On the Slope of Life
“Gran, we won’t be able to come tomorrow for your birthday—sorry about that,” called Antony the evening before, the husband of Charlotte, Evelyn’s granddaughter.
“Tony, what’s happened? Is everything alright?” Evelyn asked anxiously.
“Gran, we just rushed Charlie to the hospital. She couldn’t wait for your birthday and decided to give you an early surprise—though the little one hasn’t arrived yet. I’m calling from the maternity ward,” Antony said, his voice mixed with worry and joy.
“Oh, dear Lord, Tony! What wonderful news—you had me frightened for a moment. You never usually call this late. Thank goodness. I’ll pray everything goes well for Charlie and my new grandson. Ring me when he’s born, even if it’s the middle of the night—I won’t sleep now.”
“Will do, Gran.”
Two hours later, Antony called again, his voice beaming.
“Gran, happy birthday—here’s your gift: little Thomas. Charlie’s doing fine, so celebrate without us.”
“Thank you, Tony—kiss Charlie for me and tell her she’s done brilliantly.”
Evelyn is turning seventy. Not many guests are coming—just her younger daughter, Emily, with her husband and their son, Evelyn’s other grandson. Then there’s her dear friends Margaret and Fiona, whom she’s known since her working days. They’ve been close since they were girls.
Seven years ago, Evelyn buried her husband, George. They had a happy life together, but fate had other plans. He was taken too soon, still working, before retirement. They raised their daughter, Alice, put her through university, and now she lives in Manchester with her husband.
Evelyn and George had lived in a village—a large one, with a big factory where most locals worked. They’d met there, too. A young engineer, George, handsome and well-built, noticed her in the canteen—Evelyn, a cheerful and pretty girl. After lunch, as she walked out with Fiona, he stopped her at the door.
“Let’s get acquainted. I’m George, but call me Georgie if you’d like,” he grinned, his smile bright and easy.
“Evelyn,” she replied softly, lowering her gaze, cheeks flushing—she liked him immediately.
“Beautiful name. Evelyn—hope. Can I meet you here again this evening?”
She nodded. “Yes, I’d like that.”
That evening, he waited by the gate, eager.
“How about the cinema? Or a walk in the park?”
“Let’s walk—you can’t talk much at the pictures,” she laughed.
“What do you do here?” he asked.
“I’m in the finance department—just started after college. And you?”
“Fresh from university, myself. Engineering trainee here. Where are you from?”
“Here. Parents still live in the same house—Dad’s a builder. Always wanted his own place, even turned down a flat in the new estate. My folks are in a village a few counties over. Didn’t go back after graduation—what work would I have there? Liked this place when I did my training.”
“And I stayed after school. Grew up here—it’s home.”
Soon, they were courting. George visited her parents, bringing flowers for her mum and whisky for her dad.
“Evelyn’s told us about you,” her mother said warmly. “No need to bring gifts!”
“Nonsense—can’t come empty-handed!”
They liked him instantly—easygoing, friendly. He spoke of his parents, his two brothers. When he left (not too late, mindful of first impressions), Evelyn walked him out.
“Your parents are lovely, so welcoming.”
“Dad told you to visit again—means they approved!”
They married not long after. His family came from the countryside—parents, brothers, arms laden with fresh meat, milk, butter, eggs. Evelyn’s mother gasped at the bounty.
“Got to feed the men properly,” George’s mother winked.
They moved in with Evelyn’s parents—plenty of space, even a room for their daughter, Alice. Happy years followed, though her parents passed too soon. Then, years later, George was gone too.
She grieved. But time eased the pain, though she still missed him.
Her birthday passed quietly—Emily and her husband left early, friends stayed a bit longer. As she saw them out, she spotted an old Land Rover parked outside, a man bent over the engine, torch in hand.
“Excuse me—could you hold this for me? Can’t manage alone.”
She helped, but the car wouldn’t start.
“Thanks, but no luck. I’ll sleep in the car and call my mate William in the morning.”
Back inside, she glanced out the window—and took pity. Tapping on the glass, she smiled.
“You can’t sleep out here. Stay with me—I’ve got a spare bed.”
He hesitated. “You’re sure?”
“Of course.”
Inside, he noticed the table still set.
“Had guests. My birthday, actually.”
His eyes widened. “Wait here.”
He returned with a jar of honey.
“Happy birthday. Meant for William, but he can wait.”
They talked late into the night, laughing over stories. She made up the sofa, surprised at how easily she slept.
In the morning, he was gone—only the honey remained.
Later that day, a knock came. There he stood—Robert, with flowers, champagne, chocolates.
“Couldn’t let the birthday girl go without these.”
Three years on, they live together now. Robert keeps bees near William’s village—their little retreat.
Evelyn never thought love could come at her age. But life, it seems, had one last gift for her.
