“What a handsome man he’s become. If only he were a bit wealthier, worked at a prestigious firm—I might just fall for him,” thought Eleanor.
“Right, George, you’re in charge while I’m gone. If anything comes up, give me a ring. I’m not off to Mars—just a short trip,” said Edward, offering his hand to his deputy and friend.
“Got it, don’t worry. By the way, you never said where you’re going. The Maldives or Spain?” George shook his hand.
“Didn’t I mention? Visiting Mum. Need to fix the roof, mend the fence. Dad used to handle all that, but since he passed, the place has been falling apart. Can’t remember the last time I sat by the river with a fishing rod.”
“I’ve never been fishing. City boy through and through. Almost envy you,” George sighed. “Tell me all about it when you’re back,” he called after Edward as he walked away.
Glad he’d soon be far from the noisy, grimy city—hugging his mum, breathing the crisp air of his childhood—Edward smiled as he headed home.
He’d grown up in a small village. Mum was a schoolteacher. Dad a builder. As a boy, Edward often helped on job sites, picking up skills along the way. His father hoped he’d follow in his footsteps, but Edward was drawn to machines, computers, new tech. School came easy. When he finished, he announced there was nothing for him in the village—he’d go to London, make something of himself, more than just a builder like Dad.
“How d’you mean, nothing? The village is growing—builders are always needed. You’ll never go hungry. Fancy a modern house? Get married, room for kids to run about,” his father argued.
“Too soon to think of marriage. Got to stand on my own two feet first,” Edward brushed him off.
His dad fumed, but his mother quietly soothed him.
“Don’t clip his wings. Let him try. He’s clever—we’ll be proud of him yet,” she urged.
They gave him money to start and let him chase his dreams in the capital. Edward studied engineering while working construction. In time, he got everything he’d wanted.
In school, he’d been sweet on Eleanor, a giggly, snub-nosed girl. She wasn’t ambitious—just dreamed of opening a hair salon. Each had their own path, and they drifted apart to different cities, hoping to meet again someday.
Whenever Edward came home for holidays, it seemed Eleanor had just left.
He could’ve asked her mum for her number, but he never did. Love would only get in the way. If they married, children would follow, and he’d be stuck chasing a paycheck instead of his dreams. No—first, he’d build his business, buy a car, a house. Then…
“Watch it—time’ll slip by. Eleanor might not wait,” his father warned.
“No matter. Plenty of other girls,” Edward replied.
But none held his interest.
Now, Edward had it all—or nearly. A fine house in a posh neighborhood, a luxury car, a thriving business. Finally, he could think of marriage. There’d been women, sure—but they wanted the house, the car, the money. He wanted someone who’d love him for himself.
Visiting his parents, he secretly hoped to bump into Eleanor. He kept his stories sparse. They lived modestly. Honest work, no frills. They expected the same from him. When he boasted of success, his father frowned, his mother blinked nervously. How could anyone afford a flat in London, a house, without cutting corners?
“Breaking the law? Is that what we taught you? Better a builder than a crook,” his father grumbled.
So Edward visited in a borrowed, modest car—leaving his Lexus behind—or took the train. Said little, just that he worked as an engineer. His father nodded, proud of his Londoner son.
This trip was no different, though his father had passed three years prior. Edward left the Lexus, took the train, dressed plainly.
A lower bunk was his, the upper meant for an elderly lady. Without hesitation, he gave her his spot. She thanked him endlessly all the way.
Lying on the top bunk, Edward watched forests and fields rush by. Memories flooded back—his first trip to London. The rhythmic clatter of wheels eased his thoughts.
The village seemed tiny, fairy-tale pretty. The air fresh, trees lush—unlike the stunted greenery of smog-choked cities. Flowers bloomed in gardens, a feast for the eyes.
At home, his mother gasped, tears springing.
“Sweetheart. I wasn’t expecting you. How long are you staying?” She searched his face.
“Till you kick me out,” he said, hugging her.
She baked pies daily, spoiling her only son. He ate, then climbed the roof, mended the fence, repainted the shutters.
“You should rest, love. On holiday, yet working nonstop,” she fretted.
“All done. Where are you off to?” he asked, eyeing her dress and large bag.
She never left the house without dressing up.
“Just popping to the shops.”
“I’ll cycle. What do you need?”
She handed him a list.
“You’re going like that?” She gaped.
“What’s wrong?” He thought his worn jeans, rolled-up sleeves showing tanned arms, were fine for the village.
His trainers, though—top-brand, expensive. A weakness. Unlikely anyone here would know their worth.
He cycled off. At the shop, women eyed him curiously, asked who he was, who he’d come to see. Surprised when he named himself, they pried about his life. He gave short answers.
Leaving, he spotted a red Audi beside his bike. The battered bicycle looked ancient next to it. He whistled, noting the Audi’s flat tire.
“Help’d be nicer than whistling,” a voice chimed behind him.
Goosebumps prickled. People change, but voices stay the same. Something like that in a book he’d read.
Turning, he barely recognized the glamorous woman as Eleanor. Her knee-length dress hugged her figure. A chic haircut suited her. Makeup enhanced her features. Gold sandals.
He blushed, lost for words.
“Eddie?!” she cried, finally placing him.
“You’ve changed. Stunning. Yours?” He nodded at the Audi. “Lovely motor.”
She glowed at the compliment, cheeks pink.
“Thanks. But the tire’s flat. Roads here’ve always been awful.”
“Got a spare? Tools?”
She watched his deft hands, his lean frame as he worked. He felt her gaze, fought the urge to stare back.
“All done. The flat’s in the boot—get it patched,” he said.
“Thank you. So glad I ran into you. Jump in, I’ll drop you home.”
“Best not. Might dirty your seats.” He dusted his jeans.
She waved and drove off. As he cycled away, he spotted the Audi parked ahead. She lowered the window.
“We’ve years to catch up on. Let me treat you to coffee. Least I can do.” Hope lit her eyes.
*Don’t want to say goodbye again*, he thought.
“Haven’t been back in ages. Don’t know the cafés. Text me the address—I’ll drop the shopping, then come,” he said.
“Where are you off to?” his mother asked as he set the groceries down.
“Ran into an old mate. Fancy a quick catch-up.”
She watched him go. *”Old mate, my foot. It’s Eleanor.”*
In the café, he spotted her at the bar. They moved to a table. A waiter handed menus. Without looking, Eleanor ordered black coffee, a small pastry.
“The same,” Edward said.
The waiter barely left before returning with steaming cups and delicate plates.
“On holiday? How’s your mum? Mine’s poorly,” Eleanor said.
“Hanging in. Your salon’s doing well? You look amazing.” He eyed her bare ring finger. “Not married?”
She tucked her hand away.
“Didn’t work out. You?”
“Same.”
By the end, they’d shared plenty. Her salon catered to celebrities, wealthy wives.
“Always new techniques to learn. No days off. Barely visit Mum,” she said.
“I’m in construction, like Dad,” he blurted.
Watching her, he decided he preferred the old Eleanor—giggly, snub-nosed. *”Nose job? Too polished. Beautiful, but not for me.”*
*”So handsome. If he were richer, worked in the City—I could fall for him,”* Eleanor thought, sipping scalding coffee.
Conversation fizzled. An awkward pause.
“Best be off. Hope we meet again?” he said, rising.
“Need a lift?”
“No—short walk.”
Outside, she smiled, waved, and drove away.
Three days later, as Edward watched the countryside blur past his train window, he wondered if honesty might’ve changed everything—but the moment, like the landscape, was already gone.
