The Little Box with a Ring
Emily and James had been friends since primary school. They lived in the same block of flats, just a few doors apart, and shared a classroom for years. For the first two years, James’s nan would pick them up after school. Emily’s mum worked shifts, and her dad was always away on business.
“Em, love, come round for tea,” James’s nan would offer every time.
Walking home, Emily’s heart would flutter, hoping Nan wouldn’t forget to invite her. She loved the thick, hearty soups, the shepherd’s pie, or the simple baked beans on toast.
“Have you eaten anything at all? Who do I cook for, then? Like you’re starving at home!” her mum would scold, poking at the fridge in the evening.
Emily would say eating alone was dull, that Nan had invited her, and she couldn’t say no. But by Year Three, they switched to afternoon classes. Nan stopped asking Emily over because her mum was home by then. Soon, she stopped meeting them altogether.
“Seriously? I’m not a baby. No one else gets picked up—just me. Embarrassing,” James snapped when Emily asked why Nan didn’t come anymore.
Emily noticed James didn’t wait for her by the lockers anymore. He’d dash off while she was still bundling into her coat. Or he’d walk with the lads, ignoring Emily trailing behind.
At school, he avoided her. The boys teased them, calling them “hubby and wifey.” Emily sulked. When he begged to copy her homework, she refused, chin jutting up.
By sixth form, most of their mates were dating. James stopped caring what anyone thought. They walked home together again. He’d drop by to borrow her notes or work on projects.
One day, Emily came home to find her mum in tears.
“Did something happen to Dad?” she panicked.
“Something happened. He left us. For some other woman. Hope he rots.”
Mum shut down after that—crying or staring blankly. The flat felt suffocating. Emily dreaded going home. Then James’s nan fell ill, forgetting even to eat. He had to watch her till his parents got back, making sure she didn’t wander off or leave the gas on. They only saw each other in class.
Before A-levels, everyone buzzed about uni plans. Emily knew they couldn’t afford it, so she enrolled in college. James got into university.
Now they barely met, except by chance on the street. At first, they’d exchange a few words. Then just nods. Sometimes, Emily spotted James with a girl. He’d pretend not to see her.
She burned with jealousy. She liked James—maybe loved him, maybe just missed their friendship. Seeing him with someone else twisted her insides.
In her final year, a new teacher arrived—fresh out of teacher training. He blushed around the girls, hiding behind thick black glasses.
One rainy spring afternoon, Emily stood under the college eaves, regretting forgetting her umbrella.
Mr. Thompson stepped out, unearthing a brolly from his briefcase.
“Emily, how far d’you live?” he asked suddenly.
“Four stops on the bus,” she said.
“I’ve got my car. Can drop you.”
“Oh, no, Mr. Thompson. It’ll clear up soon.”
“Doubt it. Come on.” He shielded her with the umbrella, steering her to a silver Ford.
He drove without his glasses.
“You can see without them?” Emily eyed him.
He grinned. “Plain glass. Wear ‘em to look the part. But keep that quiet, yeah?”
“Alright,” she said.
*Not bad-looking without the specs,* she thought.
“Enjoying college? Planning to work or try uni?” he asked, suddenly casual, dropping the “sir.”
Emily matched his tone. Why not? He was only a few years older.
At her door, he walked her under the brolly, though the rain had nearly stopped.
He gave her lifts after that. She realised he waited for her on purpose. They even caught films, shared ice cream at the café. She always called him “Mr. Thompson”—in his suit and glasses, he seemed so proper. It flattered her, a teacher fancying her. Her friends were green.
One Sunday, he turned up at theirs with flowers and chocolates. Over tea, Mum grilled him—his job, his degree, why he taught. Emily stared at the table.
“Emily’s job-hunting,” Mum said, dragging her into it.
“That’s actually why I’m here,” he said. “We’ve a teaching post free next term. I’d like to propose Emily.”
“Really? Em, did you hear?” Mum lit up.
“I don’t want to teach. Not for me. Sorry, Mr. Thompson.” She met his eyes.
He flushed, reaching to adjust glasses he wasn’t wearing.
“I actually came to…” He cleared his throat. “Margaret, I came to ask for Emily’s hand.”
Mum gaped at him, then at Emily.
“I know it’s sudden. You’ll need time. I’ve got a car—old, but I’ll upgrade. A flat. She’ll want for nothing,” he rushed, mostly to Mum.
“This is… Em, why so quiet? You’ve shocked her, Mr. Thompson. She needs to think—” Mum babbled on.
*At least a ring box would’ve been nice,* Emily nearly said. *Clumsy git. Who proposes over tea?* She’d dreamed of something romantic, not squeezed between biscuits.
Both groom and mum stared, waiting.
“I… need time. Sorry,” she managed.
“Lovely meeting you,” Mum hinted, escorting him out.
“You really like him?” she asked, back in the kitchen.
Emily shrugged.
“Well, he’s got a car, a flat. Maybe say yes. Up to you.”
What was there to think? She wouldn’t marry him—not this bumbler who couldn’t even propose properly.
“Oh, ran into James’s mum. Bragging he’s finishing his degree in London.”
“You didn’t tell me? When’s he leaving?” Emily’s stomach lurched.
“When should I? Your ‘fiancé’ turned up, didn’t he? He’s already gone.”
When Mr. Thompson returned a week later—same flowers, same chocolates, still no ring—Emily said yes.
Mum gave her a look.
“Maybe you’re right. Love fades, but a flat and car won’t.”
After a dreary registry office do came drearier married life. Mark (she couldn’t call him “Mr. Thompson” now) prepped lectures evenings. No dates, no talks of the future. Even nights together were dull. She didn’t love him, never would. They lived side by side, never touching, like train tracks.
One evening, popping into Mum’s, she found Dad there. Mum blushed like a schoolgirl, eyes bright.
“We’re giving it another go. He missed me. It didn’t work out with her,” Mum whispered when Dad stepped onto the balcony for a smoke.
“I’m happy for you. Really,” Emily said.
She walked home near tears. Her parents loved each other. Were happy. And her? The thought of Mark made her numb. Predictable as clock hands.
They lasted two years, never growing closer. Leave? But where? Not back to Mum and Dad’s new start.
At home, she cooked dinner, called Mark. He ate hunched, terrified of spills. He never changed out of his work shirts, just shed the blazer. Watching him chew, hatred boiled in her. Was this her whole life?
“I think we should split. I can’t do this. I don’t love you.”
Mark looked up. He wore glasses full-time now. Behind them, his stare was teacher-stern, like she’d botched an answer.
“When did you—”
“Now.” She stood, heading to the bedroom.
Packing, she felt light, almost giddy.
“I’ll drive you,” Mark said, shrugging on his blazer.
“Taxi’s coming. Just help with the bags. I’ll return the suitcase.”
Mum gasped at the door.
“You left him?”
“Yeah. Can I stay a bit? Won’t be in the way.”
“‘Course.” Dad emerged, hauling her case to her old room. Nothing had changed.
“About time. You were frozen stiff with him. You’ll thaw. Plenty more fish,” Dad said.
“Ta, Dad.” She hugged him, sniffling.
That night, sleepless, she wondered—was this an end or a beginning? She overheard Mum and Dad whispering about her.
Summer arrived suddenly. Or maybe it just felt that way. Emily revelled in the green, the heat, as if waking up. She filed for divorce the next day. It was quick.
Mark replaced her with a student. Emily wasn’t rushing into anything, turning men down.
Walking home, sun on her face, she felt light, like she’d dropped aThe following summer, beneath the shade of an old oak tree in Hyde Park, James finally slipped the little box with a ring into Emily’s hand, and this time, it felt like coming home.
