An Unconventional Meeting
For her sixtieth birthday, Emily Margaret gathered her family and friends in a cosy café. At sixty, she wasn’t quite old, yet not exactly young either—though she’d never call herself elderly. She was far too lively and industrious for that. Even now, she had boundless energy, her hands always busy, her mind sharp. She often joked,
“I’ve still got plenty of fire in the belly—enough to spare!”—and she’d laugh heartily.
The café was packed: her husband, their two sons and their wives, relatives, and former colleagues. She’d retired recently after decades as head accountant at a well-known firm, bidding them farewell with a promise:
“I won’t say goodbye for long—I’ll pop in to see you all. Though I can’t imagine just sitting at home now, retired. But everyone comes to it eventually… My turn’s arrived.”
Her colleagues admired Emily—a kind soul, always ready with help or sound advice. The director regretted losing such a valuable employee, but rules were rules. Her team teased her,
“Don’t think you’ll get any peace, Emily! We’ll be calling you for advice!”
“Call away, girls, I don’t mind!”
Now, everyone sat in the café, merry and smartly dressed, while the birthday girl herself looked radiant, as if the years had reversed. She wore an elegant cocoa-coloured dress, a stunning string of natural gemstone beads, and even low heels—something she hadn’t done in ages.
“Mum, you look beautiful,” her sons said, each handing her a grand bouquet of roses.
“Thank you, my darlings,” she replied, hugging them in turn.
The celebration was splendid, everyone in high spirits. Her husband, William, barely took his eyes off her—she’d never looked lovelier. They’d shared forty happy years, raising two fine sons, and now it was time to enjoy life for themselves.
“Will, you should retire too,” Emily urged. “Enough of the daily grind.”
“Maybe, love,” he chuckled. “I can’t picture sitting idle either. Our lot were raised to work—I’ll see how long these old bones hold out.”
“You’re right there. We’re a hardworking generation.”
The next morning, Emily rose early. With both sons, their wives, her sister, brother-in-law, and elderly mother visiting, there was much to do. Their spacious two-storey home—built by William’s construction firm—was perfect for hosting.
She bustled in the bright kitchen, preparing breakfast. Her sons adored her cherry pie, already baking in the oven.
“Once everyone’s up, they’ll have tea or coffee with pie. I love having family here—it’s too quiet with just us, though Mum’s around, bless her. She hardly leaves her room these days.”
Soon, William’s voice sounded behind her.
“Em, can’t you ever rest? You’ve just turned sixty—take it easy!” He laughed. “Though I know better than to expect that.”
She’d never lounge abed with guests about. Breakfast was always hearty—William insisted, quoting the old saying,
“Eat breakfast alone, share lunch with a friend, and as for dinner…”
“And dinner?” Emily would prompt.
“Dinner’s all mine!” he’d finish, and they’d laugh.
One by one, the guests stirred, gathering in the kitchen for more cheer.
“You’ve a lovely home,” remarked her sister, Lucy. “So cosy, everything just so.”
“All Will’s doing. He’s my right hand,” Emily said, ruffling his hair.
William grinned. “Em’s the force of nature here—keeps me on my toes. Together, we could move mountains.”
“You’re a lucky pair,” Lucy said.
“That we are,” William agreed. “I can’t imagine life without her. Who knows where I’d be if we hadn’t met?”
Everyone laughed—they all knew the story.
“Mum, tell it again,” her younger son begged. “Or better yet, Dad—you tell it best.”
Back in their student days, a comical bus encounter changed everything. William, heading home after lectures, stood crammed among passengers, nose buried in notes. He’d quarrelled with his girlfriend, Olivia, a week prior and wasn’t eager to reconcile. His mother had disliked her from the start.
“Something sly about her, son. Cold as ice when she visited—barely said hello. Think carefully.”
Distracted, William paid the conductor, receiving a ticket and a pound in change. Absentmindedly, he slipped his hand into his pocket—then froze.
Meanwhile, Emily, returning to her dorm, stared out the window. The conductor handed her a ticket, which she tucked into her left pocket—her right was pressed against a stranger in the crush. Suddenly, she felt fingers probing her right pocket.
“Thief!” she thought indignantly.
She grabbed the intruding hand. “How dare you!”
“That’s my money,” a male voice hissed.
“Not in my pocket, it isn’t!” she retorted loudly, drawing stares.
The bus neared her stop. In the tussle, the stranger relented. Emily snatched the note and bolted out—only to face the young man on the pavement.
She opened her palm: a pound, not the three-pound note she’d expected.
“Now you see?” he smirked.
“But why were you in my pocket?”
“Mistook it for mine in that sardine tin of a bus.”
Emily checked her pocket—her three pounds were safe. Blushing, she burst out laughing.
“So I wrestled you for your pound!”
William was mesmerised by her radiant smile, her sparkling eyes.
“William,” he said, offering his hand.
“Emily.”
“Suits you. You’re as bright as your name.”
The bus had gone. They chatted until, realising, she asked,
“Did you follow me, or was this your stop?”
“Mine too. Meet here tomorrow? Half-seven?”
“I’m usually late, but not tomorrow. Promise.”
They parted, met the next morning, and never looked back.
“And all over a pound!” the guests chorused. “What an unconventional start!”
William and Emily exchanged a smile. A happy accident, indeed—one that taught them life’s best moments often begin unexpectedly.
