**A Marriage of Convenience**
The afternoon sun warmed my back as I walked along the railway platform, my heart light with the thought of finally coming home. Seven long years I’d spent working in the timber trade, saving every penny I could. Now, my pockets full of hard-earned money and arms laden with gifts for my mother and sister, I was eager to see them again.
“Lad, where you headed? Need a lift?” a familiar voice called from behind me.
Turning, I saw old George grinning at me. “George! Don’t you recognise me?” I laughed.
The old man squinted, shielding his eyes from the sun. “Who’s that then?”
“Stephen! Surely I haven’t changed that much?”
“Stevie! Blimey, we thought we’d never see you again! Could’ve sent word, you know.”
“You don’t understand—the post barely reached where I was working. How’s everyone? Mum, my sister Emily, are they all right? And little Sophie—she must be in school by now?”
George’s smile faded. He sighed heavily. “You don’t know, do you?… It’s bad, Stevie. Very bad. Your mum passed three years back. Emily went off the rails, then just up and left Sophie behind one winter—locked her in the house and vanished.”
“And Sophie? Where is she?” My voice cracked as dread twisted my stomach.
“Found her three days later, crying at the window. Took her in, but… well, she ended up in hospital, then foster care.”
The rest of the ride was silent. George left me to my thoughts, and within half an hour, the cart pulled up outside my childhood home. Weeds choked the yard. The sight of it, so neglected, brought tears to my eyes.
“Don’t lose heart, lad,” George clapped my shoulder. “You’re young, strong—you’ll set it right in no time. Come to ours for supper. Martha’ll be over the moon to see you.”
“Thank you, but I’ll stay here. I’ll visit tonight.”
I spent the day clearing the yard, and by evening, George and Martha arrived with dinner. “Stevie, look at you! Proper grown now!” Martha hugged me tight. “Let’s eat, then we’ll help sort this place out.”
At supper, I asked, “Any news of Emily? She was always so sensible—how could she just leave Sophie?”
Martha shook her head. “Grief broke her, love. Lost her husband, then your mum… too much for one person. What about Sophie? You’ll take her, won’t you? You’re her uncle, after all.”
“I don’t know. I’ll fix the house first, then visit her. She doesn’t even know me.”
A week later, I went into town to see Sophie. Stopping at a toy shop, a pretty brunette shop assistant smiled at me. “Need any help?”
“I know nothing about toys. Maybe a doll for a seven-year-old girl?”
She picked out a doll and a board game. “This is all the rage with girls her age.”
“Thanks. Hope my niece likes them.”
Sophie was distant at first, eyeing me warily. But when she saw the gifts, her face softened. “I know who you are,” she whispered. “Mum and Gran showed me your photos.”
“Did they? What’d they say about me?”
“That you’re kind. Uncle Stevie… when can we go home?” Her quiet plea shattered me.
“Are they hurting you here?”
She nodded, tears spilling.
“I can’t take you yet, but I promise—soon. Okay?”
After, I spoke to the care home director. “I’m her uncle—why can’t I take her?”
“It’s not that simple. Are you employed? Married?”
“Not yet, but I’ve got savings—”
“That’s not good enough. You need steady work and a wife.”
Furious, I boarded the last bus home. As I slumped into a seat, a voice chirped beside me: “Hello again!”
It was the shopgirl. “You’re from here?” I asked.
“Hannah,” she smiled. “I live in Littlebrook with my gran.”
“Wait—we’re neighbours! I’m from Littlebrook too.”
We chatted, and in a moment of desperation, I spilled everything.
“Sounds rotten,” she frowned. “Rules shouldn’t matter more than people.”
“Hannah… you’re Vera’s granddaughter, aren’t you? I remember you as a little girl.”
She laughed. “And I’ve no memory of you!”
“Hannah,” I hesitated, “I’ve an idea. Our store needs a stocker. I could put in a word—steady job, pays decent.”
“Brilliant! Now all I need’s a wife!” I joked.
But her expression turned thoughtful. “Suppose… what if it wasn’t a joke?”
“A pretend marriage,” I blurted. “Just for the paperwork. I’ll pay you—”
“No need. I’ll do it for Sophie.”
Two months later, Sophie was home. Hannah stayed the first week, playing the dutiful wife for the social workers. The charade worked, but now Sophie was heartbroken when Hannah left.
“Daddy, why can’t Auntie Hannah stay?”
“She’s not really my wife, love.”
“But she could be!”
One evening, Sophie dragged me to Hannah’s, clutching a bouquet of wildflowers.
“What’s this?” I muttered.
“You’ll see,” she whispered.
Hannah was hanging washing when we arrived. She blushed, flustered. “Come in! We’ll have supper—”
“Do it!” Sophie elbowed me.
Red-faced, I thrust the flowers at Hannah. “Marry me. Properly this time.”
“We’re already married,” she laughed nervously.
“You know what I mean.”
From the doorway, Gran Vera grinned. “About time! This silly girl’s been crying into her pillow, too proud to come to you first.”
Sophie beamed. “I made him do it!”
Hannah and I burst out laughing, and as I pulled her close, I knew—this wasn’t pretend anymore.
