Will you wait for me?
Time slips away so quickly. Before you know it, nearly fifty years have passed. It feels like only yesterday she was young and careless, yet here she is. Emily studied herself in the mirror, turning her head this way and that, frowning. Nothing pleased her—dark circles under her eyes, downturned lips, creases where smooth skin used to lie. What was there to love? Best not to dwell on it.
She hadn’t lived a hard life—no backbreaking labour, no factory shifts—just shuffling papers in a warm, bright office. Still, the years had left their mark.
“Honestly, why am I fretting?” she muttered. “Who’s looking at me now? There are plenty of younger women. Just breathe.” She inhaled deeply, then again, forcing calm. “So what if William’s back? He’s forgotten me by now. So much has happened since then.”
***
“Em, fancy the cinema?” William asked, his ears burning crimson.
“What’s showing?” She feigned indifference, though her heart fluttered wildly.
“Can’t remember the title, but the lads said it’s good.”
“I like romances or adventures,” she mused, watching his face fall. “Alright then. When?”
“Right now?” he blurted, eager.
Emily hesitated. No chores from Mum, homework could wait. No need for permission—her mother was at work.
“Let’s go.”
The theatre was nearly empty—midweek matinée. Lights dimmed, the screen exploded with gunfire and screeching tyres. Emily stole glances at William’s profile, sharp against the flickering glow. He was riveted. When the hero rescued the girl and kissed her, Emily stiffened, cheeks flaming. William was right there—seeing it too.
Then his hand found hers, hesitant over the armrest. Her pulse leapt; she held perfectly still. Any second now, his lips would brush her cheek—but no. The chase resumed, and William’s gaze snapped back to the screen. She spent the rest of the film barely breathing.
When the lights rose, he let go. A chill settled over her. Outside, dusk crept in. They walked home, William gushing about the film as if she hadn’t been beside him. Awkward silences stretched between his chatter. She waited for his hand to take hers again, but he juggled her satchel instead, gesturing wildly.
At her gate, Emily hesitated.
“Shall I go?” She took her bag, unlatching the fence.
“Em—we’ll go again, yeah?” His voice wavered.
She turned. His face was shadowed, but she knew that fear of rejection.
“Course!” Her laugh was too bright as she dashed inside.
They went to the cinema often after that. William always took her hand the moment the lights dimmed. Sometimes they just wandered. He’d left school the year before; come spring, he’d be off for National Service. Until then, he worked at his father’s garage.
Once, he kissed the corner of her mouth. She’d feared he never would. How dizzyingly happy she’d been!
Then spring came, and he was gone. The night before he left, a pebble tapped her window. She threw on a coat and hurried out. He smelled of ale.
“I leave at dawn. Will you wait for me?”
“Yes.” Her voice cracked. “Of course.” How could he doubt her? No one else existed.
Her mother called from the window, sharp with worry. Rising on tiptoes, Emily kissed his flushed cheek and fled.
Her father had drunk himself to death years ago—froze in a snowdrift one winter. Mum had taken up with another man. Emily felt like an intruder in her own home, tiptoeing past the kitchen. After school, she fled to Manchester—just an hour and a half by coach. Mum didn’t object. If anything, she seemed relieved, pressing a wad of notes into Emily’s hand as she boarded with a single suitcase.
At first, she stayed with a friend’s relatives, strangers crammed into a flat. She took bookkeeping courses, rented a room with her first wages.
William never promised to write. Maybe he forgot. Didn’t matter—she waited anyway. She rarely visited home. One trip, she noticed Mum’s rounded belly. A bitter pang—this new child would have all the love she’d lost.
Mum was barely forty, yet Emily couldn’t fathom her as young. None of her schoolmates’ mothers had babies at that age. Shame prickled; she stopped visiting.
But she returned when William’s service ended. A friend wrote that his parents expected him that weekend. The flat was full of chatter about “little Billy,” Mum’s toddler, named after the boy Emily still dreamed of. Every so often, she darted outside, scanning the lane.
William never came. In the shop, she overheard his mother sighing—he’d been delayed, bringing a fiancée from his posting.
Emily cried into her pillow all night. At dawn, she fled back to the city.
Six months later, she married a man she barely knew. No one forced her. A mistake, obvious instantly. He sneered at her village roots, boasted she’d never do better. Nights blurred with football and pints while she sat alone. She tried talking—he’d shrug: “Don’t like it? Piss off.”
No children, mercifully. She left with what she’d brought. Work gave her a bedsit—tiny, but hers. Years later, she bought a flat. Mum visited once, clucking over her spinsterhood.
“Time to wed, love. You’ve a flat now. Ought to have a baby. Not still hung up on William, are you?”
“How’d you know?” Emily flared.
Men courted her, but she was shy—no taste for pubs or dancing. Nothing ever felt right. Just an old-fashioned girl longing for love like in books.
Little Billy grew up, married, stayed a while in her flat with his wife, who chattered nonstop.
“William came back two months ago,” the girl said offhand. “Fancy car, loads of money—worked on oil rigs. Got medically discharged, stayed a month, then left. Bought a place here, they say.”
Emily tensed. Did he have a wife? But the girl had moved on to gossip, and Emily couldn’t ask.
Now she scanned every crowd, every bus, every shop. Once, she called out to a stranger who looked like him. The man grinned, eager—she had to shake him off.
Foolish, she scolded herself. He’d forgotten her long ago.
***
Summer arrived. Women shed layers for bright dresses. Emily critiqued her reflection. A bit heavier, but not terribly. Hair needed touching up. Her face—well, nothing to be done. Not an actress, no money for procedures.
“Lucky William can’t see me like this,” she sighed. “Let him remember me young—if he remembers at all.”
At the salon, the barber snipped deftly, dyeing her hair a rich auburn. The mirror startled her—fifteen years vanished. She floated home, basking in glances, though new shoes rubbed her feet raw. Limping to a bench, she ate an ice cream, then hobbled to the tram stop.
The tram was packed. She stood the whole way, wincing. At her stop, doors clattered open. Over the din, someone called her name. She craned her neck—
“Miss, are you getting off? Move!”
Again, her name—deeper in the crowd, someone shoved toward the exit. Then the tide of bodies swept her onto the pavement, doors slamming behind her.
Had it been William? She’d never know.
At home, she kicked off her shoes. “Probably not him. Even if it was—he knows my tram now. If he wants to find me, he will.” But he drove a car, didn’t he? No, fate wasn’t that kind. Time to let go.
Yet William had seen her—known her instantly. A handbag snagged his sleeve; by the time he wrenched free, she was gone. He’d pressed to the window, desperate for one more glimpse.
Emily. Unchanged. Why had he ever tangled with that captain’s daughter? Lies, traps—none of it mattered. Only Emily ever had.
Perhaps not all was lost. In a city this size, how hard could it be?
Next evening, Emily left the tram early, ducking into a shop. Walking home, she watched her step—blisters still tender. A man blocked her path.
She looked up. William. Older, weathered, but unmistakable.
“William—” She stepped into his arms, both afraid to breathe, to shatter this fragile second chance.
