**The Fortune**
“Oh, come on, stop sulking! You’ll love it there—sea, beach, sunshine…” Emily said, trying to catch her daughter’s gaze.
But Lily stubbornly turned to the train window, where endless fields and low vineyards stretched past. The motorway beside the tracks blurred with toy-like cars speeding by in the morning haze. Distant hills flickered in and out of view under the glare of the sun, making her eyes ache. Lily checked her phone for the hundredth time that morning, then tossed it aside in irritation.
*Ah, the agonies of first love,* Emily thought, sighing inwardly. Out loud, she said, “Probably just no signal. Once we get there…”
“Mum, enough,” Lily muttered, slumping back against her seat.
“Emma’s house is on a hill—you can see the sea from the windows. Sometimes you can even hear it! And the garden! The air!” Emily babbled on. “You’ll see for yourself in a few hours.”
“Don’t tell me she’s got a son,” Lily shot her a glare.
“She does. Not her own, though. Emma never had children. Raised someone else’s boy—he’s away at uni now. Exams, so you probably won’t meet him.”
“You said she was your friend. How’d you even meet if she lives down south and you’re from Surrey?” Lily asked.
“Oh, that’s a good story. Want to hear it?”
Lily gave a half-hearted shrug, eyes still fixed on the monotonous scenery.
***
Emma and I grew up on neighbouring streets, went to school together. Not that she was a classic beauty, but her hair—light blond, curly, practically glowing in the sun—made people turn their heads. I liked that some of the attention rubbed off on me. Before finals, our class went boating, then walked through the town gardens. That’s where she met a bloke and fell head over heels. We saw less of each other—I didn’t want to intrude. When we did meet, all she’d talk about was him.
She’d dreamed of acting, wanted to study at drama school in London. But love won—she enrolled in the same polytechnic as her Michael so they wouldn’t be apart. I went to uni.
Whenever we met, we’d talk for hours. A year later, right before exams, Michael proposed. You should’ve seen her—radiant!
We went dress shopping with her mum. Tried on everything. Emma looked flawless in all of them—take your pick. Even picked out a veil. She insisted I get a blue dress too, as her bridesmaid. Exhausting day. Her mum took a cab home with the bags, while we strolled along the promenade. Late May, warm as summer.
Emma turned heads left and right, oblivious. We ate ice cream, giggled about the wedding.
Then two fortune-tellers approached. They’d been pestering everyone. A plump one blocked our path, simpering at Emma:
“Ooh, pretty girl, let me tell your future. The whole truth, love.”
The other one hung back—scrawny, sour-faced, teeth so big her mouth wouldn’t close. Looked like a horse, honestly. Emma said the same later.
“I already know my future,” Emma laughed, licking her ice cream.
We tried to sidestep her, but the woman grabbed Emma’s wrist, peered at her palm, and tutted.
“A wedding, sweetheart.”
“I *know*,” Emma tried pulling free, but the woman held tight.
“We don’t need fortunes. We’ve no money,” I cut in.
“Joy costs, but sorrow’s free,” the woman said, sending shivers down my spine.
She stared at Emma, almost hypnotising her. The younger one smirked—or maybe that was just her teeth.
“Don’t listen. Let’s go,” I tugged Emma’s arm.
“You love deep, but happiness won’t last. You’ll fall from a horse at your wedding, be in pain. The sea will heal you. You’ll never marry again. But you’ll find joy in a son,” the woman rattled off, unblinking.
Then she let go and walked away. The younger one scowled at us before scurrying after. We walked in silence, our cheer gone. Those words clung like burrs.
“Emma, you’re not taking that seriously, are you? You’re not planning to ride some knackered old nag in your wedding dress! We’re using cars. She barely glanced at your palm—how could she see anything?” I tried to laugh it off.
“True. Not getting on any horse,” Emma said, snapping out of it.
“She was just bitter we didn’t pay her,” I said, and we giggled weakly.
After exams, the wedding was set. A seaside honeymoon—someone gifted them a trip. We forgot about the fortune-teller.
Wedding day arrived. Groom due any minute. We stood in Emma’s room by the mirror. Adjusting her veil, she suddenly said:
“My dad calls his Land Rover ‘the stallion.’ I’m not riding in it.”
“Good. Take another car,” I agreed.
“No cars. The registry’s close—we’re walking,” she beamed at me in the mirror.
“Imagine that—a bride in full regalia strutting through town!” We laughed nervously.
Convincing Michael was a battle. Parents objected. But Emma dug her heels in: walk or no wedding.
Nothing happened. To Mendelssohn’s march, they exchanged rings, kissed, became husband and wife. Now surely they’d take a car? Nope. Emma insisted on photos in the park—gorgeous with its flowerbeds and ivy-covered arches.
“Hop on the carousel for a shot!” the photographer suggested.
A merry-go-round, bright with painted wooden horses. Michael helped Emma onto a white one, took another himself. I arranged her dress and veil just so, stepped back. Music started; the carousel spun. They reached for each other, laughing. The photographer snapped away.
“Mum, look! A bride on a white horse, like a fairy tale!” a little girl squealed.
No one saw it happen. Later, Emma said her dress was slippery, the horse’s back too smooth. The girl’s shout startled her—she loosened her grip, slid off. Her stiletto caught in the floorboards. She toppled to the ground.
A scream, then silence. Instead of a reception, an ambulance. A badly broken ankle. Surgery went wrong. She walked with a cane, in constant pain. Six months later, she and Michael went to Manchester for another op. More months on crutches.
***
“Did she recover?” Lily asked, hooked.
“Yep. Still limped a bit, though.”
“And Michael?”
“Hospitals wore them out. Emma barely left home, embarrassed by the cane, then the crutches. Told him she didn’t love him anymore. They divorced. She was scared he’d leave her first if she stayed.”
“And he just… left?”
“Yep. Married someone else soon after. First love’s rarely real love. The real stuff lasts through anything.”
“I’ll never let anyone tell my fortune before a wedding,” Lily declared.
“Smart. Emma fixated on avoiding the prediction and made it worse. If she’d just taken the car, skipped the carousel…” Emily sighed. “But that’s how it went.”
“Did she ever remarry?”
“No. After the divorce, her parents took her to the coast. Off-season, hotels closed. They rented a room in a house by the sea. Where we’re staying now.”
“The owner’s daughter ran off with some bloke. Came back two years later with a baby boy, dumped him with her mum, and vanished again. The old woman nearly sent him to foster care—too much for her age. Emma talked her out of it. Her parents protested, but Emma refused to go home. Years later, the woman died. Emma still lives there with the boy. His real mum showed up once, tried claiming the house, but the old lady’d signed it over. The boy wanted nothing to do with her. So it’s just them. Like the fortune-teller said—Emma found her joy by the sea, in her son.”
“Why’d you tell me all this?” Lily squinted.
“So you’d stop overthinking. Life rarely goes how we plan. What seems bad often turns out right. Love’s tested by time and distance.”
The train slowed. Passengers stirred, gathering bags. Lily checked her phone one last time, stuffed it away.
On the platform, a tall, handsome lad approached.
“Emily? I’m Daniel. Mum asked me to fetch you.” He took their bags effortlessly, weaving through the crowd. “Spotted you straight off from her photos. She’s got your room ready—cooked up a feast.”
In the taxi, he chatted, pointed out sights. Said he’d leave tomorrow for exams.
Up the hill, a tidy little house behind a picket fence. Emma, limping slightly, hugged Emily tight. Lily expected the golden-haired beauty fromThe fortune had been wrong after all—Emma’s happiness hadn’t ended at all; it had just taken a different path, and now, watching Lily and Daniel laugh together by the sea, she couldn’t imagine it any other way.
