The Past Stays in the Past
“Go meet our partners and settle this matter once and for all,” the director said sharply, his eyes fixed on Edward. “I’ve already spoken to their manager—they’re expecting you. Leave tomorrow morning, and don’t forget the documents. I’m counting on you,” he added, drumming his fingers on the desk.
“No trouble at all, I’ll handle it,” Edward nodded. “I’ll drive.”
Edward’s position required frequent travel, and he didn’t mind it. New towns, new faces, new conversations—it was all part of the routine. Predictable, straightforward: the journey by car or train, a day’s work, resolving issues, a hotel, dinner at a pub, then home again.
His wife, Margaret, had long grown accustomed to these trips. Once a week or so, Edward would set off for cities large and small.
“Margaret, I’m off in the morning—another trip,” he announced when he returned to their comfortable flat in Manchester.
“Long one? Or the usual?” she asked, a faint note of worry in her voice, as always.
“The usual, not long,” Edward smiled, embracing her and pressing a kiss to her temple.
His travel bag was always ready. Margaret, ever attentive, kept it stocked. Edward trusted her completely, only adding documents and keys at the last moment.
They’d been married twelve years, raising their son, William, a bright lad who excelled both at school and on the football pitch. This was Edward’s second marriage, but his first truly happy one. He adored William—sharp, kind, and disciplined, a boy who made him proud in every way.
Among friends, whether on fishing trips or at the local pub, Edward always spoke of Margaret with warmth:
“I was lucky to find a woman who makes life easy and peaceful. I trust her completely, and she trusts me.”
“Envious,” some would sigh. Not all his mates had such luck. Some, like Edward, were on their second marriage, while his best friend, Thomas, was already on his fourth.
Early the next morning, Edward woke to the smell of toast and eggs.
“Relentless, isn’t she?” he thought fondly. “Already up and cooking. I’m a lucky man—better not jinx it.”
“Good morning, my dear,” he smiled, stepping into the kitchen fresh from the shower.
“I know what keeps you happy,” Margaret winked, sliding a plate toward him. “Make sure you miss my cooking and come home quick.”
“Clever girl,” Edward laughed. “Speaking of which, William’s got his match today, hasn’t he?”
“Yes, against the Liverpool team,” Margaret nodded. “Said they’re in it to win.”
“I’ll ring this evening, see how they did,” Edward promised as William still slept.
Once his bag was packed and documents gathered, he kissed Margaret goodbye and left in high spirits. A four-hour drive to Birmingham lay ahead. Out on the motorway, away from the city bustle, he breathed deeply. September had just begun, but golden leaves already swirled in the breeze, clinging to the windscreen.
The meeting with the partners went smoothly. All that remained was dinner before the drive home. Edward preferred night journeys—quieter, freer. He chose a familiar pub on Birmingham’s outskirts, a cosy spot without the usual crowds.
Parking the car, he glanced up at the sky. Dark clouds loomed, and thunder rumbled in the distance.
“Thunder in September?” Edward frowned. “Unusual.”
Inside, he took a seat by the window. The server took his order just as lightning flashed outside. Then the door swung open, and amid the thunder and rain, a woman stepped in. Edward froze. He’d have known her anywhere. It was Catherine, his first wife—the woman he’d once idolised, then resented. She was just as striking as ever.
Their marriage had been chaos. Five years with Catherine had felt like a lifetime. Passion had turned to torment—arguments, infidelity, jealousy. Edward left and returned until one final break. After the divorce, he met Margaret, who brought him peace. He hadn’t seen Catherine since.
“What’s she doing in Birmingham?” he wondered, his chest tightening.
Catherine scanned the room. The server gestured to a nearby table. She shrugged off her coat, her auburn hair spilling over her shoulders. That proud posture, that familiar smirk. Edward hesitated—should he slip out into the storm or stay?
Then she spotted him. For a second, she was still. Then, smiling, she called out:
“Edward? Can’t believe my eyes! Fancy meeting you here!”
He forced a smile, feigning indifference.
“Hello. Yes, me.”
“I’ll join you!” she declared, sliding into the seat opposite before he could respond.
Rain lashed the windows as thunder faded. The server took her order but warned of delays. Catherine wiped her hands on a napkin and leaned in.
“Well, tell me—how’ve you been?”
“Fine,” Edward said shortly. “You?”
She didn’t answer, launching instead into chatter, smiling all the while. Edward barely listened, lost in memory.
They’d met when Catherine worked for a branch of their company. First, phone calls; then, a company party. They’d been drawn together like magnets, talking all night in her hotel room. The next day, they wandered through an art gallery. The following night was spent differently.
“I’ve got the car,” he’d said then. “Come back with me?”
“As if I’d refuse,” Catherine laughed.
They moved in quickly, married in haste. But soon, Edward noticed her flirting with clients.
“Why do you encourage them?” he’d once asked.
“It’s work,” she’d waved him off. “Part of the game.”
Later, he’d returned early from a trip to find her gone. She’d stumbled in at dawn, smelling of wine.
“Where were you?” he demanded.
“Why are you back today?” she deflected, avoiding his eyes.
Then he caught her with another man. She didn’t even bother to lie.
“Edward.” Catherine’s voice snapped him back. She was studying him. “Come to my place after this? I live here now—Sales Director, you know. For old times’ sake…”
He looked at her—still beautiful, but cold. No feeling remained. She was a stranger now, like a colleague one avoids. The past was done.
“No, Catherine. I won’t.”
When their food arrived, Edward excused himself and stepped outside. Suddenly, he ached to hear Margaret’s voice.
“Hello, love,” she answered warmly. “Miss you. I know you’ll be back late, but hurry home.”
“Soon,” Edward smiled. “Just a quick bite, then I’m off.”
Dinner with Catherine passed in silence. She prattled on; he picked at his meal, deaf to her words.
“Fit for a dog,” he muttered, rising. “Thanks for the company.”
With a polite farewell, he strode out into the rain, climbed into his car, and sped home—to warmth, to love. On the way, he rang William. His son shouted with joy—they’d won the match. Edward grinned, his heart full.
