A Chance Encounter
Abigails old quilted coat only kept the cold out from the waist down. The padding had clumped, leaving the upper half as thin as a mackintosh, letting the English wind whistle straight through. At least her thick woollen trousers and clunky boots kept her legs warm. She pulled the heavy lambswool scarf tighter around her shoulders under the sleeves, bracing herself against the chill.
The lift that her friend Harriether fellow market traderhad promised, had fallen through. So now, surrounded by bulging duffel bags, Abigail was trying her luck hitching a ride. With the amount they had to carry, it made sense to split up, each fending for themselves along the road.
Back when Abigail worked for a shop owner, problems like these never arose. But now, money was tightshe was raising two children alone. Only recently had she started making trips to London and back with Harriet to buy goods for sale, hoping to improve their situation.
But there was no more moneyjust unsold stock and more complications.
Every morning, shed haul her wares to the market, only to drag them home at night and up to her fourth-floor flat, always in hope her son might be there to help. Usually, she just ran up and down the narrow stairs, arms aching under the weight.
Only a short while ago, Abigail had belted out Things Can Only Get Better, as if the changes sweeping through her life were a good thing. Then her workplacethe local council officeshut down in the latest round of cutbacks, and she was made redundant. Her husband had disappeared long ago, and Abigail was left with no option but to start trading at the market, despite always believing selling just wasnt for her.
Now she stood on the roadside, boots in a slush of sleet and salt, still a young woman at heart, but with cracked lips and a windburned face from hours at exposed market stalls. Her eyes stung from the cold.
Cars threw up muddy spray as they sped past. Abigail tried not to look at the mess, instead fixing her gaze on the slate roofs and leafless trees, where the untouched snow seemed pure and white. Life had enough muck as it was; better to focus on the clean lines above.
She raised her arm again, flagging down vehicles, when a battered old foreign car finally pulled over, paintwork as grimy as the rest of the city.
Any chance of a lift to Cromwell Road for a reasonable fare? she asked, leaning into the open doorthen stopped short.
She recognised him straight away. It was as if no time had passed at all. His face looked almost the sameperhaps even more handsome. That same calm seriousness in his eyes, eyebrows lifted, a slight smile on his lips.
As she struggled to gather herself, he got out and, with the same strength she remembered, heaved her bags into the boot.
She tumbled into the front seat, fidgeted with her scarf, and started sifting through excuseswanting to explain why she looked such a mess that day. Surely, hed recognise her too after all this time.
Or maybe not…
How many years had it been?
***
She was twenty-two then. Abigail had been sent for her pre-graduation placement at an ancient forestry office in rural Somerset. Alex, her fiancé, was waiting for her back in Bath. Everything was mapped outplacement, graduation, wedding.
What could three months in the countryside change? Nothing, surely…
She was put up in a cottage in the village of Highfields, with an older woman called Mrs Carter, who also worked at the forestry office, sharing the home with her half-deaf, elderly father-in-law. Abigail made friends easily; she and Mrs Carter got on, looking after the old man together.
One day, the old man collapsed in Abigails presence. She dashed to the neighbours for helpno one in. Just then, a tractor chugged down the lane, and she waved it down. Out jumped a tall, broad-shouldered young man with a serious, intriguing air.
They hurried inside. Without ado, he lifted the old man and carried him to the tractors front seat. Abigail hurried after, worriedwould they get him the help needed in time?
They made it to the nurses, and soon enough an ambulance arrived. The young man even climbed aboard with Abigail, accompanying her to the hospital.
It wasnt until the old man was in the hands of professionals that they properly spoke.
They soon realised they worked for the same department and lived nearby in Highfields. The mans name was James.
But by then, it was late. Theyd settled the old man in hospital and, thank heavens, had been in time. But the ambulance wasnt about to deliver them all the way back along the country lanes.
Come on. My mates mum lives nearby. Well stay there tonight, and in the morning the lads can drop us back to the village on their way to work.
Abigail sensed James was a decent sort, unlikely to try anything, yet hesitated.
I shouldnt. Its awkward. Ill spend the night in the hospital. You can pick me up tomorrow, all right?
On those chairs? Dont be daft. Aunt Liz is lovely, big old house. Ill bunk in the barn with my mate Tom.
So Abigail agreed. And James was rightshe slept on a cloud of feather mattresses, dead to the world till Aunt Liz called her down for breakfast. Such hospitality.
Over breakfast, Aunt Liz confided that James had been married once, brought his wife in from somewhere or other, but she ran off, leaving him with a little boy. James, she said, was a good oneran a pig farm alongside his main job, sold meat at the market, and was building a new house. Aunt Liz sung his praises, clearly hoping Abigail might take an interest.
Abigail just smiled. No, she had her Alexa soon-to-be engineer, promising and young. She was ambitious, determined, and single fathers werent for her.
Still, after that incident, she found herself running into James everywhere: at the forestry site, the canteen, even down the lane in the village. Mrs Carter knew him well, and together they brought the old man home when he was discharged.
James is smitten with you, I asked, and he blushed just like a schoolboy. Youd suit each other, you know, Mrs Carter teased.
Oh, dont be silly, Abigail protested. Ive got Alex.
And hes not your husband yet. James is the reliable sortruns a whole piggery, buys his own equipment. His sons an absolute darling. Just needs a mum.
But Abigails heart leapt whenever she saw James. There was strength and warmth to him, a sense of responsibility everyone respected.
Best ask Pruden for advice, shed hear the others say.
Abigail, an out-of-place city girl in coffee-coloured overcoat, floated above the muddy March lanes and farmyard grime, so different from the locals. Even the men, usually coarse, would stop their banter, coughing awkwardly as if to make themselves more presentable.
Lady, Your Highness. How did you end up here?
Wait, Abigail, Ill give you a lift.
Though the forestry offices were only a short walk, it was raining, so Abigail headed for Jamess tractor.
Whos looking after your boy? she asked, finding it strange to address a peer as Mr just because he had a child, even if he was only a year or two older.
Dont Mr me. Its James. My lads with Mumour neighbour helps. Hes at nursery, growing fast…
Whats his name?
Harry, James answered, his eyes warm with fatherly pride. Full of beans, that one. Always have to watch him. Mums always telling me off. He glanced at Abigail. You cant wait to escape our little backwater, can you?
Why would you say that? Im fine…
Just give it time. When the mud dries and everything greens upthe river, fields… Its beautiful. Only the streetlights are broken, but thats just temporary. Well get them fixed.
Driving through the villages pitch-black lanes, Abigail learned James took the responsibility for it all, quietly pledging to fix what needed fixing.
If only shed realised back then what mattered most in a man was that very sense of responsibility.
Soon, his courtship became obviousdropping in to stack firewood for Mrs Carter, fetching medicine for the old man. Abigail tried to resist her growing feelings.
She couldnt fathom living in a country village. Sure, the city held little for her except Alex and her familys wedding plans. She worried about how shed explain it all if she fell for Jameshow would she tell Alex, or her parents, or his mother, who was already saving for their big day?
Will you really give all this up for village life? she pictured Alex asking, incredulous.
And if she ever revealed her new suitor was divorced, with a child, and in pig farmingwhat would her mother say? Her daughter, a university graduate, her pride…
On nights when the only sounds were barking dogs and rustling wind outside, she tried to imagine life with James. He would cherish her, she knew, and would be grateful if she became a mother to his son. Eventually, theyd have children of their own.
But knowing and acting were worlds apart. Could she really give up everything for this? There was Alexhed already bought the wedding rings, his mother was saving for the celebration, her parents were proud. Letting them all down felt unthinkable.
Still, a delicious anticipation of love crept into her heart, and that, along with the arrival of spring, clouded her judgment.
Now, Abigail wondered if she had ever really loved Alex at all, compared to how she loved James. The fact her fiancé waited back in the city only added drama to her inner world, making everything with James feel more intoxicating.
One evening, torn by emotion, she found herself giving in to closeness with James, tears in her eyes. She couldnt even say what the impulse meanta farewell to her past, or to this new passion? He tried gently to reason with her, but at last gave in, deciding the intimacy would be an ending.
It was her first time, but so beautiful she felt no regret.
But a final decision never formedwhether from youth, naïveté, or just lack of experience, she didnt know.
One day by the well, a decisive encounter occurred. Abigail spotted a pale little boy clambering at the edge, an accident waiting to happen. She hurried over.
Hey, you mustnt climb thereyou could fall. Wheres your mum?
She looked around. Down the lane came a young woman, mousy and unremarkable, hurrying towards them. The boy scowled, yanked his shoulder from Abigails grasp, and ran sobbing into the girls skirt.
He almost got himself into trouble, I was just
Harry, dont cry, its all right. You know better, the woman soothed, giving Abigail a meek, joyless nod.
Ran off, didnt he? Thank you, she said, and led the boy away.
Harry? Could he be Jamess son? The realisation made Abigail uneasythis child was a stranger, clearly attached to someone else.
Not long after, Jamess mother, Mrs Pruden, visited, close to tears. She explained that Harry had bonded with their neighbour, Gail, a young woman whod always helped out, loving James and caring for Harry, until Abigail had come along and unsettled everything.
Abigail reeled. Wasnt she the one whod been wronged, nearly lured away from her fiancé by James? Now it seemed she was the cause of someone elses heartbreak.
James pleaded with her not to leave, followed her to the train, insisting that Gail and his mother were mistaken; that Gail wasnt right for him, that she faded into the background compared to him.
Shes so quiet, a permanent wallflower, Mrs Carter had said, They just arent a match. But you two…
But Abigail was hurt by the accusation and refused to believe shed intruded. She made up her mindshed return to the city, to her own life. All hesitation vanished; Jamess words faded as she boarded her train, leaving him watching, shoulders slumped.
Shed weep to the rhythm of the wheels all the way home.
Such was her three-month countryside placement.
Yet youth heals. She moved forward, marrying Alex, falling into the daily current of family life.
**
Abigail collapsed into the car, adjusted her scarf, ready with excusesprepared to explain away her bedraggled appearance to James, if it was really him.
Or was it? Shed changed. Gained weight, lips wind-chapped, that dowdy coat, the awkward scarf…
How many years had passed?
Sixteen. Yes, sixteen years.
They drove in silence for a while.
Typical weather, she remarked, as a lorry sprayed water over the car.
Its only like this in town. Out in the countryside, its clean. Surprising how good the roads are.
You live out there, then?
I travel back and forth, business and such.
Thanks for picking me up. Out of all days, my car broke down. I usually have it all sorted, but, well. I can pay you for your trouble…
Turning to face her, James gave her that familiar look, half-wounded, and she knewhed recognised her.
Hello, she said quietly, almost afraid.
Hello, Abigail.
So you did recognise me? I thought youd have forgotten.
I never forgot. His gaze returned to the windscreen.
Abigail felt a twinge under her ribsa rush of long-lost memories: his voice, his hands, his look. She flushed, pulling off her wool scarf.
How have you been, James? she managed, exhaling.
He took a moment, gathering himself.
Oh, not badly, all told. Staying afloat; these are strange days. Same as you, I expect.
Youre still in forestry?
He smiled, shaking his head. No, thats long gone. Folded up during the government shake-ups. I run my own business now.
Best way these days. So, still with the pigs? she said, recalling his farm.
That and then some. Meat, distributionproper company now.
So you’re, what, the owner of Prudens? Suddenly Abigail recalled seeing the name on a packet of local sausages at the supermarket. Shed smiled then, thinking it a coincidence.
Are Pruden’s sausages and pies yours?
You could say that, he replied, almost sheepishly. You like them?
Theyre lovelymy mum goes out of her way to get them! Abigail stammered, amazed. I never connected the dots.
He explained, as if excusing his success, It was grassroots to start with. The farm grew, more meat on our hands, and folks needed work. Then we built the factory, opened shops, grew a teammost from Highfields. Now we cover the county, not just locally.
Abigail felt awkward by comparisonherself in a bedraggled old coat and boots, once a city lady, and James, the farm boy, now a prosperous businessman. Their roles seemed almost reversed.
Hows your son? she asked.
Jamess face lit up. Three of them, now.
Three boys?
Thats right. And you?
A son and a daughter, Abigail replied, wiping sweat from her brow.
Harrys in the armysaw some heavy action. Gail went grey with worry, but hes back in the spring, thank God. Middle ones at college, and the youngestYear Five.
Gail. So he really did marry that quiet shadow of a woman.
Abigail wanted desperately to mention how many times shed regretted running away all those years ago! So many regrets! Especially now, seeing him again…
Alex, as a husband, never lived up to expectations. At first, things jogged alonghe landed an engineering job in Kent, got provided housing, they had young children, lots of struggles, but nothing insurmountable.
But Alex started picking fights at work, job-hopping and drinking. They lost the flat, moved in with his mother, then things dissolved completely. Alex ran off. Her mother-in-law was impossible.
Abigail couldnt take it and divorced, moving in with her own mum. Her father, her rock, had already passed away.
She wanted to say all this, to confess her regrets, but instead:
My eldest is in Year Ten, my daughters in Year Eight. Time flies.
It does.
They were quiet. There was so much they wanted to say, but each thought it mattered only to themselves.
For a moment, Abigail felt guilty towards James, but then remembered his crying mother and Gailafter all, shed stepped aside for their sake, even if she was blinded by pride and hurt back then.
How about you? he asked.
Oh, you know. Redundant now. So I started working for myselfmarket trading. Its tough alone.
And…Alex? Wasnt that your husbands name?
Im surprised you remember.
I doI even saw you as a bride. Drove behind your wedding car all the way to the reception, like a fool.
What? Abigail turned, startled.
Mrs Carter told me the day before. Said, let it goher weddings tomorrow. So I drove over, still in my work shirt. Saw you beaming, happy. I didnt show myself, just turned around and…proposed to Gail.
Oh, goodness! If only Id known…, she murmured, emptied out.
It would have only spoiled things. You were so happy, so beautiful.
Maybe. It was a day to remember, at least. Only, my happiness didnt last. We split after five years, kids and I moved in with Mum.
He nodded, Thats a shame.
Im used to it. Turns out Im a pretty strong woman. I managetheyre decent kids, clothes on their backs, studying well. My eldest wants to be a doctor, goes up to college next year. I do all right, even if Im flogging coats and boots at the market. My pitch is freezing, but its busyworth holding onto.
Abigail wanted him to know that, despite appearances, she wasnt helpless. Not as successful as him, but not beaten, either.
James listened in silence, deep lines of thought between his brows.
Hows life with Gail? She well?
He shrugged, as if his mind were elsewhere. Shes fine. Runs her own bakery now.
Her own bakery?
Started at home. Then, of course, it took offThe Old Hearth. Youve heard of it? Shop and bakery?
I think so. Ive only been oncemaybe twice. So shes…
Yeah. Shes the boss. Built it for her. Her bread took off, so we opened the place.
Then Abigail remembered. A friend had dragged her into The Old Hearth once, raving about the bread. As they queued, her friend pointed out the ownera petite woman, hair cut short, smart and pretty, in a stylish mac with a pink scarf. Her face had seemed vaguely familiar. Now, everything made sense.
Were nearly there, James said, scanning for her road. Abigail found her bearings.
Next, after the roundabout.
James pulled over, jumped out.
She watched as if in a dream: he dashed to a flower stall, returned with a glorious bouquet of chrysanthemums, placed them on her lap over her grey woollen trousers.
Abigail blinked back tears, staring at the flowerstheir snowy heads blurred by her eyes. She wiped her face quickly. Shed just boasted of being a strong woman.
He helped carry her bags to her flatgraffiti-splashed walls, clutter everywhere. Still hugging the flowers, she hesitated.
Would you like to come in? she asked, half hoping hed say noshe hadnt tidied, the flat was more market stall than home. Her mother was there, always with questions.
Why not, she thought. If only hed see, understand, and maybe even pity her…
I cant, Abigail, Ive a busy day ahead, he said, squeezing her wrist for a moment, bidding farewell.
He sprinted down the stairs.
Should she call him back? Confess?
Watching his retreating figure, Abigail understoodhe was hurting too, saying goodbye. They would never see each other again. That thought brought her an odd relief.
She lugged her bags inside.
Her mother appeared at oncefull of questions, family dramas, updates. Abigail barely listened, still feeling his touch on her wrist. She went through the motions of home life, slippers and laundry, lost in thought.
Her mother lingered, chattering away. Finally, when Abigail was sitting down:
Mum, do you remember before my wedding, I told you about a bloke I met on my work placement in Somerset? The one who courted me?
Yes, vaguely. Why?
You told me then, Ill not have you living on a farm, knee-deep in muck.
And rightly so. Youd be living in mud!
I saw him today.
Oh? Where?
Doesnt matter, Mum. That Prudens stuff you lovethats his company. His wife runs The Old Hearth. Fancy that…
Her mother froze, teacup halfway to her lips. For a moment, a shadow crossed her face. Then, trying to console herself and her daughter, she said quietly:
You cant choose your fate, can you? If people could, thered be fights in every family.
Abigail pitied her mother.
Its all right, Mum. Honestlywere getting by. I sold two suits and three jackets today. Well get through it. Dont worry.
Well, thats true. If you knew where youd trip, youd lay out a mat. No point fretting… But even so, the news weighed on her mother, sending her off in her own thoughts.
Soon, her son came hometall and serious, with that same calm, mysterious air as James. Abigail couldnt help but notice the resemblance.
How had the family believed her baby was born two months early, when he weighed a robust eight pounds? But they hadno one doubted her, Abigail being the least flighty of them all.
Her son sat at the table.
Mum, dont be angryIve got a job at the riding stables. Looking after the horses. Its piecework, but the pays good. Dont worryit wont affect my studies, honestly.
Abigail sighed. Only yesterday, shed have objected. Today, though…
All right, Jamie. Youre grown now. All work is noble. Youll need the money. Im happy for you.
He grinned, glancing sideways at her, noticing something different about his motherthough what, he couldnt name. But her trust warmed him.
Abigail lay awake that night, not sad or grieving, but in a strange, silent peace.
She gazed at the white chrysanthemums, thoughts swirlingabout fate, about the days meeting, about how now, they each had to forge ahead, step into the next chapter solo, independent from the past.
Their encounter sixteen years ago had split her life in two: before meeting him, and after. And now, the feeling was the same.
Each had new challenges and unknown joys ahead. Though they might never meet again, their paths would echo in each other’s lives.
Everything happens for a reason.
Perhaps that days encounter was meant to help her see what truly matters.
