Oh, you wouldn’t believe it—two childhood mates, Emily and Lucy, had a proper falling-out. The whole village was buzzing:
*”What on earth happened? Those two were inseparable, and now they won’t even look at each other! Walk right past like strangers.”*
Neither said a word, so the gossip just got wilder. The women at the well spun all sorts of tales, each dafter than the last. The only thing anyone knew for sure was that Emily’s daughter, Sophie, and Lucy’s lad, Oliver, had been close. Best mates since school, but after graduation, life pulled them apart. Oliver went off to join the Army, and Sophie headed to uni in London.
They’d always been thick as thieves—walking to school together, splashing about in the river in summer, sitting by the water when they got older. *”Soph! Come out!”* he’d call under her window, and she’d fly outside like a shot.
Total opposites, those two. Sophie was all fire and cheek, while Oliver was quiet, the sort who’d scratch his head and think before he did anything. She was the one calling the shots. *”Ollie, let’s go mushroom picking tomorrow,”* she’d say, and he’d just nod. *”Ollie, let’s sunbathe by the river.”* Never argued, that boy.
Emily and Lucy? Been mates since they were in nappies. Grew up next door, played hide-and-seek, dolls, the lot. Their parents and grandparents had been close too. Even married around the same time, to lads who were mates.
Emily was the first to divorce when Sophie was three. Her husband had a temper, drank too much, and didn’t keep his hands to himself. She wasn’t having it.
*”Blimey, Em, your face—that bruise!”* Lucy gasped, not even needing to ask where it came from.
*”Kicked him out. No idea where he’s gone—probably his mum’s.”*
*”Good riddance. Mine’s not much better. Shoved Ollie yesterday just ‘cause the lad was bothering him while he lazed on the sofa. I stuck up for him, and he had the nerve to say *I’d* get it next time if I didn’t keep *my* son in line. Like Ollie isn’t his too!”*
They had a proper chinwag, then went their separate ways. Six months later, the village was at it again:
*”Lucy’s chucked hers out! Bloke kept saying Ollie wasn’t his. Ridiculous—spitting image of him! And Lucy? Never so much as looked at another lad. Married, that was that.”*
Turned out true enough. His jealousy nearly choked the life out of her—once even held a knife to her throat. She left, and that was that. Both women single now, kids in tow, but they got on with it. No time for men. Their exes vanished somewhere up north. Only joys left were Sophie and Ollie.
After school, Oliver trained as a mechanic. Sophie went to uni. He waited for his call-up papers; she left for London. The papers came in November. Sophie came home to see him off. Spent three days glued to his side before he shipped out.
All winter, she’d visit on weekends, popping in to see Lucy for updates on Oliver’s letters—though she wrote to him too. But then… Lucy noticed Sophie stopped coming. Last visit was after New Year’s, then nothing by March.
*”Em, where’s Sophie got to?”* Lucy asked, swinging by after work.
*”Swamped with uni work, buried in notes.”*
April came and went, still no Sophie. But Emily did go to London. Lucy noticed her mate wasn’t herself—quiet, barely left the house except for work, even brushed her off in passing.
When Emily got back, she clammed up. Lucy was fit to burst. That evening, she marched over.
*”Out with it,”* she demanded the second she stepped in. *”What’re you hiding?”*
Emily sighed. *”No point now. Sophie’s married. Expecting.”*
Lucy froze. Then she bolted like the house was on fire.
*”Married? Expecting? And what about Ollie?!”*
She grabbed paper and pen, scribbled a letter full of fury—but tried to soften it for him. Oliver, when his two years were up, didn’t come home. Went north with a mate from the Army. Worked his fingers to the bone on the oil rigs, barely stopped. Only way to numb the ache from his mum’s letter.
Emily and Lucy stopped speaking. Three years passed. Oliver visited once—just a few days to fix up the house, sit by the river, then gone. Sophie? Didn’t set foot in the village. Not once with her husband or son.
*”Too posh for us now, that Sophie,”* the women clucked. *”Could’ve brought the baby at least.”*
Then one day, the postie, Rita, dropped by Lucy’s.
*”Emily’s asking for you. Proper poorly, the nurse was round. Pills and all. Said you ought to come.”*
Lucy blinked. *”We haven’t spoken in years! Black cat crossed us, didn’t it?”*
*”Know that. But she’s insistent. Right, got pensions to deliver.”*
Lucy went. Found Emily on the sofa, frail under a blanket.
*”You look rough,”* Lucy said.
*”Feel it,”* Emily croaked.
Silence. Then—
*”Lucy… I’m sorry.”*
*”For what? Sophie’s choices aren’t on you.”*
*”No. Listen.”*
What Emily said next? Lucy nearly didn’t believe it. Then she shot home like lightning and dug out the mobile Oliver had given her.
*”Ollie, love, come home. I’m poorly,”* she lied, voice wobbling. *”I know you’re busy, but—”*
*”Mum?! What’s wrong?”* he shouted, but she hung up.
Next thing, Lucy was at Emily’s daily. Then Sophie turned up with little Jake. Emily perked right up.
*”Sophie’s back with the baby!”* Lucy crowed to the women at the shop. *”Emily’s over the moon!”*
Then, one day, Oliver came trudging into the village, rucksack on his back. Lucy flung her arms around him.
*”Ollie! You came!”*
He eyed her. *”Thought you were ill. You look… great.”*
*”Oh, that? Nothing. Sit, eat! You’re skin and bone.”*
He didn’t recognise her—smiling, bustling, but her eyes were… off.
*”Mum, what’s really going on?”*
*”Just happy you’re home. Fancy a walk by the river?”*
So he went. Stood there, memories hitting him like waves: Sophie splashing, giggling, him watching her like a hawk. Then—
*”Hi, Oliver.”*
He didn’t turn. Must be the sun playing tricks.
*”Oliver.”*
He spun. There stood Sophie, holding a three-year-old’s hand.
*”Soph? Can’t be…”*
The boy stared. Curly hair, straight nose, Oliver’s own eyes.
*”Meet Jake,”* Sophie said softly. *”Your son.”*
Oliver scooped him up, tears streaming. *”Why didn’t you tell me? Where’s your husband?”*
*”Never had one. And yours?”*
*”Me? Never married!”*
Turns out, when Emily realised Sophie was pregnant, she assumed it was someone else’s. Banished her from the village. Sophie tried to explain, but Emily wouldn’t listen. She’d lived with her aunt in London since.
*”Why not write me?”*
*”Your mum told mine you’d met someone in the Army and married. Revenge, I reckon. So I stayed away.”*
*”Women,”* Oliver sighed. *”The grief you cause.”*
*”But it’s alright now,”* Sophie whispered, hugging him. *”I’ll fill that hole in your heart. Promise.”*
They stood there, wrapped up, till Jake tugged their hands. *”Mum, Dad… come on.”*
Oliver laughed, hoisting him up. *”Right, son. Let’s go have a *proper* chat with your nan and gran.”*
And off they went, the three of them—right into their happy ending.
