The Secret In a quiet English village that felt more like a sleepy hamlet, there once lived a girl…

The Secret

In a small English village that fancied itself more of a bustling town (although it fooled no one), there lived a young girl called Imogen. One afternoon, her mother, an incorrigible believer in horoscopes, tarot cards, and anything labelled spiritual guidance, dragged Imogen off to see the villages resident fortune teller.

The fortune teller, who looked like shed stepped straight out of a BBC drama, spread her cards with great ceremony and declared, Your Imogen will be happy, very happy. Everything will work out grand. The only thing is I dont see any man beside her.

Imogen was about ten, and though she didnt entirely follow the cryptic forecast, the old womans mysterious words stuck in her mind.

Years ticked by. Imogen blossomed into a striking and self-assured young woman. All the local lads were hopelessly besotted, but she never settled for just one. Shed date Tom for a bit, then perhaps Charlie, then back to Tom againit was all very companionably indecisive.

Despite good grades, Imogen never left to study at university. She stayed put and got a job at the local dairy. Rumour had it she was seeing one of the managers, although no one ever saw them together.

The older ladies at the dairy would warn the new girls, Careful, Imogen, dont dawdle here too long, or youll blink and miss your prime! Best to head off to the city, love. With your looks and smarts, theyd snap you up before you stepped off the train.

Imogen always grinned and offered no reply.

Then, with the subtlety of a brass band, news spread across the village: Imogens up the duff!

Everyone launched into a grand debatewho, when, how had the village beauty been so lucky? Wild guesses flew, but no one could pin down the father.

Imogens mother, never one for lengthy consideration, immediately let fly: Well, youve made your bed! Shame on you! Dont count on me for help. If you can bring a child into the world, you can raise one. And while were at it, think about where youll live. Ill give you a month. Then youre on your own, missy.

Alright, Mum, Imogen replied serenely. Ill go. But dont come chasing after me later.

Two weeks later, Imogen bought a cosy little cottage, complete with essential homeware. The neighbours said shed lucked out; the previous owners kids had whisked her off to London and flogged the house for a song. How Imogen mustered even that sum, especially while expecting, remained the juiciest village mystery.

Then, the extraordinary happened. Within weeks, Imogen had the cottage transformed: repainted, fenced, even a shiny new well appeared out the back. A crew of workmen would come and go, knocking out jobs in record time.

Next, folks spied lorry deliveries bringing Imogen shiny kitchen gadgets and sleek new furniture. Imogen herself beamed bright as ever, far from the image of a deserted damsel.

By autumn, Imogens sonyoung Archiearrived. The garden gate to her impeccable cottage now framed a sparkling blue pram. Imogen bounced back swiftly. If anything, she looked even better than beforealways upright, sharply dressed, and marching past the bakery with enviable confidence.

At home, she worked hard: baby Archie, a veg patch, keeping the fire going, popping to the shop, and mountains of laundrylife was full-on. But she took it in stride; hard work never fazed her. Complaints were not her style.

Once the older neighbours realised what a solid, decent sort Imogen was, friendships blossomed. Some even babysat Archie when she popped out. Why not help?

Occasionally, a neighbours husband would dig the garden beds, or the ladies would help weed. Mostly though, Imogen did it all herself.

When Archie was nearly two, one neighbour dashed to another, wide-eyed: Did you see?
See what?
Our Imogenshes expecting again!
Oh, youre seeing things!
I most certainly am not! Go and have a look!

And so village speculation reignited: who had fathered beautys next child? Not a clue emergedno one glimpsed Imogen with a potential suitor, ever.

Imogen ignored the whispers and lived her life. Now, a tidy little sauna popped up beside her cottage. The gas company, out of nowhere, rerouted pipes and connected her up. A gleaming polycarbonate greenhouse sprouted in her back gardennot the cheapest sort, either.

Well, where on earth is she getting all this dosh? chattered the locals. Clearly shes got a secret admirer with deep pocketssome big cheese, no doubt. Yet Imogens secret remained, well, secret.

In due course, the familiar blue pram returned. Now Archie had a little brother, Oliver. Two years on, little Harry joined the clan. Imogen now had three sons, and no one in the village had any idea who their fathers might be.

Some folks laughed at her, others called her mad. But seeing healthy, happy children and Imogens tireless work ethicclean house, no drinking, always workingmany quietly admired her guts.

Some residents gossiped, tut-tutted, and sternly waved the moral finger for the benefit of their own daughters.

Imogens mum didnt understand her, dodged the grandkids, and offered no help. But Imogen held her head high, ignoring the world.

Time marched on until, one day, a sleek black car purred up outside Imogens cottage. Out stepped Mr. William Edwards, the well-loved director of the dairy, clutching a truly heroic bouquet. He headed inside, and soon, a small crowd clustered outsidethe whole village, basically.

Whats going on? someone whispered. Whys Mr. Edwards at Imogens in broad daylightwith flowers, no less?

It was common knowledge that, a year ago, Mr. Edwards had buried his wife, whom hed nursed devotedly for years. Hed hired carers, yes, but never left his wifes side.

When Imogen emerged with her guest, the congregation was so thick she faltered. Mr. Edwards drew her in and, sotto voce for all to hear, declared, Imogens agreed to marry me. We, and our boys, invite you all to the wedding.

You could hear a dropped pin. Every eye stared as if seeing them for the first time. Only now did everyone notice just how much Imogens boys resembled Mr. Edwards…

Then the cheers and congratulations erupted from every quarter.

After the weddinggrand, well-attended, and the source of even richer gossipWilliam Edwards moved Imogen and the boys into his fancy home. Everyone pitched in to help shift her belongings.

Another year went by, and the family welcomed a long-awaited daughter

So much for fortune tellersbelieve them at your peril.