And here I am, sitting at home like some old hag. Right, that’s it—I’ll get dressed and go shopping.”
She left her empty coffee mug in the sink and headed to the bathroom. She turned on the tap, shrugged off her dressing gown, and stepped into the tub. She tugged the shower lever, but it jammed. A harder pull, and it snapped off, clattering into the tub while water gushed from both faucets. She tried twisting the taps shut—no luck.
She clambered out, dripping, and shut off the mains. The flow slowed to a trickle. Too annoyed to put on the soaked robe, she grabbed joggers and a t-shirt from her room. “Perfect. Just my luck. New year, same old problems. How many times did I tell my husband this thing was sticking? But he never got round to it… too busy, wasn’t he?” She grumbled while mopping up the mess.
Then she dialled the housing office. Surely someone was on call. The endless ringing grated. What if no one answered? Call her ex? No. She wouldn’t beg. Finally, a weary voice crackled through:
“Hello?”
She pictured a stern, middle-aged woman drowning in complaints.
“My tap’s burst!” Emily blurted.
“Did you shut off the water?”
“Yes.”
“Plumber’s in Monday.”
“Monday?! You expect me to go two days without water? The pipes run through every room!”
A tired sigh. “He’s on a job. He’ll get to you when free. I’ll call him now.”
“How long?” Emily barked, afraid she’d hang up. “It’s still leaking! What if a pipe bursts?”
“Madam, just wait.” Click.
“Brilliant. What did I do to deserve this?” She cursed her ex again—leaving her alone with dodgy plumbing. Useless.
The telly droned with some soap. Soon, Emily was absorbed, the leak forgotten—until the doorbell rang. She blinked at the clock. Only an hour? Fast.
She opened the door to a distinguished man in his late fifties, silver-haired, dressed smartly.
“You called about a leak?”
“You’re the plumber?” Skeptical.
“Do I not look it?” His smile creased the corners of his eyes.
“Not really. They’re usually…” She waved a vague hand.
“Fair. I’m not. But I can fix a tap.”
“Then who—?”
“His neighbour. He, uh… overcelebrated Old New Year. Wife asked me to cover—two kids, she’s disabled. He’ll get sacked otherwise.” He paused, waiting for an invite. Emily hesitated. “So… Monday, or shall I take a look?”
“Right. Come in.” She stepped aside.
He set down a scuffed toolbag, examined the tap. “You shut off the water? Good. Needs a new diverter. Whole unit’s rusted, though. Won’t last. Better replace it.”
“Your call,” she muttered.
“Don’t worry, I’ll sort it. Just need to pop to the shop.”
“Expensive?” Her mind raced—how much was in her purse?
“I’ll bring the receipt. Don’t fret.” He waited.
“Fine,” she sighed.
“Leave my tools here?” He headed out.
“Wait—should I just wait till Monday?” But the door shut. Two days without a loo? No chance. The kettle boiled as the bell rang again. The man stood there, slightly breathless.
“Quick, eh?” He beelined for the bathroom.
Emily lingered in the kitchen. “Should offer him tea. He rushed back, probably ran.”
“All done!” he called.
She turned. He looked pleased.
The bathroom gleamed—no mess, just a shiny new tap. She turned it on. Water thundered into the tub. The switch moved smoothly.
“Works perfect!” She grinned. “How much?”
“Nothing. Emergency job. Here’s the receipt.”
She fetched her purse, counted out cash, added twenty quid extra.
“Take this. For your time—and your neighbour’s family.”
He pocketed it. “Ta. I’ll pass it on.”
“Fancy a cuppa? If you’re not needed elsewhere?”
“Nothing urgent. Cheers.” He grinned. “Just wash my hands first.”
The kettle whistled. She set out tea, sugar, a plate of scones.
“Blimey! Homemade?” He demolished one in two bites. “Proper good!” He slurped his tea.
She watched this stranger at her table. Twenty-two years her ex sat there, devouring her roasts and cakes—then left for some girl… “Traitor,” she thought.
The man noticed her shift.
“You alright?”
“Fine.” Her smile wobbled. “Sounds silly, doesn’t it? Me, a stranger’s kitchen…”
“What d’you do?” she asked abruptly.
“Ex-military. Pensioner. Just moved back—parents’ old flat.”
“Family?” Why’d she ask?
“Was. Wife. Son. She got sick of army life, left twenty years back, took the lad. Just redecorated. Now… dunno what’s next.” He shrugged. “You?”
“Me?”
“On your own. If you had a husband, he’d handle the tap. He left? For someone younger?”
“Finished your tea?” she snapped. Cheeky sod. She flushed. “Thanks for the help, but—”
“Sorry. Overstayed.” He stood—then gasped, doubled over, collapsed back into the chair.
“What’s wrong?!”
“Back… old injury… bent too much…” He gritted his teeth.
“Ambulance?” She grabbed her phone.
“Painkillers?” he rasped.
“Paracetamol do?” She dashed back with pills, water.
He swallowed. “Mind if I wait ‘til it kicks in?”
She helped him to the sofa. “You served?”
“Aye. Had to.”
His name was James Wilson. Medically discharged. Struggling to adjust.
“Ta, Emily. Easing off now.” He handed her a plain card—phone, address. “Made these for job hunts.” He limped to the door. “Best leave the tools. Neighbour’ll fetch ‘em tomorrow.”
“Sure. Mind the ice. Need me to walk you?”
“Nah. I’ll manage.”
Next day, the actual plumber arrived—unshaven, hungover.
“Came for me tools. Tap’s fixed?”
“Yeah. Your neighbour sorted it. How is he?”
“Good bloke. Laid up, though—got shot in the back overseas. Missus gives him injections. She’s a nurse—ill herself, but tough.” He left.
Snow fell outside, coating everything in white. Beautiful. Fleeting. She slid freshly baked scones onto a rack.
The door clicked—her daughter, Sophie.
“Just grabbed my camera. Off to a wedding—no time to eat. Promise we’ll visit soon.” She dashed to her room, coat still on.
“You okay?” She reappeared, eyeing the wrench on the side.
“Plumber forgot it. Tap burst yesterday.”
“Right. Oli’s waiting downstairs.” A peck on the cheek. Then, pausing: “Saw Dad with that… woman. She’s short, frumpy. You’re way prettier.”
“Liar.” Emily shook her head. “She’s young, leggy, blonde.”
“Sorry. Just wanted to help.”
Sophie left. Emily watched her taxi pull away. The snow kept falling. “Why’d I bake so many?”
She packed the still-warm scones in a tin, wrapped it in newspaper, tucked the wrench on top. Bundled up, she stepped out.
Snow stung her cheeks. She trudged to the next street, climbed to the third floor, rang James’ bell.
“Coming!” Shuffling steps. The door opened.
“You?!”
“Your…”You forgot your wrench,” she said, cheeks pink from the cold, and James grinned, stepping aside to let her in—knowing, somehow, this was just the beginning of something new.
