“Why does love fade away? It was there, it truly was. I was so happy, I noticed nothing else around me. I lived for him alone. And I missed the moment he changed. Silly fool. Serves me right. I let my guard down. But I shouldn’t have.” Emily stared out the window at the treetops swaying in the wind. The icy roads were lightly dusted with grit. A few snowless days had left the yard black and bare.
“All I cared about was laundry, ironing, cooking his favourite meals. Then he wanted passion, a younger body. Midlife crisis. I noticed him trying to look younger—thought he just wanted to hold onto time… I wonder, does she even cook well? Or do they eat out all the time? God, what am I thinking? It hurts so much. Months have passed, and I still can’t move on. I never will.”
Emily frowned. “What’s today? The… fourteenth? Old New Year’s Eve. And here I sit, like some lonely old woman. That’s it—I’ll freshen up and go shopping.”
She set her empty coffee cup in the sink and headed to the bathroom. She turned on the tap, shrugged off her dressing gown, and stepped into the tub. She pressed the shower lever, but it jammed. Emily pushed harder—then it snapped off, clattering into the tub as water gushed from both the tap and showerhead. She tried turning it off, but nothing worked.
She had to climb out and shut off the water at the mains. The flow slowed to a trickle. Too damp to wear her gown, she padded barefoot to the bedroom and pulled on joggers and a T-shirt. “Perfect. Just my luck. New year, same old problems. How many times did I tell my husband the shower switch was sticking? Always too busy to fix it…” Emily grumbled as she mopped up the mess.
Then she dialled the council’s emergency repair line. Surely someone would answer. The endless ringing grated on her nerves. What if no one picked up? Should she call her ex? No. She wouldn’t humiliate herself like that. Finally, a weary woman’s voice crackled down the line.
“Emergency repairs.”
Emily pictured a stout, irritable woman, exhausted by complaints.
“My shower’s broken—water everywhere!” she blurted.
“Did you shut off the supply?”
“Yes.”
“A plumber will come Monday,” the woman replied.
“Monday? Two days without water? The pipes run through the whole flat!”
An annoyed sigh. “The plumber’s on another job. He’ll come when he’s free.”
“How long?” Emily nearly shouted, afraid the woman would hang up. “What if a pipe bursts?”
“Just wait. He’ll get to you.” The line went dead.
Emily cursed her ex for leaving her with dodgy plumbing. No use dwelling on it.
A soap opera played on the telly. Soon, she was absorbed, forgetting the leak until the doorbell rang. It took her a second to remember who might be calling. She checked the clock—only an hour and twenty minutes. Quick.
She opened the door to a distinguished man in his late fifties, silver-haired, sharply dressed.
“Plumber called for?” he asked.
“You’re the plumber?” Emily eyed him doubtfully.
“Don’t look the part?” He smiled, crow’s feet crinkling at his eyes.
“Not really. They’re usually more…” She waved a vague hand.
“Fair point. I’m not the plumber. But I can fix your tap.”
“Then who…?”
“His neighbour. He overcelebrated Old New Year—can’t work today. His wife begged me to step in. She’s disabled, two kids…” He paused, waiting for an invitation. When Emily hesitated, he added, “So? Should I come in or wait till Monday?”
“Right—come in.” She stepped aside.
The man set down a worn toolbag and inspected the bathroom. “You shut the water off? Good.” He examined the tap. “Needs a new diverter. But this whole unit’s rusted—won’t last. Best replace it.”
“Whatever you say,” Emily sighed.
“Don’t worry, I’ll sort it. Just need to nip to the shop for parts.”
“How much?” She mentally counted the cash in her purse.
“I’ll bring the receipt. No surprises.” He waited for approval.
“Fine,” she muttered.
“Mind if I leave my tools?” He headed out.
Emily wavered. Maybe she should’ve waited for Monday. But two days without water? No. She boiled the kettle, sipped tea, then the doorbell rang again. This time, a dishevelled, out-of-breath man stood there.
“See? Quick service.” He marched straight to the bathroom.
Emily retreated to the kitchen window. “Should offer him tea later. He rushed here, probably ran all the way.”
“All done, love,” his voice called.
She turned to find him grinning.
The bathroom was spotless—no mess, just a gleaming new tap. She tested it: water gushed smoothly.
“Works perfectly!” she beamed. “What do I owe you?”
“Nothing. Emergency job. Here’s the receipt.”
She fetched her purse, counted out the cash, then added an extra fifty.
“I can’t let you go unpaid. You ran to the shop, worked fast.”
He pocketed the money. “This’ll go to my neighbour—disabled wife, kids.”
“Thank you.”
“Fancy a cuppa? If you’re not busy,” Emily offered.
“No more calls yet. Don’t mind if I do.” He washed his hands, then joined her.
She brewed tea, set out a plate of scones.
“Homemade? Haven’t had these in years.” He devoured half in one bite. “Brilliant!”
Emily watched this stranger at her table. For twenty-two years, her husband had sat there, eating her roasts and pies—then left for some young thing. “Traitor,” she reminded herself.
The man noticed her shift in mood.
“Something wrong?”
“No.” She forced a smile. “Just… sounds ridiculous, really.” Her voice trembled. “What do you do for work?”
“Retired army. Moved back to my hometown—parents’ old flat.”
“Family?” Why had she asked? None of her business.
“Ex-wife. Son. She got tired of army life, left twenty years ago, took the boy. Just fixing up the place now. You?”
“What about me?”
“You’re alone too. If you had a husband, he’d have handled the tap. He left? For someone younger?”
“Finished your tea?” she snapped. Who was he to pry?
“Sorry. Overstayed my welcome.” He stood abruptly—then gasped, clutched his back, and sank back down.
“What’s wrong?”
“Old injury… Bent too much…” He gritted his teeth.
“Should I call an ambulance?”
“No. Just painkillers?”
“Paracetamol do?” She fetched tablets and water.
“Ta. Mind if I wait till it kicks in?”
She helped him to the sofa.
“You served?” Her tone softened.
“Aye. Had to.”
She learned his name—Colin Whitmore—honourably discharged, adjusting to civilian life.
“Thanks, Emily. Pain’s easing.” He handed her a plain business card. “Ring if you need anything.”
He left his tools, too unsteady to carry them. “Neighbour’ll fetch them tomorrow.”
“Be careful—it’s slippery out.”
Next morning, the real plumber arrived—unshaven, hungover.
“Here for my tools.” He eyed the tap. “Sorted, then?”
“Your neighbour fixed it. How is he?”
“Good bloke. Flat on his back now, though. War injury—took shrapnel in his spine. My wife gives him injections—she’s used to it, being poorly herself.” He left.
Snow fell outside, blanketing everything in white. Emily pulled warm scones from the oven. Who’d eat them now?
The key turned. Her daughter.
“Just baked these. Want some?”
“Mum, I’m in a rush—Tom’s waiting in the cab. We’re off to a wedding.” Her daughter dashed to her room, then reappeared with a camera. “You okay?”
“Fine. Oh—what’s this?” Emily pointed to pliers on the side table.
“Plumber must’ve left them.”
“I’ll go then. Love you.” Her daughter paused at the door. “Saw Dad with that woman. She’s short, frumpy, nothing special. You’re way better.”
Emily shook her head. “She’s young, leggy, blonde.”
“Sorry. Wanted to cheer you up.”
Alone again, Emily wrapped the scones, tucked the pliers on top, bundled up, and braved the snow.
Colin answered his door, surprised.
“You! I… you forgot these.” She held out the pliers,She stepped inside, brushing snow from her sleeves, and for the first time in months, the weight in her chest felt a little lighter.
