A Bouquet of Daisies in November
Emily tightened her dressing gown and stepped to the window. Barely any leaves remained on the trees. A thin, frosty dusting covered the withered grass and the roof of the neighbouring house. Rain had drizzled yesterday evening, and by nightfall, it had turned icy. A cold, bleak November—the threshold of a long, unending winter.
Emily sighed. Melancholy beyond the window, melancholy in her heart. She would spend the entire weekend alone at home. Just gloom.
***
That had been November too. During her lunch break, Emily hurried to the café across the road from her office, where they sold takeaway meals. She and her colleagues took turns making the trip. A light rain fell, but she hadn’t brought an umbrella—too awkward to carry bags of food with one.
The road was empty of cars. Confident, she stepped onto the zebra crossing. It was a quiet street, without traffic lights at the crossing. She didn’t see the Range Rover speeding around the corner. The screech of brakes deafened her, and she froze, instinctively ducking her head and covering her face with her hands.
“Trying to get yourself killed? Got a death wish?” a furious voice barked nearby.
Emily lowered her hands and opened her eyes. A tall man stood beside the car, his dark eyes blazing with anger. He wore a black overcoat left open, his strong jawline accentuated by a stylish beard.
“Try looking where you’re going. If you wanted to get run over, you should’ve picked a busier street,” he snapped.
It wasn’t his harshness that struck her—it was how unfairly handsome he was. His glare could have burned a hole through her.
“And do you think because you drive a fancy car, pedestrians should leap out of your way? There’s no traffic light here. The road was empty. I didn’t break any rules—I was on the crossing. Maybe slow down next time. People walk here, you know,” she shot back.
The man studied her for a moment.
“I was in a rush. If you’re alright, I’ll be on my way. Sorry,” he tossed the last word over his shoulder as he strode back to his car.
Emily trembled long after—nearly hit, then shouted at. But the next day, the rain had stopped. She took her time walking to the café and hesitated before stepping onto the crossing. Suddenly, a car door slammed nearby. Instinctively, she jumped back onto the pavement.
The same man climbed out of a parked Range Rover. Casually, he approached her, smiling.
“Good grief, now what? Go ahead, I’ll wait,” she said, her pulse quickening at the sight of him and that infuriatingly charming grin.
“I waited for you. To make up for yesterday. Fancy lunch? My treat—an apology for shouting,” he said, flashing perfect teeth.
“Not in a hurry today?” she asked warily.
They sat in the café, and she forgot everything else. But then she spotted the wedding ring on his finger. Married. Her heart sank. He was a solicitor, father of two girls. He asked for her number and immediately called it so she’d have his. “In case you ever need legal help,” he said.
Emily had no intention of calling. But two days later, he did. He invited her to lunch at a café across town—somewhere they wouldn’t be recognised.
“People know me. I avoid gossip,” he explained.
She didn’t quite understand how it happened, but soon he was visiting her flat—sporadically, unexpectedly, briefly. On weekends, she sat alone, missing him. Holidays were the same. He’d been clear from the start—he’d never leave his wife, adored his kids.
The question gnawed at her: Why did he come, then? But she bit it back, afraid of sounding foolish and scaring him off. She was in love, content with the scraps of fleeting happiness he offered. Besides, her experience with men was limited.
***
That Saturday, Emily lazed in bed. No rush, no reason to dress up—another day alone. She lingered by the window in her dressing gown, her hair unbrushed. When the doorbell rang, she answered without a second thought, not even checking her reflection.
Oliver swept in like a storm, crushed her in his arms, kissed her breathless, then murmured he only had half an hour…
When he left as abruptly as he arrived, she showered and returned to the window. The frost had melted, leaving the pavement damp, as if rain had just fallen.
“This is all love is. Alone again. Always like this—whirls in, barely time to talk, then vanishes. But he spared me half an hour on a weekend. That means something,” she told herself.
Her heart still raced, her skin still tingled from his touch. She wrapped her arms around herself.
She’d wondered before—what next? How long could she endure these stolen moments, this love with no future? Sooner or later, he’d stop coming. The thought was unbearable. She needed to end it first—before it was too late.
But how do you walk away when you’re in love?
***
Midweek, he couldn’t visit. Then, on Friday, he called unexpectedly.
“Love, I’ve missed you madly. Got an hour free. Meet me at the restaurant—traffic’s awful, take the Tube.” He rattled off the address and hung up.
Emily flew into motion. She snatched her coat, flung a scarf around her neck, swiped on lipstick.
“Cover for me? Toothache. Please?” she begged her colleague, Sophie.
“Sure,” Sophie smirked knowingly.
Emily fastened her coat as she hurried to the Tube, eyes forward, oblivious to the world. Then—she bumped into an elderly man. He gasped as his cane clattered to the pavement. She stumbled a few steps before stopping, turning back.
“Sorry!” She scrambled to return his cane.
“It’s alright. Off to see your sweetheart? At your age, I dashed about the same way. Couldn’t see anything but her. Nowhere to rush these days. She’s not going anywhere.”
Emily glanced at the four daisies clutched in his hand. Daisies—in November? Then it dawned on her why there were only four.
“Forgive me,” she murmured.
“Nothing to forgive. Run while you can. Your young man must be impatient. I’d run to my Margaret, if I had the strength.”
“How did you know?” she wondered.
“Visiting your wife?” she asked.
“Aye. Every day, since she passed. But these old bones won’t let me much longer. Feels like my time’s coming. Thank God she went first—spared her this loneliness. You remind me of her, young.” His eyes gleamed with sorrow.
Her phone buzzed.
“Better not keep you,” he said, shuffling off.
She answered—Oliver, impatient. “Emily, where are you? I haven’t got all day—”
She hung up. When it rang again, she silenced it.
The old man had reached the crossing. The road was busy. Emily remembered nearly being hit by Oliver’s car and ran after him.
“Let me help,” she said, taking his arm, guiding him across.
A car honked impatiently.
“Ta, love. At my age, death’s not so frightening.” He toddled off, and she watched him go.
This was the love she dreamed of—growing old together, missed beyond reason, daisies in November…
Emily turned and walked back to work.
“Back so soon?” Sophie asked.
“Toothache passed. I’ll see a dentist later,” she lied, sitting down.
At home, she found missed calls and messages from Oliver. She sat, phone in hand, imagining calling him—what if his wife answered? What if he panicked, called her by the wrong name? Women always sensed these things.
The phone vibrated—Oliver again, furious.
“What the hell was that? No call, no warning? Why’d you turn your phone off?”
“Did you wait?” she asked, perversely pleased by his anger.
“Emily, what’s got into you?” His tone softened.
“Nothing. I just want a family. Kids. Waking up beside my husband. Making his breakfast. Waiting for him like your wife does. I’m tired of stolen half-hours…” Her voice broke.
“I told you—I’m married. I won’t leave her.”
“Honest to whom?” she whispered.
“Don’t start this,” he sighed, irritation creeping back.
“Oliver, I can’t keep waiting for you to show up or call at your convenience. You’ve never once asked what I do when you’re gone, how I live—”
She hung up mid-sob.
She waited anyway. The phone stayed silent. “That’s that,” she thought, gazing out the window. Darkness hid her tears.
She dressed, stepped outside—no umbrella, as usual. She wandered past glowing shop windows until rain drove her under an awning.
People hurried by, cars hissed through puddles.
Then she saw him standing there—the man with the broken umbrella, waiting patiently, and she realised that love didn’t have to be stolen or rushed, it could be as simple as a shared walk in the rain.
