Two Nights and a Day
Edith kept glancing at the clock. Time crawled like a snail, sluggish and thick. An hour still remained before the workday ended.
“Always watching the clock, are we? In a hurry?” asked Mrs. Waverly, the head accountant.
“No, but—”
“A man, then? At your age, it’s always a man that makes a woman rush time. At mine, we wish the hours would stop.” Mrs. Waverly sighed. “Go on, then. You’re no use to me like this.”
“Thank you.” Edith hurried to close the program on her screen.
“Do you love him?” Mrs. Waverly asked with a weary curiosity.
“I do.” Edith met her gaze directly.
Her desk sat at an angle from Edith’s, close enough for the older woman to observe her easily. The cramped office left no room for rearrangement, and Edith often felt as if she were under examination, every movement scrutinized.
“Then why hasn’t he married you? Won’t ask?” Mrs. Waverly removed her spectacles and rubbed the bridge of her nose. “Ah. He’s married. Children too, I suppose? The usual tale. Hid the truth at first, then when he confessed, you were already in too deep. Promised to leave her when the children were older, didn’t he?”
“How did you know?” Edith stared, wide-eyed.
“I was young once. Think you’re the first to fall for that? Listen—if a man doesn’t leave his wife straightaway, he never will. Save yourself the heartache. Walk away.”
“But I love him.”
“You’ll tire of playing mistress soon enough. Or worse—she’ll find out. Spare yourself the pain and keep your dignity. Trust me. Don’t wreck your own happiness for crumbs.” Mrs. Waverly adjusted her glasses, stern once more.
“Think it over. And don’t be late Monday.” She bent her head back to her papers.
“Love,” Mrs. Waverly muttered, shaking her head as Edith closed the office door behind her.
Edith flew down the stairs, bid the security guard farewell, and burst into the May sunshine. She spotted Nigel’s car at once and hurried toward it.
“About time. Felt like I was waiting forever,” Nigel grumbled as she slid into the passenger seat. He turned the key, pulled away from the building, and merged into the stream of traffic.
“Where are we going? Your call made no sense,” Edith asked.
“A surprise.” He flashed her a look that sent a flutter through her chest, warmth spreading through her stomach.
The car left the city behind, speeding down the motorway before turning onto a narrow country lane winding between thick trees. Edith watched the road, imagining driving forever—just the two of them—to the ends of the earth.
Eventually, a row of cottages appeared.
“We’re here,” Nigel said brightly.
“You don’t own a cottage.”
“No, but my mate does. His wife’s due any day now—won’t be coming here for weeks. So, it’s ours until Sunday.”
“And your wife? She just let you vanish all weekend?” Edith eyed him doubtfully.
He parked by a weathered wooden fence.
“Two nights and a whole day ahead of us,” Nigel murmured, leaning in to kiss her.
*Two nights and a day,* Edith thought bleakly. *And then back to hiding.*
Nigel pulled away, stepped out, and retrieved bags from the boot. Edith followed, breathing in the crisp air—grass, leaves, something nostalgically familiar, like her grandmother’s village.
*Two nights and a day! So much time! Just us!* She nearly laughed, giddy.
“Like it?” Nigel grinned, pleased with himself. “Take this, then.” He handed her a bag and slung a sports holdall over his shoulder, nudging the garden gate open.
Inside, the cottage was small but snug—dried flowers in a vase, simple patterned curtains, a table covered in checkered oilcloth. A woodstove divided the kitchen from the living space, and a faded tapestry hung over the bed. Modest, homely, comforting—as if she’d been here before.
“I wish we could stay forever,” Edith whispered that night, resting her head on Nigel’s shoulder. “Just us.”
“Mmm,” came his drowsy reply.
She woke first, lying still, savoring the silence. *Needs a pot of geraniums,* she thought. *And a lace tablecloth—the kind with tassels.*
The quiet shattered with the muffled ring of a mobile. Nigel jolted awake, fumbled for his jeans, and answered hoarsely.
“Yes? No—what noise? I just stepped inside for water—later.” He tossed the phone aside.
Edith’s stomach tightened. Mrs. Waverly was right. One more night, and everything would return to stolen moments in shadows.
The phone rang again. Nigel ignored it.
“Answer,” Edith said.
He rolled toward her, pulling her close for another kiss. The ringing stopped—then started once more.
“Answer.” Edith pushed back, sitting up.
With a sigh, he grabbed the phone. Edith slipped into his shirt and stepped outside. Dawn hadn’t broken; birds sang, a woodpecker tapped rhythmically. She tried to memorize it all—this might never come again.
“There you are.” Nigel’s arms encircled her. She leaned into him, eyes closed.
Then, inside, a phone rang. Nigel let go, returning to the cottage. The dawn’s magic dissolved.
Mrs. Waverly’s words echoed in her mind: *Being the other woman grows old. You’ll tire of crumbs. Leave now—while you still can.*
Edith dressed quickly, snatched her bag, and moved toward the door.
“Where are you going?” Nigel called. “I silenced it—she won’t call again.”
Edith paused.
“Home.”
“I’ll drive you.”
“Don’t bother.” She shut the door behind her, hurrying down the lane.
How far had they driven from the motorway? Could she hitch a ride? Would Nigel come after her? She glanced back—only empty road.
Her heels sank into damp earth, and rain began to fall. Cold drops stung her face. *Foolish,* she thought. *Should’ve stayed.*
A car slowed beside her.
“Need a lift?”
Too soaked for hesitation, she climbed in. The driver turned up the heat, and soon warmth seeped into her bones.
“Someone hurt you?” he asked.
She said nothing, watching the wipers sweep.
“Must be bad if you’d accept a stranger’s ride in the middle of nowhere.”
“Stop the car.”
Trees loomed close. Fear prickled down her spine.
“Where will you go? The village is miles back. All woods here.”
She hesitated, rain pelting the window.
“My daughter’s waiting,” he said. “Decide now.”
Edith shut the door.
They rode in silence until the city rose in the distance. His phone buzzed.
“Just woke up, Mouse? Be home soon.” He pocketed it. “I’m Daniel.”
“Edith.”
Outside a block of flats, he left her briefly before returning with a bright-eyed girl who clambered into the back.
“You’re all wet!” the girl exclaimed.
“Got caught in the rain.”
“I’m Emily-Rose. What’s your name?”
“Lovely name. I’m Edith.”
They chatted the rest of the way. When they reached her flat, Daniel and Emily-Rose waved her off.
*That’s the happiness I want,* Edith thought, stepping inside—a family, laughter, togetherness. She sank onto the stool, kicked off her ruined shoes, and wept.
Her phone buzzed. Nigel. She ignored it—once, twice—then answered.
“Don’t call me again.”
On Monday, Mrs. Waverly peered over her spectacles.
“Enjoy your weekend?”
Edith shrugged.
“You left him,” Mrs. Waverly said softly. “Ran from that cottage.”
“How—?”
“Emily-Rose mentioned her dad found a soaked girl named Edith. They’re my neighbors.” She sighed. “No one warned me when I was your age. Wasted years waiting. By the time I realized, it was too late to start over. Daniel’s a good man. Give it time.”
She straightened her glasses. “Now—work won’t do itself.”
Edith turned to her screen, thoughts lingering on Daniel, his daughter with the pretty name, and Nigel—who hadn’t called again.
Perhaps it was for the best.
