The Past Remains in the Past
“Go and sort this matter out with our partners once and for all,” snapped the director, eyeing William with irritation. “I’ve already spoken to their manager—they’re expecting you. Leave tomorrow morning and take the documents. I’m counting on you,” he added, drumming his fingers on the desk.
“No trouble at all, I’ll handle it,” William nodded. “I’ll drive.”
William’s position meant business trips were routine, and he rather enjoyed them—new towns, new faces, new conversations. It was all predictable: the journey by car or plane, the workday, resolving matters, the hotel, dinner at a pub. Then back home.
His wife, Eleanor, had long grown accustomed to his travels. Once a week, or sometimes less often, he’d be off to one corner of the country or another.
“Ellie, I’m off on business tomorrow morning,” he said when he returned to their cosy flat in Manchester.
“Long trip, or the usual?” she asked, the faintest flicker of concern in her voice, as always.
“The usual, not long,” William smiled, pulling her into an embrace and pressing a kiss to her temple.
His travel bag was always ready—Eleanor, meticulous and thoughtful, kept it stocked. William trusted her completely, only needing to slip in his documents and keys before leaving.
They’d been married twelve years, raising their son, Oliver, a schoolboy and budding footballer. It was William’s second marriage, but the first one that truly brought him happiness. He adored Oliver—sharp, kind-hearted, and disciplined, the boy made him proud in both studies and sport.
Among friends, whether on fishing trips or down at the local, William always spoke of Eleanor with warmth:
“I was lucky to find a woman who makes life easy and calm. I trust her as I trust myself, and she does the same.”
“Gets you right jealous,” some would sigh. Not all his mates had such steady marriages. A few, like William, were on their second go, and his best friend, Richard, was even on his fourth.
That morning, William woke to the smell of frying bacon.
“Never one to sit still, is she?” he mused fondly. “Already up and at it. I’m a lucky bloke—better not tempt fate.”
“Morning, love,” he said, stepping into the kitchen after his shower.
“Know what keeps you coming home,” Eleanor winked, sliding a plate of toast and bacon across the table. “Want you missing my cooking and hurrying back.”
“Cheeky,” William laughed. “Speaking of, Oliver’s got his big match today, hasn’t he?”
“Aye, against the lads from Liverpool,” Eleanor nodded. “Said they’re playing for blood.”
“I’ll ring tonight, see how they got on,” William promised as their son still slept.
Bag packed, documents secured, he kissed Eleanor goodbye and left in high spirits. A four-hour drive to Birmingham lay ahead. Once he hit the motorway, away from city bustle, he breathed deep. September had just begun, but golden leaves already danced on the wind, clinging to the windscreen.
At the partners’ office, William wrapped up business swiftly. All that remained was supper before heading home. He preferred driving at night—quieter, emptier. He chose a familiar pub on the outskirts of Birmingham, cosy and unbothered by crowds.
Parking the car, he glanced up. Dark clouds gathered, and thunder grumbled in the distance.
“Thunderstorm in September?” William frowned. “Odd.”
Inside, he took a seat by the window. The waiter took his order just as lightning flickered outside. Then the door burst open, and beneath the din of rain and thunder, a woman stepped in. William froze. He’d have known her anywhere.
It was Victoria, his first wife—the woman he’d once worshipped, then come to despise. She was as striking as ever.
Their marriage had been chaos. Five years with Victoria felt like an eternity. Passionate love had turned to bitterness—rows, betrayals, jealousy. William left, returned, left again, until finally cutting ties for good. After the divorce, he met Eleanor and found peace. He hadn’t seen Victoria since.
“What’s she doing in Birmingham?” he thought, his chest tightening.
Victoria scanned the room. The waiter gestured to a nearby table. She sat, shedding her coat, auburn hair tumbling over her shoulders. That proud bearing, that knowing smile. William hesitated—should he brave the downpour or stay?
Then she spotted him. For a heartbeat, she froze. Then, smiling, she called out:
“William? Can’t believe my eyes! Fate’s playing tricks, isn’t she?”
He forced a smile, feigning indifference.
“Hello. Aye, it’s me.”
“I’ll join you!” she announced, already sliding into the opposite seat without waiting for an answer.
The rain lashed the windows, the thunder fading. The waiter took her order, warning of a wait. Victoria dabbed her hands with a napkin and launched in:
“So, tell me, how’ve you been?”
“Fine,” William said shortly. “You?”
She didn’t answer, prattling instead about herself, smiling. William barely listened, lost in memory.
They’d met when Victoria worked at a branch of their firm. First it was calls, then a company do. Some magnetic pull drew them together. They talked all night in her hotel room, wandered museums the next day. The second night wasn’t for talking.
“I’ve got my car,” he’d said then. “Fancy riding back with me?”
“Wouldn’t say no,” Victoria had laughed.
They moved in quickly, married faster. But soon William noticed her flirting with clients.
“Why d’you charm them like that?” he’d asked once.
“Part of the job,” she’d waved him off. “Got to keep them sweet.”
Then he came home early from a trip to an empty house. Victoria stumbled in at dawn, reeking of gin.
“Where were you?” he’d demanded.
“Why are you back today?” she’d countered, dodging.
Later, he caught her with another man. She didn’t even bother lying.
“William,” Victoria’s voice snapped him back. She was staring into his eyes. “Come back to mine after this? I live here now—Sales Director. We could relive old times…”
He studied her—still beautiful, but cold. No flicker of feeling remained. She might as well have been a colleague he barely tolerated. The past was well behind him.
“No, Victoria. I won’t.”
The waiter brought their food. William excused himself, stepping onto the terrace. Suddenly, he ached to hear Eleanor’s voice.
“Hello, love,” she answered, soft as ever. “Miss you. Know you’ll be late, but hurry home.”
“Won’t be long,” William smiled. “Just eating, then I’m off.”
Dinner with Victoria passed in near silence. She chattered; he pushed food around his plate.
“Hardly a meal worth having,” he muttered, rising. “Ta for the company.”
With a polite farewell, he stepped into the rain, climbed into his car, and sped home—where warmth and love waited. On the road, he rang Oliver. The boy whooped down the line—his team had won. William grinned, heart full.
