James had been staring at his phone for ages, putting it off. Finally, he took a deep breath and hit the call button. One ring, then another… “No, I can’t do this,” he muttered, cursing himself for chickening out—just as a familiar voice crackled through the speaker.
“Oi, you old git! Where’ve you been hiding?”
“Hey. Just been busy, you know how it is…”
“Everything alright? Need a hand?” His mate didn’t miss a beat.
“Nah, all good. How’s things with you?”
“Not bad. Though our Lily’s been a right handful lately. Blimey, she’s fallen hard—proper loved up, I reckon. One minute she’s bawling her eyes out, next she’s dancing round the kitchen. Out all hours or glued to her room. Clams up if we ask, too. Speaking of—still not tied the knot, then?”
James swallowed like he was about to jump off a diving board. Here it was—the slippery question.
“Nope. But… I reckon I might soon,” he said, voice gone hoarse.
“Bloody hell, someone’s finally cracked you? About time, mate. Don’t you dare skip us on the invite. I’ll have your hide.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
“Planning to swing by?”
James had braced for this. No turning back now.
“Actually… I’m back. Been here a while.”
“What? You daft sod! Staying in some hotel? Sarah’ll throttle you. When you coming over?”
“Hold your horses—I’ve not even caught my breath,” James laughed. “I’ll pop round sometime.”
He’d been back six months. No need for his mate to know that—flat hunting, sorting work, and his dad had been poorly. Mostly, though, he’d stayed clear because of Lily.
“None of that ‘sometime’ rubbish. Hear me? I know your tricks. Get your arse over here now,” Michael barked.
“Bit late tonight. Tomorrow,” James promised.
“Better not stand us up. I’ll tell Sarah—she’ll be chuffed.”
First step done. If only Michael knew the can of worms he’d just opened. Lily’d be proud. Him? Acting like some nervy lad scared to face his girlfriend’s parents. “Lily’s got guts, keeping schtum. Christ, I held her when she was a newborn. And now I want to marry her.”
But let’s rewind…
***
They’d been thick as thieves since uni—Michael, James, and Sarah. Both lads fell hard for the same brilliant, stunning girl. She had admirers, but none stood a chance against those two. They rowed over her, neither backing down. If Sarah suspected the storm raging between them, she played clueless—never picked sides, never led them on.
It nearly came to blows. Then they shook hands: whoever she chose, fair play. But they still scrapped for her attention. Sarah? Unfazed. So they waited.
Third year, she started eyeing James. His chest puffed up. Michael? Gutted. But a deal’s a deal—he ghosted lectures just to avoid them.
James turned up at Michael’s with whisky. They drank all night. By dawn, James knew—he didn’t love Sarah like Michael did. The bloke was half-dead without her.
Easy fix: James faked a fling. Sarah went nuclear—tears, shouting, calling him every name under the sun. Right on cue, she leant on Michael.
And oh, how he loved her. Soon, she loved him back—properly. James ached, sure, but he never regretted it. Neither of them guessed his hand in their happiness.
They married right after graduation. James was best man. Nine months later, Sarah had a girl. Both lads huddled in the hospital, grinning like fools with flowers. The midwife hesitated—who got the pink-swaddled bundle?
Michael stepped up, then shoved her at James.
“Take her—I’ll drop her, I’m shaking that bad,” he whispered.
James peered into the blanket. A tiny miracle: rosebud lips, button nose, cheeks like velvet. His heart swelled so hard his eyes stung. “She could’ve been mine.”
Days later, James vanished—first to Newcastle, then up north. Visits home were rare. Lily grew into Sarah’s double: scrapgly plaits to sleek beauty. He envied their joy. Never found “the one” himself—close, but no ring.
***
Lily? Always special. Maybe from that first glimpse in hospital. This visit, he barely recognised her—so grown, so like young Sarah. No more bounding hugs or cheek kisses. Just shy glances. He put it down to teenage awkwardness.
His holiday flew. Parents ageing, he mulled moving back. They said goodbye at dawn—early train to Heathrow, then a flight to Edinburgh.
The carriage was near empty. James shut his eyes, hoping to nap. Opposite, someone sat. He felt eyes on him—opened. Lily. Bloody hell.
“What’re you doing here?”
“Seeing you off.” Her voice didn’t waver. “You don’t take me seriously, but I love you.”
His stomach dropped.
“I love you too—like a daughter.” He kept calm. “Your parents’ll be frantic. Next stop, you’re going home.”
She didn’t flinch. “Knew you’d say that.” No tears, just steady words that pinned him down. This wasn’t a kid—this was a woman who knew her mind.
“I loved your mum once. You know that. I’m thirty-seven. If I say yes? By the time you’re my age, I’ll be an old man. You’ll resent me. People’ll pity you. You’ll find someone young—”
“You’re overthinking,” she cut in, switching to *you*. “What if I don’t *live* to see you old? Life’s fragile. Either way, I’ll break your heart. So why not be happy first?”
Cheeky sod had rehearsed this. James faltered.
“We could just talk. Calls, texts. I’ve got school, then uni. But don’t expect me to fancy some daft boy instead.”
“What if *I* meet someone?” He rallied.
“Doubt it. You just said you love me.” The train slowed. She kissed him—properly—then strode off without looking back.
At Heathrow, she rang. Chattered nonsense. His chest clenched—no woman ever got under his skin like this.
Daily calls followed. If she missed one, he’d pace like a lost dog. Emails full of poetry. He replied carefully—parents might read.
Skype calls were worst. Pre-prom, she’d twirl in her dress, demanding his verdict. So bloody young. So bloody gorgeous.
He’d beg her to forget him, lie about meeting someone. Radio silence would follow. Relief? Yes. But aching emptiness too. Then she’d ring—”I never believed you”—and the cycle restarted.
His dad’s heart attack sped up his move home. Surgery in London, then a flat near his parents. He didn’t tell Michael or Sarah. Because of Lily.
He dodged places she might be—until he bumped into her. The missing her hit like a lorry. They met up, chaste as saints (though it near killed him). He made her swear: he’d tell her parents.
Now, that moment loomed. Pricey wine, roses for Sarah, violets for Lily (her favourite). Reunions were warm. Michael had a dad-bod and thinning hair. James? Sarah said he’d barely aged.
Old stories flowed. Lily sat quiet, sneaking glances. Michael clocked it.
“Fag break,” he grunted.
On the landing, he jabbed James. “Spill.”
James did. Apologised. Said he’d fought it tooth and nail.
“So what—I keel over? Disappear? Your call.”
“This revenge for Sarah? Lily pregnant?” Michael snarled.
“Piss off. I kept hands off Sarah, let alone your kid. Maybe I should go.”
Lily turned up at his place past midnight—first tears he’d seen. Post-drama at home. He made tea, drove her back. Stone-cold sober.
“Come in,” Michael sighed. “What’re we meant to do? She’ll just bolt again. Fine. Marry her. But she finishes uni.”
“You’re the best!” Lily tackled her dad.
They wed quietly—just family. Lily glowed. Their first dance had everyone sniffling. Then their wedding night…
James had never been happier. Realised he’d loved her since that pink blanket in hospital.
Then Sarah got sick. Michael was a ghost. James pulled every favour, sold his car, emptied his savings—sent them to Germany for treatment.
She rallied. For how long? Time’d tell. Lily? Dropped another bombshell.
“Mum, we need you. I can’t doAnd as Lily nestled their newborn son into Sarah’s trembling arms, James knew—no matter how twisted the road, love had stitched their lives together in a way no one could unravel.
