Every encounter has its time.
“Why does love fade? It was there, I know it was. I was so happy I didn’t notice anything else. I lived for him alone. And then I missed the moment he changed. A naïve fool. Serves me right. I let my guard down, and that’s never wise.” Emily stared out the window at the treetops swaying in the wind. The icy roads were sprinkled with grit. A few snowless days had left the courtyard grimy.
“All I ever thought about was keeping the laundry washed and ironed, cooking his favourite meals. Then he wanted passion, a younger body—some midlife crisis nonsense. I noticed him trying to act younger, but I thought he just wanted to hold onto time. I wonder… does she even cook well? Or do they just eat out? God, what am I thinking? It’s been months, and I still can’t move on. I never will.”
She glanced at the calendar. “The 14th… Old New Year’s Day. And here I am, sitting at home like some lonely old woman. Right. I’ll freshen up and go shopping.”
Emily set her empty coffee mug in the sink and headed to the bathroom. She turned on the tap, shrugged off her dressing gown, and stepped into the tub. When she tried to switch the water to the shower, the lever jammed. She pressed harder—it snapped off, clattering into the bath as water gushed from both faucet and showerhead. She fought to turn it off, but no luck.
Climbing out, she shut off the mains. The torrent slowed to a trickle. Too wet to bother with her soaked gown, she pulled on joggers and a T-shirt. “Well, that’s my wash done. Perfect timing. New year, same old problems. How many times did I tell my husband that lever was sticking? But he never got round to it. Too busy with… other things.” Grumbling, she mopped up the water.
She dialled the housing office. Surely someone was on emergency duty. The endless ringing grated on her nerves. If no one answered, what then? Call her ex? No. She wouldn’t humiliate herself. Finally, a weary female voice answered.
“Hello?” Emily pictured a stern, heavyset woman drowning in complaints.
“My tap’s broken in the bathroom!” she blurted.
“Did you turn off the water?”
“Yes.”
“Plumber’s in on Monday.”
“Monday? Two days without water? The pipes run through the whole flat!”
A tired sigh crackled down the line. “He’s on another job. He’ll come when he’s free.”
“How long’s that? The pipes could burst!”
“Madam, just wait.”
Emily opened her mouth, but the line went dead. “Fine. Wait. What did I do to deserve this?” She cursed her ex for leaving her with ancient plumbing. But what good did that do?
A soap opera distracted her until the doorbell rang. Only an hour and twenty minutes—quicker than she’d expected. She opened the door to a distinguished man in his sixties, silver-haired and well dressed.
“Plumber called for?”
“You’re the plumber?” she said skeptically.
“Don’t I look it?” His smile creased the corners of his eyes.
“Not really. They’re usually…” She waved a vague hand.
“Fair point. I’m not. But I can fix your tap.”
“Then who are you?”
“His neighbour. He… overcelebrated Old New Year. His wife begged me to cover for him. She’s disabled, they’ve two kids…” He paused, waiting for an invitation. “So, shall we wait till Monday, or can I take a look?”
“Yes, come in.” She stepped aside.
He set down a worn toolbag and inspected the tap. “You shut off the water. Good. Needs a new valve, but the whole fixture’s rusted. Won’t last. Best replace it.”
“You’d know better than me,” Emily murmured.
“Don’t worry. I’ll pop to the shop and fit a new one.”
“How much?” Her mind raced through her purse’s contents.
“I’ll bring the receipt. Alright?”
She agreed reluctantly.
“Mind if I leave my tools?” He stepped out.
“Maybe I should’ve waited…” But two days without water? No. She boiled the kettle. Halfway through her tea, the doorbell rang again. The plumber—real one this time—stood breathless on the step.
“See? Quick service.” He marched to the bathroom while Emily lingered in the kitchen. “I should offer him tea. He rushed here, probably ran.”
“All done, ma’am.”
She turned. His grin was triumphant.
The bathroom was spotless. A shiny new tap gleamed. She tested it—smooth, powerful.
“Perfect! How much do I owe you?”
“Nothing. Emergency call. Here’s the receipt.”
She fetched her purse, adding an extra twenty.
“I can’t accept this. You went to so much trouble.”
“Not for me. For your neighbour’s family.”
“Thanks. I’ll pass it on.” He pocketed the money.
“Fancy a cuppa? If you’re not needed elsewhere.”
“Nothing urgent. Be glad to.” He smiled. “Let me wash up first.”
In the kitchen, the kettle whistled. She poured tea, set out sugar, and slid a plate of scones onto the table.
“Blimey! Ages since I had homemade.” He devoured half in one bite. “Brilliant!”
She watched this stranger at her table. Twenty-two years her ex had sat there, eating her roasts and cakes… then left for some young thing. “Traitor,” she reminded herself.
The man noticed her shift in mood.
“Everything alright?”
“Fine.” Her laugh wobbled. “Sounds silly, doesn’t it? A bit… improper. So, what do you do?”
“Retired army. Just moved back to my parents’ old flat.”
“Family?” Why ask? None of her business.
“Had a wife. A son. But garrison life wore her down. She left twenty years back, took the lad. Done up the flat, but… what now? And you?”
“Me?”
“You’re alone. Husband’d have handled the tap, else. He left? For someone younger?”
“Done with your tea?” she snapped. Who was he to pry?
“Sorry. Overstayed.” He stood abruptly, gasped, and hunched over.
“What’s wrong?”
“Back… old injury… bent too much…”
“Ambulance?” She grabbed the phone.
“No. Painkillers?”
“Paracetamol do?” She dashed back with pills and water.
“Ta. Mind if I wait till it kicks in?”
“Lie on the sofa.” She helped him settle.
“You served?”
“Aye. Had to.”
His name was Robert Wilson. Medically discharged. Lost to civilian life.
“Thanks, Emily. Easing up now. Call if you need me.” He handed her a plain business card. “Made these for job hunting.” He rose carefully. “Best leave my tools. Doubt I can carry them.”
“Take care. It’s slippery out. Should I walk you?”
“No. I’ll manage.”
Next morning, the real plumber arrived—unshaven, puffy-eyed.
“Got my tools?”
“All fixed. Your neighbour… how is he?”
“Good bloke. Laid up, though. War injury—took shrapnel in his back. My wife does his injections. She’s used to it.” He left.
Outside, snow fell, turning everything clean and bright. For how long? She pulled scones from the oven to cool.
A key turned. Her daughter.
“Just grabbed the scones. Want some? Or shall I pack them?”
“Mum, I’m in a rush. Friends’ wedding. No time to eat or take them. Rain check?” Her daughter breezed past, still coated.
“You okay?” She reappeared, camera in hand. “What’s this?” She pointed to pliers on the console.
“Plumber left them. Tap broke yesterday.”
“Right. Val’s in the taxi. See you.” A peck on the cheek. Then, pausing: “Saw Dad with that woman. She’s short, frumpy, nothing special. You’re miles prettier.”
“Liar. She’s young, leggy, blonde.”
“Sorry. Wanted to help.”
Emily watched the taxi pull away. Snow kept falling. “Why bake all this? Who’ll eat it?”
She packed the warm scones in a container, wrapped it in newspaper, and tucked the pliers on top. Bundled up, she stepped out.
Snow stung her face. Hood up, she trudged to the next street, climbed to the third floor, and rang Robert’s bell.
“Coming!” Shuffling footsteps.
The door opened. “You?”
“Your… pliers.” She flushed. “Why did I even come?”
“Come in.” HeAs they sat together by the fire, the snow still falling softly outside, Emily realised that sometimes, the most unexpected meetings are the ones that bring the warmest beginnings.
