Two heartwarming short story for you to enjoy

Who’s this woman who looks about four feet tall?” I say. Mum smiles at the photo. “Aunt Hannah. Don’t be deceived: she was the original pocket dynamo.”

“You knew her?”

Mum swipes my arm. “How old do you think I am? Your nan said she was not a woman to cross. I think she was a great-aunt – I lose track.”

I look at the photos on my nan’s table: solemn couples posing in front of traditional Jewish wedding canopies. They are at odds with smiling aunt Hannah.

“Why are all the pictures of weddings?”

“Probably the only time poor people like our ancestors splashed out on a photographer.”

“She looks cute.”

Mum nods. “some in the family say she wields influence from beyond the grave, and still plays her part in our lives.”

“Gosh, mum, don’t go all Most Haunted on me. Is this the last stuff to sort?”

My lovely nan died some months ago. I volunteered to help clear the house, and far from being a chore, it’s been fun. I’ve discovered so much about our family history. But today I long to be outdoors. “Nearly done.”

“I said I’d probably put in a couple of hours at the project.”

“That gardening thing?” My eyes flash.

“It’s an environmental project to reclaim waste land and build a community garden.”

“Gardening,” mum insists. “it’s a strange hobby for someone your age. Are there any young people?”

“You mean young men.” “No. Well, yes.”

“Most of the volunteers are retired, because they have more time. there are some teenagers doing Duke of Edinburgh, and Amy, who’s the project coordinator. She’s around my age. She’s great.” “But Rachel –”

“Leave it, mum.”

“It’s – well – it’s been over a year now, and...”

“And I’m fine.” I plant a firm kiss on her forehead.

Puddles fill roadside potholes, waiting to splash my car. I swerve around them as I join the backed-up traffic.

Mum’s right, of course. It’s been 14 months since the man I thought I was going to spend my life with decided he had other plans.

I’m a cliché – the almost-30 singleton whose friends are all in relationships.

It’s tough sometimes, but not everyone is like mum, who married her childhood sweetheart, even if he did move away and then reappear years later. This eco-project is the first thing I’ve done on my own for years, and I love it. Whatever mum thinks. Cars crawl forward, bouncing in and out of potholes. As we approach traffic lights, a leather-clad motorcyclist cuts me up and sprays my beautiful clean car with filthy water. I shriek, and am rewarded with a visor framed smirk.

“I’m glad you’ve come,” Amy says. “come inside for a coffee before you start.”

This little caravan, the charity’s HQ, is a special place to me. Amy has been like a sister, encouraging me to buy my flat and make a new start. Today she’s preoccupied. “Thing is,” she says, “i wanted to tell you before the others. I’m leaving.”

“You can’t!”

“The charity is sending a new coordinator who’ll be here next week. there’s a new project nearer home.

“Mick and I will get more time together. We might even start that family we keep talking about.”

“Amy, I’m going to miss you so much.”

“Me, too. I’m so sorry.” “Don’t be.” I hug her. “i’m happy for you.”

The week flies by. Work takes every waking minute, and as I stop at the farm shop on Friday I’m relishing a weekend at the project.

I’m choosing tomatoes when I hear a voice. “What are the chances?” It’s him: the cutter-upper on the motorbike.

I scowl and he raises apologetic palms.

“Oh, dear. I did make you mad, didn’t I?”

Without the helmet he’s very good-looking, with dancing dark eyes.

“I’d just washed my car!” I sound like a petulant fiveyear-old, so all at once I can’t help laughing.

“In my defence, I’d had worse done to me by lots of cars already. I’d decided to get my own back.”

“On me?”

“Sorry. Very immature of me, I realise.”

He smiles, and in my stomach a flicker of something flares into life.

“Bye, then,” I say, squashing it.

It’s a strange hobby for someone your age. Are there any young people?

I’m first at the project on Saturday. Amy has given me the keys, so I open the caravan, put the kettle on and stand on the step inhaling that wonderful earthy morning smell.

I’ve learned so much here: about gardening and myself.

I will never again be the needy person I was before, and that’s got to be good for any new relationship – if and when I feel ready to begin one.

Amy’s car pulls up, followed by a motorbike.

“Hello again, you,” he says, removing his helmet.

He smiles, and my stomach does that fizzy thing it did the first time.

“Hello.”

“Rachel, this is Luke – the new coordinator.” “What are the chances?” “Clearly not low enough.” “You know each other?” “You could say that.” “Right.” amy gives me a wink.“i’ll go and make the coffee and let you show Luke the ropes.”

“So it was just a series of coincidences, how we got together,” I tell mum.

“Like your dad and me.” She smiles. “you have your aunt Hannah to thank. I said she still has influence in the family.”

“I don’t understand.” “Oh, didn’t I say?” Mum’s eyes twinkle with laughter. “That’s what she did, back in the day: she was the village matchmaker.”