The workshop manager’s buzzer sounded sharply. “Anthony, step into my office!” Anthony braced himself, knowing reprimand was coming. Deservedly so.
“You’re here? Sit down. You’ve messed up the work again – official warning. And that quarterly bonus is forfeit. How many times must I tell you?” Manager Gregory Watkins sighed, rubbing his temple. “I promised your dad, Anthony. You’re letting us all down! Honestly, Anthony Evans! Off with you, man! You’re a grown chap, think about your path! No family, no interests. What kind of future is that?”
The commuter train rattled towards home packed solid; not a seat to be had, bodies pressed tight. Anthony’s colleagues would find wives and warm suppers awaiting them. His flat would be silent and empty. His sole desire lately was a pint at the pub, then bed.
He used to go out after shifts, popular with the ladies. Now his mates had all married, turning dull with mundane worries – wives and kids!
He barely squeezed off at his stop – an elderly Nan blocked the vestibule with her shopping bags, impossible to pass! In the subway tunnel, everyone jostled and shoved in their frantic rush. *Where are they all hurrying?* Anthony had rushed too at twenty-five. Girls had flocked to him – he’d had his own flat then, solid pay from the plant, even bought himself a car, second-hand but his own!
“Marry, son,” his Mum used to say. “Time flies! Don’t waste it on those painted girls! My neighbour young Hannah, now *there’s* a lovely girl! Young, homely! Helps her Mum with everything, training to be a nurse. I’ve seen her eyeing you up.” He’d scoffed. “Don’t want that sort, Mum. Your Hannah doesn’t appeal.”
Well, he’d messed up good. That Hannah was likely frying sausages and mash, chopping salad, waiting eagerly. Kids asking, “Mummy, is Daddy nearly home?” Nobody waited for him. He’d once liked that freedom. He couldn’t pinpoint when the turning point arrived – when the parties grew stale, yet he stayed on his worn path.
Anthony reached his flat door, fumbled in his pocket for the key. Jammed it in… wouldn’t turn. What the…? He jiggled it in the lock again, and… Suddenly, the door was opened from within. It swung wide to reveal… his Mum in a floral dressing gown, cheeks slightly flushed.
“Son! Did you come straight from work? You should’ve phoned! You look done in. Your Dad and I were just sitting down to supper. Go on, Anthony, off with your coat, wash your hands. Edward! Are you there? Edward, come greet your lad! Always tinkering somewhere!”
Anthony stood rooted, speechless. Then Edward Evans appeared.
“Son! Thought you’d brought your young lady finally! Will we ever see grandkids? My fault, lad. I was a slowcoach, didn’t marry till after forty. Your Mum wasn’s young then either. Don’t hang about. Learn from your old man’s mistakes. Things must be done in their time! Understood?”
“Understood, Dad,” Anthony croaked, his throat dry. “Mum, Dad… thank you. I… I just remembered something!” Anthony shot back down the stairs like a bullet, burst from the building, and ran without looking back.
He stopped a good distance away, catching his breath. Tentatively, slowly, he turned. How had he walked from the station the wrong way? Lost in thought, his feet had carried him by habit to his childhood home, where he’d lived before independence. He’d climbed the stairs automatically, tried the door… but that wasn’t the point. The point was…
Anthony looked again.
The familiar five-storey terrace was gone. In its place was a green park space.
Naturally. It had been demolished three years prior. His parents had been gone five years.
He’d sold that flat then, paid off his mortgage, bought his car, set headstones for Mum and Dad in the churchyard.
*What just happened?* Where had he been? How had he so vividly stood in his old living room with his Mum and Dad? Them, just as they were? As if alive? Had it been a waking dream?
Anthony was stunned.
He reached his own flat, stared long at his reflection. Showered, pulled on joggers and trainers, and headed out.
His parents’ home was gone, residents rehoused in new builds nearby. About ten minutes from his place. Unlikely he’d see her. Hannah was surely married by now, though younger than him. Yet he suddenly needed to know. Find her. Confirm she had a husband, kids, family. That he was definitively too late. That nothing awaited him. And if Hannah was alone…? He had no answer for that.
From that evening, Anthony walked past Hannah’s estate every day after work.
All in vain. She likely no longer lived there. Married and moved on. He wouldn’t ask after her details. Not meant to be, then not meant to be.
On Saturday, Anthony vowed it was his last futile detour past Hannah’s road. A mad idea, all his vision’s fault! He walked the length of the play park where parents watched children play. No sign of Hannah, though after years, she might look different.
Two women chatted near the swings, one with a toddler. The other gathered her things.
“Right then, Marianne, catch up soon!”
“Bye Hannah! Bye-bye to Auntie Hannah, sweetie!”
Anthony peered. Could it be? Yes. Her. Not tall, not thin, not leggy. Not a bombshell with pouty lips and long straight hair – his old type. Now those girls seemed all alike. She was ordinary. And it was *exactly* right.
Anthony moved closer.
“Hannah?”
She turned. Didn’t recognise him at first, then her eyes warmed. “Anthony? What brings you here?”
“Oh… I live round the corner. Just passing. What are you up to? Busy? Rushing home to your husband?” Anthony opted for directness.
Hannah smiled brilliantly, like a child awaiting a surprise.
“No rush anywhere. And no husband yet. Why?” Her voice was bright, even challenging. Anthony knew she was pleased, very pleased!
“Hannah, maybe a walk then?” Anthony looked at her, feeling a sudden surge of anticipation for something wonderful and joyful. Like sunshine breaking through heavy clouds.
He wasn’t wrong. Mum had been right. Hannah was brilliant. Soon, Anthony knew his bachelor days were over.
**Anthony and Hannah**
Before the wedding, Anthony decided to visit his parents, arrange the church service, tidy their gravesite. Hannah insisted on coming, being a neighbour who remembered his Mum and Dad. Together they cleaned the headstones, planted flowers. Then they stood before the monument to Edward Evans and Grace Evans.
“Well, Mum, Dad,” Anthony began, looking at their photos, certain they approved, “this is my Hannah.”
“Thank you, Mum. Thank you, Dad. I’m getting married!” Anthony glanced shyly at Hannah.
“Thank you, Aunt Grace, Uncle Edward,” Hannah added softly, “for Anthony.”
Work was brilliant now too.
“There’s my old friend Edward’s son! Now I needn’t be ashamed before his memory. Well done, Anthony!” Mr. Watkins clapped his shoulder approvingly.
Anthony flew home as if on wings, for Hannah was waiting – his Hannah, his Hanners.
He took comfort knowing Mum and Dad would have wholeheartedly blessed his choice.
Soon, their son would arrive and greet him with joyful
“Anton realised he should have listened sooner, yet life held its wisdom in the rhythms of second chances and the warmth of an unexpected fate.
