**Tuesday, 10th September**
The past stays where it belongs.
“Go sort this out with our partners once and for all,” the director muttered irritably, staring at Edward. “I’ve already spoken to their manager—they’re expecting you. Leave tomorrow morning, take the paperwork. I’m counting on you,” he added, drumming his fingers on the desk.
“No problem, I’ll handle it,” Edward nodded. “I’ll drive.”
Business trips were routine in Edward’s line of work, and he didn’t mind them. New towns, faces, conversations—it was all familiar. Drive or fly, work, resolve matters, check into a hotel, grab dinner, then head home. Predictable.
His wife, Margaret, had long since grown accustomed to his travels. Once a week, sometimes less, Edward would set off for some distant corner of England.
“Margaret, I’m off tomorrow morning,” he announced as he stepped into their cosy flat in Manchester.
“Long trip, or the usual?” she asked, that faint note of worry still there, even after all this time.
“Just the usual, not long,” he smiled, pulling her close and kissing her temple.
His travel bag was always packed. Meticulous and thoughtful, Margaret kept it stocked—clothes, toiletries, even a spare charger. Edward trusted her completely, only adding his documents and keys at the last minute.
Twelve years together, raising their son, Oliver, a bright lad with a knack for football and top marks in school. This was Edward’s second marriage, but his first truly happy one. Oliver was everything he could’ve hoped for—sharp, kind, disciplined, thriving in class and on the pitch.
When the lads gathered for a pint or a Sunday roast, Edward would always smile when speaking of Margaret.
“I’ve been lucky—found a woman who makes life easy. I trust her as much as myself, and she does the same.”
“Lucky sod,” some groaned. Not all his mates had been so fortunate. A few, like Edward, were on their second marriage. His best mate, Richard? Fourth time around.
Edward woke early to the smell of pancakes.
“Relentless, she is,” he thought with a grin. “Already in the kitchen. Lucky bloke, better not jinx it.”
“Morning, love,” he said, stepping in after his shower.
“Know how to spoil you,” she winked, sliding a plate towards him. “That way, you’ll miss my cooking and hurry back.”
“Clever,” he laughed. “Oi, Oliver’s got that match today, right?”
“Yeah, against the team from Leeds,” Margaret nodded. “He said they’re going all out for the win.”
“I’ll call tonight—see how they did,” Edward promised as their son still slept.
Gathering his bag and papers, he kissed Margaret goodbye and left in high spirits. A four-hour drive to Sheffield lay ahead. The open road, away from the city bustle, always cleared his head. Early September, but the first yellow leaves already danced on the wind, clinging to his windscreen.
The meeting wrapped up quickly. Just dinner, then the drive home. Edward preferred night drives—quieter roads, fewer distractions. He picked a familiar pub on the outskirts, tucked away from the noise.
Parking outside, he glanced up. Dark clouds coiled overhead, thunder rumbling in the distance.
“Thunderstorm in September?” Edward frowned. “Odd.”
Inside, he took a seat by the window. The waiter took his order as lightning flashed outside. Then, with a crack of thunder, the door swung open, and in she walked. Edward froze. He’d have known her anywhere. Lucy—his first wife, the woman he’d once worshipped, then loathed. Still impossibly beautiful.
Their marriage had been chaos. Five years with Lucy felt like a lifetime. Passionate love curdled into bitterness—rows, affairs, jealousy. Edward left, returned, left again, until he finally cut ties for good. After the divorce, he met Margaret and found peace. He hadn’t seen Lucy since.
“What’s she doing in Sheffield?” His chest tightened.
Lucy scanned the room. The waiter gestured to a nearby table, but she spotted Edward. For a breath, she hesitated—then grinned.
“Edward? Bloody hell, talk about fate!”
He forced a smile. “Lucy. Yeah, small world.”
“Mind if I join you?” She didn’t wait for an answer, sliding into the opposite chair.
Rain lashed the windows; the thunder faded. The waiter took her order, warning of a delay. Lucy wiped her hands on a napkin, chattering away.
“So, how’ve you been?”
“Good,” Edward clipped. “You?”
She didn’t answer, veering into some story about her job. He barely listened, lost in memories.
They’d met when Lucy worked at a branch office. Phone calls led to drinks at a company do. Like magnets, they’d been inseparable. Stayed up all night talking in her hotel room, spent the next day wandering an art gallery. The second night wasn’t for talking.
“I’ve got my car,” he’d said then. “Fancy a lift home?”
“Wouldn’t say no,” Lucy had laughed.
They moved fast—moved in, married. Then he noticed her flirting with clients.
“What’s with the act?” he’d asked once.
“Part of the job,” she’d waved him off. “Got to charm them.”
Once, he’d returned early from a trip to an empty flat. Lucy stumbled in at dawn, reeking of wine.
“Where were you?”
“You’re back early?” She’d dodged the question.
Later, he caught her with someone else. She hadn’t even bothered lying.
“Edward?” Lucy’s voice snapped him back. She leaned in, smirking. “Come back to mine after? I’m a sales director now—we could relive old times…”
He studied her—still striking, but cold. No flicker of feeling. A stranger, like a colleague you avoid at parties. The past was exactly where it belonged.
“No, Lucy. Not happening.”
The food arrived. Edward excused himself, stepping onto the patio. Suddenly, he needed to hear Margaret’s voice.
“Hi, love,” she answered warmly. “Miss you. I know you’ll be late—just hurry back.”
“Won’t be long,” he smiled. “Eat, then hit the road.”
Dinner passed in silence. Lucy prattled on; he pushed food around his plate.
“Grub’s awful,” he muttered, standing. “Thanks for the chat.”
A polite goodbye, then he strode into the rain, revved the engine, and pointed the car home—where warmth and love waited. On the way, he called Oliver. His son’s voice fizzed with excitement—his team had won. Edward grinned, heart full.
**Lesson:** The past is a closed book. Some pages aren’t worth rereading.
