Lonely little Lucy…
For weeks now, Lucy had been watching the new neighbour who’d moved into the flat opposite hers on the ground floor. The woman’s name was Emily. She was about thirty, and her little daughter, Sophie, was just four. Emily had divorced her husband and was now living on her own, taking her daughter to the nursery right in the courtyard.
Lucy had introduced herself, and no sooner had they begun exchanging smiles and pleasantries than, within a week, she found herself babysitting little Sophie on a Saturday.
“She’s quiet—she’ll play with her dolls on the floor, and you can go about your business,” Emily explained. “Thank you for helping me out. I’ve got plans tonight, but I’ll be back before it’s too late. I really appreciate this!”
Lucy shrugged, and only after Emily hurried out did it dawn on her—the young divorcee had gone on a date.
“Well, well… plans,” Lucy murmured, glancing fondly at the little girl settled in the corner, just as her mother had said.
Lucy’s own life hadn’t turned out as she’d hoped. At twenty-eight, she should’ve been starting a family, but there was neither husband nor child in sight.
“It’s because you’re old-fashioned,” her friends would say. “You sit there knitting when you ought to be out dancing, meeting people, going to parties. You can’t just wait around for Prince Charming to show up!”
Lucy agreed but did nothing about it. Shy about her slight plumpness and convinced she was plain, she kept to herself.
Now, with Sophie often staying over in the evenings, Lucy couldn’t fathom how a mother could leave such a darling child to chase after some man. To Lucy, family—especially children—was a divine gift, and she adored the little girl, reading to her, playing, even helping her mould shapes from clay.
“Oh, Lucy, I’ll never repay you,” Emily would whisper when she collected her sleepy daughter late at night. “You’re an absolute lifesaver.”
“What about her father?” Lucy asked once. “Does he visit Sophie? She mentions him often—seems to miss him.”
“He would if he weren’t always away on business. Bloody business trips! A month here, six weeks there… That’s why we split. But he’ll be back soon, and you’ll have a break—he’ll take her out. Adores her, spoils her with toys when what we really need is money,” Emily scoffed.
Sure enough, the girl’s father appeared not long after. A tall, fair-haired man, he swept Sophie up at the doorstep and held her tight. Lucy saw it by chance from her kitchen window and even teared up—their joy was so pure.
Days later, Lucy met James—Sophie’s father. The girl was with her, as had become habit. Sophie often dashed over to “Auntie Lucy’s” to play or watch cartoons while her mother ran errands. This time, James tracked her down there.
“Thank you,” he said earnestly. “For looking after her… Sophie adores you. Always says, ‘My Lucy,’” he smiled when he came to collect her.
“Daddy! Come have tea with us!” Sophie called from the kitchen, nibbling a scone.
“Quite right, join us,” Lucy invited. “We’ve just sat down—plenty to go round.”
He stepped into the kitchen and helped himself to a scone.
“Homemade?” He raised an eyebrow.
“Of course,” Lucy replied. “Have another—no need to hold back. I’ve a bit of a sweet tooth myself, hence the, well…” She gestured vaguely at herself. “Means to diet soon.”
“Why?” James looked genuinely puzzled. “You’re lovely as you are. And honestly, I didn’t think young women baked these days. Thought it was strictly grannies by the hearth before holidays.”
They laughed, and Sophie, giggling too, handed her father another scone.
“When I grow up, Lucy’s going to teach me to bake,” she announced, “and then I’ll feed you all yummy scones!”
“That’d be smashing,” James agreed, “but we’d best get to the park before your mum comes for you.”
“Mum won’t be back till late,” Sophie said matter-of-factly. Lucy stayed silent.
James’s smile faded. He took Sophie out but returned her to Lucy’s later. Quietly, Lucy asked, “Couldn’t you take her overnight sometimes? She misses you.”
“I’ve thought of it. But I start at the factory at dawn—live clear across town. Hate to drag her up so early. Here, she’s got nursery nearby, and her mother…” He looked away. “But thank you. I’m trying to move closer.”
The next time James came for Sophie, he invited Lucy along to the park.
She hesitated, but Sophie clung to her. “Come on, Lucy! I’ll show you how I make sand pies!”
So off they went, Lucy and James watching as Sophie played with friends, glancing back at them now and then. They stayed till dusk, the summer evening warm and golden.
James grew tense. “When’s she ever going to settle down?” he muttered, low so Sophie wouldn’t hear. “This is why we split—always out gallivanting.”
Lucy said nothing.
“Does she even pay you for watching Sophie?” he asked as they walked back.
Lucy shook her head.
“So you’re living her life. No dates, no rest, no bed before midnight…” He frowned. “I assumed you had an arrangement.”
Lucy sighed. “We’re friendly neighbours, that’s all. And Sophie’s become a dear little friend.”
“What about *your* life, Lucy?” James asked bluntly. “Ever married? Anyone about?”
“Never married, no children… not yet, anyway,” she smiled faintly.
“Right,” was all James said before trying to leave money on the sideboard.
Lucy flatly refused it.
“Then I’ll find another way to thank you,” he said and left.
That Sunday, Lucy was tidying when the doorbell rang.
“Fancy joining us?” James stood there, Sophie’s hand in his. “It’s the town festival—thought we’d grab a bite at the café.”
So off they went, the three of them, while Emily watched from her window, smirking as she headed out herself.
“Perfect pair, those two… She’s just his type, that old spinster.”
She’d no idea how soon her ex-husband and the neighbour would become inseparable. Sophie was the link, drawing Lucy and James closer. Her laughter echoed in the stairwell as she dashed between flats, urging “Auntie Lucy” to hurry for walks with Daddy.
“Have you even *seen* his temper?” Emily snapped once, catching Lucy before a date.
“Seems decent enough,” Lucy said mildly. “But you’re divorced. Why care who he’s with?”
“It’s not him I’m bothered about, you twit. Don’t throw yourself at the first man who glances your way just because you’re pushing thirty,” Emily spat before leaving.
“Thanks for that,” Lucy muttered, wiping her eyes in the kitchen. Then she straightened her hair, smiled, and went to meet James and Sophie on their bench.
Neighbours watched from windows, placing bets on Lucy’s future. They liked her—quiet, kind, kept her flat spotless. She’d lived alone in that house since coming of age.
“My parents divorced too,” she told James once. “When I was a teenager. Hurt like mad—couldn’t fathom why people who loved each other would stop. Cried myself to sleep for months. Didn’t want to burden them—thought they’d pain enough. Then they remarried, moved apart. I stayed—Gran’s nearby. No room for me in their new lives.”
James listened, unable to meet her eyes. Then—
“You’re good and clever… Marry me.” He rushed on before she could speak. “Don’t say no straight off—even if you don’t love me. Take pity, like you do on Sophie. Just let me hope… that someone could.”
Silence. Then Lucy asked softly, “Do you love *me*? Or just want to be loved?”
“Love you. How couldn’t I? You’re everything a woman ought to be—gentle, kind…” He squeezed her hand.
She was crying—quietly, so passers-by wouldn’t stare.
“Never thought I’d get proposed to on this bench,” she finally smiled. “Sat here so often, dreaming of love.”
They held each other, and when Sophie ran over, she clambered onto her father’s lap and beamed at Lucy, as if it were the most natural thing.
Later, Lucy and James moved nearby—he’d bought a flat in the same area to stay close to Sophie. The girl split her time between homes, and when Lucy had a baby boy, Sophie thrilled at being a big sister, visiting more often to help with her little brother.
