Every meeting has its season.
“Why does love fade? It was there—it truly was. I was so wrapped up in happiness, I saw nothing else. I loved him, lived only for him. And yet, I missed the moment he changed. What a fool I was. Serves me right—I let my guard down. That was my mistake.” Katherine gazed out the window at the wind-tossed treetops. The icy roads were dusted with grit. A few snowless days had turned the yard to grime.
“All I cared about was washing, ironing, cooking his favourite meals. Then he wanted passion—a younger body. A midlife crisis, I suppose. I noticed him trying to look younger. Thought he just wanted to hold onto time… I wonder, does she cook well? Or do they dine out? Good Lord, what am I thinking? It’s unbearable. Months have passed, and still I can’t calm myself. I never will.”
She tapped her fingers against the teacup. “What’s today? The fourteenth, isn’t it? Old New Year. And here I sit, an old woman in her house. Right—time to tidy up and go shopping.”
Katherine set the empty coffee cup in the sink and went to the bathroom. She turned on the taps, shrugged off her dressing gown, and stepped into the tub. She pressed the shower lever, but it stuck. With a harder push, it snapped off, clattering into the tub as water sprayed from both faucet and showerhead. She tried to shut it off—no luck.
She climbed out, dripping, and turned off the mains. The torrent stopped, but a thin trickle remained. Too damp to bother with the gown, she pulled on joggers and a T-shirt. “So much for a wash. Just my luck. New year, same old troubles. How many times did I tell my husband the shower switch was sticking? But he never had time…” She muttered as she mopped the floor.
Next, she dialled the council’s maintenance line. Surely someone would answer an emergency call. The long tone grated on her. What if no one picked up? Should she call him? No—she wouldn’t humiliate herself. Then, a weary female voice crackled through:
“Maintenance.”
Katherine pictured a stout, sour-faced woman drowning in calls and complaints.
“My tap’s burst in the bathroom!” she shouted, though she wasn’t sure why.
“Water off at the mains?”
“Yes.”
“Plumber’s in on Monday.”
“Monday? Two days without water? The pipes run through the whole flat!”
A tired sigh. “He’s on another job. When he’s free, he’ll come.”
“How long?” Katherine barked, afraid the woman would hang up. “It’s still leaking! What if the pipe bursts?”
“Just wait, love. He’ll come when he can.”
Katherine opened her mouth, but the dial tone cut her off. “Fine. Wait it is. God, what did I do to deserve this?” She cursed her husband again for leaving her with faulty pipes. What good did it do?
A soap opera droned on the telly. Soon, she was absorbed, forgetting the leak—until the doorbell rang. It took her a moment to remember who might come. She checked the clock—barely an hour and twenty minutes. Quick, for the council.
She opened the door. On the step stood a distinguished man near sixty, silver-haired and well-dressed.
“Call for a plumber?”
“You’re the plumber?” she asked, dubious.
“Don’t I look it?” He smiled, crow’s feet fanning from his eyes.
“Not really. They’re usually…” She waved a vague hand.
“Well, you’re right. I’m not. But I can fix a tap.”
“Then who are you?”
“His neighbour. He’s… indisposed after Old New Year. His wife asked me to cover for him—they’ll sack him otherwise. She’s ill, can’t work, two kids.” He waited, but Katherine didn’t move. “So? Wait till Monday, or shall I take a look?”
“Right—come in.” She stepped aside.
The man set down a scuffed toolbag and headed to the bathroom. “Water’s off? Good.” He examined the mixer. “Needs a new diverter. But the whole tap’s rusted. Won’t last. Better to replace it.”
“You’d know best,” she said flatly.
“Don’t worry, I’ll sort it. Just need to pop to the shop.”
“Expensive?” Her mind raced—how much was in her purse?
“I’ll bring the receipt. Don’t fret.” He waited for her nod.
“Fine,” she said, without enthusiasm.
“Leave my bag here?” He stepped out.
Perhaps she should’ve waited till Monday, Katherine thought glumly. Two days without a loo? Unthinkable. She boiled the kettle, sipped tea, then the bell rang again. On the step stood a flushed, breathless man—the real plumber, judging by his stubbled, puffy face.
“See? Quick as anything.” He marched to the bathroom.
Katherine retreated to the kitchen window. “I ought to offer him tea. He did hurry.”
“All done, love. Have a look.”
She turned. The plumber wore a smug grin.
In the bathroom, she scrutinised the work. She’d expected a mess, but it was spotless. A new tap, nearly identical, gleamed. She turned it on—water gushed into the tub. The switch moved smoothly.
“Perfect! How much do I owe you?”
“Nothing. Emergency job. Here’s the receipt for the tap.”
She fetched her purse, counted out the cash, added ten quid extra.
“I can’t accept this. You ran to the shop, gave your time.”
He counted it. “This isn’t for me. For your neighbour—his wife’s ill, two kids.”
“Ta. I’ll pass it on.” He pocketed the money.
“Fancy a cuppa? If you’re not needed elsewhere?”
“No calls yet. Don’t mind if I do.” He smiled. “Just let me wash up.”
In the kitchen, the kettle whistled. She poured tea, pushed the sugar bowl closer, set out a plate of scones.
“Blimey! Ages since I’ve had homemade.” He took one, bit half in a go.
“Good?”
“Brilliant!” He gulped his tea noisily.
She watched this stranger at her table. For twenty-two years, her husband had sat there, eating her stews and bakes—then left for some young thing. Traitor, she reminded herself.
The man caught her shift in mood.
“Something wrong?”
“No.” She forced a smile. “Sounds silly, doesn’t it? Awkward, really.” Her voice trembled. “What do you do, then?”
“Retired military. Back in my hometown—my parents’ old flat.”
“Family?” Why did she ask? None of her business.
“Was. Wife. Son. But she hated moving with the regiments. Left me twenty years back, took the boy. Done up the flat. Now—dunno what’s next.” He spoke plainly. “You?”
“Me?”
“You’re alone too. If you had a husband, he’d handle this, wouldn’t he? Left you? For a younger lass?”
“Finished your tea?” she snapped. Why pry into her pain? “Thank you, and—” She knew she was rude, but couldn’t help it. Mention of him was a red rag. Though do bulls charge at colour or movement? she wondered.
“Sorry. Overstayed my welcome.” He stood sharply, winced, doubled over, and sank back into the chair.
“What?”
“My back… Old injury… Bent too much…” He gritted his teeth.
“Ambulance?” She lunged for the phone.
“No. Painkillers?”
“Paracetamol do?” She rummaged, handed him pills and water.
“Ta. Mind if I sit till it kicks in?” He exhaled roughly.
“Of course. Can you make it to the sofa?” She helped him lie down.
“You served?” she asked, softer now.
“Aye. Had to.”
His name was William Carter—discharged after injury, adrift in civilian life.
“Thank you, Katherine. Easing now. Call if you need anything.” He fished out a plain business card. “Made these for job hunting.” He rose carefully. “Best be off.”
“Your tools—”
“Leave ’em. The neighbour’ll fetch ’em tomorrow.”
The real plumber came the next day—unshaven, bleary-eyed.
“Here for my kit. Tap holding up?”
“Yes. Your neighbour fixed it. How is he?”
“Good bloke. Laid up, though—took a bullet in the back overseas. My missus gives him injections—she’s used to it, being poorly herself. Right, I’m off.”
Katherine watched from the kitchen window. Snow fellThe snow kept falling, blanketing the world in quiet white, and as Katherine closed the door behind him, she realised, for the first time in months, she wasn’t afraid of what might come next.
