“Will You Wait for Me?”
How quickly time flies. Before she knew it, she was nearly fifty. It felt like only yesterday she was young, vibrant. Emily glanced at herself in the mirror—tilting her head this way and that. Nothing but disappointment. Still, they say you must love yourself no matter what. Very well. But what exactly was there to love? Dark circles under her eyes, downturned lips, fine lines, a sadness in her gaze. Best not to dwell on such “beauty.”
She’d never done backbreaking work—no factory shifts, no heavy lifting. Just a lifetime spent in a warm, well-lit office shuffling papers. Yet time had etched itself onto her face all the same.
Emily sighed. “Why am I so worked up? Who even looks at me anymore? There are plenty of younger women out there. Just calm down. Breathe,” she ordered herself. And she did—deep breaths, one after another. “So what if Michael’s back? He’s forgotten all about me. Years have passed…”
***
“Em, fancy a film?” asked Mike, flushing crimson right up to his ears.
“What’s showing?” Emily feigned indifference, though her heart leapt in her chest.
“Forgot the name, but my mates saw it—said it was good.”
“I like romances. Or adventures,” she mused, noticing how his face fell. “Fine, let’s go. When?”
“Right now?” Mike brightened.
Emily hesitated. No chores from Mum, and homework could wait. No need to ask permission—she was at work.
“Alright,” she agreed.
The cinema was quiet—midweek matinee. Lights dimmed, the film began: car chases, gunfights. Emily stole glances at Mike’s profile, lit by the screen. Then—the hero rescued the girl, their lips met. Emily tensed, cheeks burning. Mike leaned closer, fingers brushing hers. Her heart fluttered. Surely he’d kiss her cheek now… But no. Back to the chase scenes. She sat frozen, barely breathing, until the credits rolled.
Outside, winter dusk settled. They walked home, Mike recounting the film as if she hadn’t been there. Awkward silences punctuated his chatter. She waited for his hand to find hers—but his gestures occupied both, one clutching her schoolbag. At her gate, she paused.
“Shall I go?” She took her bag, unlatching the fence.
“Em… Fancy another film?” His voice wavered with fear of refusal.
She turned. Twilight hid his face, but she knew. “Yes!” Laughing, she dashed inside.
They went again—and this time, the moment the lights dimmed, his hand found hers and stayed. Sometimes they just walked. Mike, a year out of school, faced conscription come spring. He worked at his dad’s garage, avoiding university.
Once, he even kissed her—barely a brush at the corner of her lips. She’d feared he never would. Happiness had never felt so light.
Spring came. Mike left. The night before, he’d thrown pebbles at her window. She’d slipped outside to find him tipsy.
“I leave at dawn. Will you wait for me?”
“Of course,” she whispered. How could he doubt? No one else existed.
Then Mum called her in. She rose on tiptoes, kissed his warm cheek, and fled.
Dad had drunk himself to death years ago—frozen in a snowdrift. Mum had moved on. Emily, uneasy in the new man’s presence, left for the city after school—just an hour-and-a-half by coach. Mum barely protested, handing over a bit of cash, waving her off with what seemed like relief.
First, she stayed with a friend’s relatives. Bookkeeping courses led to a job, then a rented room. Mike never wrote. Didn’t matter. She waited anyway.
Rare visits home grew rarer when Mum’s rounding belly caught her eye. A pang—this new child would get the love she hadn’t. At forty, Mum seemed too old for babies. Embarrassed, Emily stopped visiting.
Until Mike’s return.
A friend wrote: his parents expected him that weekend. The little brother—also Mike—now toddled about. Each time she said his name, her heart ached.
She kept darting outside, scanning the lane. But Michael never came. At the shop, his mother sighed—delayed, bringing a fiancée from his posting.
That night, Emily wept. At dawn, she fled back to the city.
Six months later, she married. Why? No one pushed her. It was a mistake—he sneered at her “country” roots, boasted she was lucky to have him. Football and pints with mates filled his days. She tried to speak up.
“Don’t like it? No one’s keeping you. You won’t do better.”
No children, thankfully. She left as she’d arrived.
Work granted a tiny bedsit—a kitchenette, at least. Years on, she bought a flat. Mum, stepdad, and brother visited, bearing news: Michael had divorced, moved North.
“You should marry. Flat’s sorted. Time for kids,” Mum said over tea, once the men dozed off. “Plenty of fish in the sea.”
“How would you know?” Emily snapped.
Men courted her, but Emily—shy, teetotal, disinterested in clubs—remained alone, a relic dreaming of pure love.
Her baby brother married, bringing his wife to stay a week. Over homemade jam, she chattered:
“Michael came back two months ago. Flash car—made fortune at sea. Health forced him ashore. Stayed a month, then left. Bought a place here, they say.”
Emily waited—any mention of his wife? But the talk moved on. She didn’t dare ask.
Now she scanned every crowd, every shop. Once, she called out to a stranger who resembled him. His eager smile sent her fleeing.
Pathetic, seeing him in every face. He’d long forgotten her.
***
Summer arrived. Women donned bright dresses, heels. Emily appraised herself: a little heavier—no crisis. Hair needed dye. Face… Well, nothing to be done. Not an actress; no money for lifts.
“Better he remembers me young,” she sighed.
At the salon, the barber—swift, skilled—left her auburn-haired, youth restored. Strangers’ appreciative glances warmed her walk home. But new shoes bit her feet.
The tram was packed. At her stop, a voice called her name. She turned—but whose?
“Going or not?” Irritated murmurs. Again, her name.
Deep in the carriage, someone shoved toward her. But the crowd pushed her out—doors slammed shut. She stared after the tram.
Was it him? Probably not.
Home, she kicked off her shoes. “If it was him, he knows my stop now. If he wants to find me… But would he? Not likely.”
But it *had* been Michael. Tangled in a handbag strap, he’d lost her again.
Emily… Unchanged. Why had he ever fallen for the captain’s daughter? Lies, manipulation. And now—so close!
Perhaps not lost? Maybe fate would relent.
Next evening, Emily alighted early—a quick errand. Head down, she navigated fresh blisters. Then—a man blocked her path.
She looked up. Older, weathered, but unmistakable.
“Mike…” She stepped into his embrace, both holding tight—afraid the moment might vanish.
**Life’s lesson:** Some ties never fray, no matter how much time passes. Love, unspoken or lost, leaves echoes—and sometimes, just sometimes, the heart gets a second chance.
