Tim appeared at the far end of the hall. ‘Ah, Emily! I see you’ve met Ethan. You see, son? I told you she was beautiful.’
Flushed, I hurried past him and began to unpack the meals.
‘I’m sorry I missed your calls,’ Tim said, as Ethan joined us.
‘That’s OK. I have a surprise for you.’ I closed the fridge door, opened my work diary and handed him Mrs C’s photograph.
For a moment, Tim appeared to wobble and Ethan rushed forward to steady his father. Sitting on a kitchen stool, he stared at the photo.
‘Dad?’
‘I’m fine, son. This just takes me back…’ He looked at me. ‘Can I ask the name of the person who gave this to you?’
‘I’m not sure I should say.’
He nodded. ‘Of course. But it looks so familiar. If I didn’t know better I’d swear…’ Slowly, he turned the picture over and closed his eyes. ‘T.W.M.A.’
Ethan and I watched helplessly as Tim’s loud sobs filled the kitchen.
‘What if she says no?’
‘Dad, you can’t think of that. You said it yourself, you had a connection once.’
‘I don’t know. What did you tell her, Emily?’
I smiled at Tim. ‘I said I had a surprise for her and that I was taking her out for afternoon tea.’
Tim Gardner’s face was pale as he hovered in the lobby of the hotel, wringing his hands. ‘I didn’t think she would come. What do I say to her after all these years?’
‘You start with, “Here’s the photograph that I gave you.”’ Ethan grinned at me and I found myself grinning back. Like father, like son…
‘When I handed Genevieve that picture my heart was breaking,’ Tim said, gazing through the glass door that separated him from the girl who walked out of his life sixty-two years ago. ‘She was leaving for Canada the next day. I penciled “T.W.M.A” on the back to remind her I was waiting: Till We Meet Again. I told her to keep it as a reminder of the woman I knew she was.’
I put my hand on his shoulder. ‘She said it was what kept her strong during all those years in Canada. And what made her come home. I think you might have been an important part of that. Why don’t you just go in there, say hello and see what happens?’
His blue eyes glistened as he looked at me. ‘Thank you. For finding the love of my life again.’ Shaking hands with Ethan, he turned, took a deep breath, and walked into the hotel restaurant.
And that’s when I knew: I knew my job was more than time slots and ready meals, more than delivery rounds and menu plans. It was a gift, in the truest sense of the word.
Would Mrs Clements and Mr Gardner rekindle their romance after most of their adult lives spent apart? I couldn’t say for sure. But learning that Genevieve Clements had made the ultimate sacrifice –to leave her sweetheart behind –to do what she thought was right for her family, made me wonder if maybe she had waited all her life to put right the decision she had regretted most.
‘I think they’ll be OK.’
I looked up to see Ethan Gardner smiling at me. ‘I hope so. She might never forgive me for setting her up.’
‘Maybe. But you made Dad smile and I haven’t seen him look that happy for years. I’d take that as a good sign. So, do we wait?’
‘I suppose so.’ I peered through the glass door but couldn’t see their table.
‘Well, I think I should get a coffee while I’m waiting.’ He held out his hand, his blue eyes –so like his father’s –intent on mine. ‘Shall we?’
Heart racing, I reached out and felt his warm fingers close around mine. And as we walked through the doors, I smiled to myself.
I love my job.
Catherine King
CATHERINE KING was born in Rotherham, South Yorkshire. A search for her roots –her father, grandfather and great-grandfather all worked with coal, steel or iron –and an interest in local industrial history provide inspiration for her stories.
The Yorkshire Dales, Spring, 1905
Bright sun streamed into the warm kitchen and Meg felt her excitement bubbling. She hoped Jacob would be at the Mission today and she looked forward to spending time on her appearance before she went out. She could hardly wait to see him again.
‘My, that was a grand dinner, Meg.’ Her father scraped back his chair and stretched out his legs.
‘Thank you, Father.’ Roast beef and Yorkshire pudding with fresh greens from the garden was his favourite Sunday dinner and she hoped it had put him in a good mood. He wouldn’t be happy when she told him she was going out. She stood up and said, ‘I’ll get on with the washing-up now. Would you like a cup of tea?’
‘We’ll have it later, love. My roly-poly pudding hasn’t gone down yet.’
That meant tea in the middle of the afternoon and Meg wanted to be at the Mission Hall by half past three.
Meg loved her father. He was a good parent to all of his six children, even though they were scattered across the county. As youngsters, they never went short of shoes or night school fees for the boys, and he still worked hard at the quarry all week. But she was the youngest and the others had grown up and gone.
Meg had helped her mother cook Sunday dinner for years and had run the household since Mother had been taken from them two years ago. It had been just before Meg’s eighteenth birthday; her elder sister had married and only two of her brothers had been living at home then. Now the boys were young men and had good jobs and lodgings in Bradford and Sheffield. So there was only Meg left to look after Father.
He was wedded to his routine. Meg thought she had done the right thing by keeping it going when Mother died. But recently she had noticed that he was becoming more set in his ways and dependent on her. She didn’t want to grow old as a spinster looking after her aging father. She was already twenty and her friends were beginning to marry.
Meg cleared the table and washed up in the scullery while father enjoyed a pipe of tobacco in his easy chair by the kitchen fire. The casement clock in the hall chimed. She dried her hands and said, ‘Well, that’s all done for today. I said I’d meet Sally to help out at the Mission Hall this afternoon.’
‘Don’t you want to give me a hand in the garden?’ Father sounded hurt. ‘Your mother used like sowing seeds on a sunny day.’
I’m not Mother, Meg answered silently. She felt disloyal. Her mother and father had been close and had brought up their six children to support each other. She had loved Mother as much as he had. A tear threatened and she pulled herself together. Why don’t I tell him about Jacob? she thought. Because there’s nothing to say yet, and there never will be if I can’t get out and meet him on a Sunday.
‘Isn’t Sally stepping out with a young man?’ Father queried.
‘She is. Robert’s a clerk in an office now.’
Father nodded with approval. ‘She’s done well for herself.’
Meg cheered up at this comment. At least