You can’t cheat fate, can you?
Hannah and Emily had been best mates since they were little, growing up in the same village—everyone said they were thick as thieves. Both pretty, though Hannah was softer, calmer, while Emily was all fire, sharp-tongued and fearless.
By secondary school, everyone knew Oliver fancied Hannah, but she never took it seriously. Still, it stroked her ego—the way he followed her around, bringing her wildflowers, asking her out every day, even confessing his love. But Hannah just smiled at sweet, quiet Oliver. Maybe things would’ve worked out between them if cocky James hadn’t swanned in, the sort who wanted every pretty girl in sight.
Dark-haired, brown-eyed James strutted through the school corridors like he owned the place, leaving a trail of smitten girls behind. Both Hannah and Emily fell for him, laughing about it at first—”Imagine, Han, some girl’ll land herself that handsome bloke,” Emily joked.
James loved the attention, playing them off each other—a week with one, a week with the other. Soon, the girls were at each other’s throats, and the rivalry only egged him on. He loved winding them up, but he wasn’t cruel—just careless.
Then came the blow-up. The once-inseparable friends tore into each other over James, waiting to see who he’d pick. One day, Hannah met him and dropped the news: “James… I’m pregnant. What are we going to do?”
“Blimey, really?” He scratched his head. “Well… we’ll get married, yeah? Kid needs a dad. Suppose you’ll have me?”
Fate had decided for them. James settled down. A week later was their school prom—miraculously, the girls made up. Hannah thought it was genuine, wished Emily well. But she was wrong. Emily left with a grudge festering inside.
The wedding was a proper village do—loud, cheerful. Married life was peaceful at first. They had a son, Alfie, lived in Hannah’s gran’s old cottage. James fixed it up, skilled with his hands. He drove a combine harvester, good with machinery.
Then tough times hit. The farm was struggling, Hannah got laid off from the accounts office. James was put on extended leave.
“James, what do we do? Alfie’s outgrown everything—he starts Year One soon. His shoes are falling apart, and winter’s coming,” Hannah fretted.
James agreed—their nearly seven-year-old wore through clothes fast. The farm’s accountant, Margaret, took pity. “Hannah, my daughter mentioned the tax office in town needs a secretary. It’s hectic, but you’re quick—thought of you.”
Hannah brightened. “Ta, Margaret! I’ll go first thing.”
Next morning, she sat on a bench at the tax office, waiting for HR. The pay wasn’t much, but she wasn’t fussy. Finally, she was called in.
“Hello,” she said timidly.
“Afternoon, come in,” clipped a woman in glasses. Her voice was familiar.
The woman wore a sharp suit, red lipstick. She glanced up—Hannah nearly jumped. “Emily? Bloody hell!”
Emily blinked. “Hannah. Still the same, eh? So, you’re after the job?”
“Yeah! Fancy us working together!”
Emily leaned back. “Afraid not. We need someone local—late nights, weekends. Already have someone lined up.”
Silence. Emily stared at her screen; Hannah felt dismissed.
“You could’ve said. Know anywhere else hiring?”
“Sorry, no. Good luck, though.”
Hannah swallowed. The old grudge was still there.
“Emily? Seriously?” James scowled when Hannah told him. “She really said no? After all that history?”
Hannah sipped her tea. “People change, James.”
“I’ll have words with her.”
“Leave it,” Hannah pleaded.
But next morning, James stormed off. He came back quiet that evening.
“Well?”
“Job’s taken. Bloke’s local, experienced. Can’t blame her.”
Hannah frowned. “You were gone ages.”
“Bus broke down. Stopped by the farm workshop after.”
“On leave, and you’re still working?”
“Farm doesn’t stop, love. Two combines need brakes fixing.”
Three days later, Hannah got a post office job—Vera was retiring. She threw herself into it. “Alfie’ll have new uniforms now,” she smiled.
But something nagged her. James still left early, came home late. One evening, she ran into Oliver.
“Alright, Hannah?”
“Fine. You?”
“Not bad. Where’s James? Asked him to fix my combine—haven’t seen him at the farm.”
Hannah froze. “He leaves every morning.”
“Not to the farm, he doesn’t. Best be off.”
That night, James came in, avoiding her eyes.
“Liar. Where’ve you been?”
He slumped. “Town. Seeing Emily. Still love her.”
Hannah’s tears fell. “Pack your things.”
Just like that, years of love crumbled.
James left next day. Months passed. Then Oliver turned up at her gate.
“Alright? Fence is knackered. Fancy me fixing it Saturday?”
Her heart fluttered. “Go on, then.”
He did, whistling as she hung washing. “You’re still gorgeous, Han.”
“What, think just ’cause James left, I’ll jump at you?” she snapped, instantly regretting it.
Oliver just smiled. “See you around.”
She kicked herself.
Two months later, they met by the river. August air crisp, crickets chirping.
“Alright, tough nut?” Oliver grinned. “Can I hold your hand?”
She laughed. “Go on.”
They fell into each other’s arms. Strolling the fields, Hannah thought—this could’ve happened years ago, if she hadn’t been blind over James.
Later, she heard James had slunk back to his parents—things with Emily fizzled. But Hannah didn’t care. She was happy now, expecting another baby with Oliver.
Fate’s funny like that.
