**Diary Entry**
*July 10th, 2023*
“He’s grown so handsome. If only he were a bit wealthier, worked for some prestigious firm—I might’ve fallen for him,” thought Eleanor, watching him from across the street.
“Now, George, you’ve got everything under control while I’m gone. Just ring me if anything comes up. It’s not like I’m off to the moon,” said Edward, shaking his deputy’s hand firmly.
“Course, don’t fret. But you never did say—where’re you off to for holiday? The Maldives? Or just Spain again?” George grinned as he returned the handshake.
“Didn’t I mention? Visiting Mum. The roof’s leaking, fence needs mending. Dad used to keep up with it all, but after he passed… well, it’s one thing after another. Can’t remember the last time I sat by the river with a fishing rod.”
“Never been fishing myself. Proper city boy, me. Almost envy you,” George admitted with a sigh. “Tell me all about it when you’re back,” he called after Edward as he walked away.
Pleased at the thought of escaping London’s noise and grime in just a few hours, of hugging his mum and breathing in that crisp country air, Edward smiled to himself on the train home.
He’d grown up in a tiny village—Mum a schoolteacher, Dad a builder. Young Ed had often helped his father, learning to fix just about anything. Dad had hoped his son would follow in his footsteps. But Edward had been drawn to cars, computers, all things digital. School came easy. When he graduated, he announced, “There’s nothing for me here. I’m off to London—going to make something of myself.”
“How d’you mean, *nothing*? The village is growing! Builders’ll always be needed. You’ll never go hungry. Want us to put up a proper house for you? Marry, have kids with space to run about—”
“Too soon for all that. Got to stand on my own feet first,” Edward had waved him off.
His father bristled, arguing, but Mum soothed things over. “Don’t clip his wings. Let him try. He’s clever—we’ll be proud of him yet.”
They gave him a bit of money to start, and off he went. University by day, construction sites by night. And in time, he got everything he’d wanted.
Back in school, he’d fancied Eleanor—a giggly, snub-nosed girl. She wasn’t ambitious, really. Dreamed of opening a salon someday. Each had their own path, and they drifted apart after graduation.
Whenever Edward visited home, it seemed Eleanor was always *just* gone. He could’ve asked her mother for her number, her address—but didn’t. Love would’ve been a distraction. And if they’d married, kids would’ve followed, and suddenly he’d be working just to put food on the table instead of chasing his dreams. No—first, he’d build his business, buy a house, a proper car. *Then*…
“You’ll miss your chance, lad. She might not wait forever,” Dad had warned.
“Doesn’t matter. Plenty of other girls.”
But there *weren’t* others. Not for him.
Now Edward had it all—or nearly. A fine house in Chelsea, a luxury car, a thriving business. Time to think of settling down. Women came and went, but they wanted the house, the car, the money. He longed to be loved for *himself*.
Each visit home, he secretly hoped to bump into Eleanor. He kept his answers vague when his parents asked after his life. They lived modestly, frugally—honest folk. They expected the same of him. Mentioning his success made Dad scowl, Mum wring her hands. How could a man afford a London flat, a country house, without cutting corners?
“Breaking the law, are you? Is that what we taught you? Better you’d stayed a builder than have us ashamed,” Dad would mutter.
So Edward visited in borrowed, battered cars or by train, dressed plainly, claiming he was just an engineer. Dad would nod, proud of his Londoner son.
This trip was no different—even though Dad had passed three years prior. The Lexus stayed locked in the garage. A train ticket, a worn jumper, and off he went.
His seat was a lower bunk, but an elderly woman struggled with her bag. Without a word, Edward offered his spot. She thanked him endlessly the whole ride.
Lying on the top bunk, watching forests blur past, he remembered his first journey to London years ago. There’s something about train rhythms that loosens memories.
The village looked tiny, impossibly green. Air fresh as childhood, trees lush—nothing like London’s stunted, sooty shrubs. Gardens burst with colour.
Stepping into the yard, his mum spotted him, hands flying to her face. “Oh, my boy! I wasn’t expecting you! How long are you staying?”
“Till you kick me out,” he laughed, hugging her.
She baked pies daily, fussing over him. He ate, then patched the roof, repainted the fence.
“Love, you’re on *holiday*—why work so hard?”
“All done now. Where’re you off to?” He eyed the smart dress folded over her arm.
“Just popping to the shops.”
“I’ll take the bike. What d’you need?”
She handed him a list. “You’re going like *that*?”
He glanced down—faded jeans, rolled-up sleeves, tan arms. The trainers, though, were expensive. A guilty pleasure. Doubt anyone here would recognize the brand.
At the shop, women eyed him curiously. “Whose lad are you?” They gasped when he gave his name, prying about his life. He kept answers short.
Outside, his rusty bike leaned next to a gleaming red Audi. The contrast was almost comical. He whistled, noting the Audi’s flat tyre.
“Be a gent and help instead of gawking,” came a voice behind him.
Goosebumps prickled his neck. Funny how a voice stays the same, even when the person changes beyond recognition.
Turning, he barely recognized the glamorous woman as Eleanor. Knee-length dress, heels, flawless makeup. His face burned.
“*Ed?!*”
“You’ve changed. That yours?” He nodded at the Audi. “Lovely motor.”
She flushed at the compliment. “Yes, but the roads here are *dreadful*. Ruined the tyre.”
“Got a spare? Tools?”
She watched as he worked, admiring his hands, his frame. He felt her gaze, fought the urge to stare back.
“Sorted. The punctured one’s in the boot—can be patched.”
“Thank you! So glad I ran into you. Hop in, I’ll drive you home.”
“No need. Wouldn’t want to dirty your seats.” He dusted off his jeans.
She drove off, but further down the road, the Audi waited. The window rolled down as he approached.
“We’ve years to catch up on. Let’s have coffee—least I can do.”
*I don’t want to say goodbye yet either*, he thought. “Not sure where’s good here. Give me the address—I’ll drop the shopping and come.”
“Off already?” Mum asked when he hurried out.
“Ran into an old friend. Just catching up.”
She watched him go. *That’ll be Eleanor, then.*
The café was quiet. Eleanor sat at the bar. They moved to a table.
“Coffee, black, and a slice of lemon cake,” she told the waiter without glancing at the menu.
Edward ordered the same.
“You here long? How’s your mum? Mine’s been poorly,” Eleanor said once the waiter left.
“Mine’s all right. You’ve got your salon, then? You look stunning,” he said, noting her bare ring finger.
She tucked her hand away. “Never married. You?”
“Same. Just… never happened.”
By the end, they’d shared much. Her salon catered to celebrities, rich wives. “Always new treatments to learn. No days off. Barely even visit Mum.”
“I’m in construction, like Dad was,” he lied.
Studying her, he decided he preferred the old Eleanor—snub nose, easy laugh. *Nose job? Too polished now. Gorgeous, but not for me.*
*So handsome. If he’d made something of himself, I might’ve loved him*, Eleanor thought, sipping bitter coffee.
Conversation dried up.
“Best be off. Maybe we’ll meet again?” he said, standing.
“Need a lift?”
“Walk’s fine. Not far.”
Outside, she smiled, waved, and drove away.
Three days later, on the train back, Edward stared at the window, replaying the meeting.
Meanwhile, Eleanor stood behind a client, brushing dye through her hair.
“How was the trip?” her friend asked.
“Fine. Left your car keys in yourHe never saw her again, but sometimes, in quiet moments, he wondered what might have been if they’d both just told the truth.
