Who’d have thought two childhood friends, Emily and Lucy, could ever fall out? The villagers whispered among themselves:
*”What on earth happened? They used to be inseparable, and now they won’t even speak. If they spot each other on the lane, they act like strangers.”*
Neither said a word, so the gossip only grew wilder—especially among the women at the village well. The only thing anyone knew for sure was that Emily’s daughter, Sophie, and Lucy’s boy, Alfie, had been sweet on each other. They’d been friends since school, but after graduation, life took them different ways. Alfie went off to do his national service, while Sophie headed to university in London.
They’d always been thick as thieves—walking to school together, playing football with the other kids in the evenings, splashing in the river in summer. As they got older, they’d sit by the water, watching the sunset.
*”Sophieee, come out!”* she’d hear his voice under her window, and she’d bolt outside—just like they’d planned the night before.
They couldn’t have been more different. Sophie was all fire and energy, while Alfie was quiet, always taking his time, even scratching his head before answering. Sophie was the one who called the shots.
*”Alfie, we’re going mushroom picking tomorrow.”* He’d pause, then nod. *”Alfie, let’s sunbathe by the river.”* Never a word of protest—just agreement.
Emily and Lucy had been friends since they played with dolls and hide-and-seek, running back and forth between their houses—just a hop over the garden fence. Their families had been neighbours for generations, their parents and grandparents before them. They’d even married around the same time—to mates, no less.
Emily was the first to leave her husband when Sophie was just three. He was a nasty piece of work—bitter, hard-drinking, and rough with his hands. She wouldn’t stand for it.
*”Emily, love—that bruise! Your whole cheek!”* Lucy gasped when she saw her friend. She didn’t even need to ask. They both knew.
*”Threw him out. Packed his bags—no idea where he went. Probably back to his mum’s.”*
*”Good riddance. Mine’s no better. Yesterday, Alfie was playing near the sofa, and he shoved him so hard the poor lad nearly cracked his head. I stood up for him, and mine threatened me next time. Called him ‘your son,’ like Alfie wasn’t his own.”*
They talked a while longer before going their separate ways. Six months later, the village was buzzing again:
*”Lucy kicked her man out! Said he was convinced Alfie wasn’t his. But the boy’s the spitting image! And Lucy’s never been one for lads—quiet as a mouse.”*
That was the truth—jealousy and suspicion had poisoned Lucy’s marriage, even driving him to hold a knife to her throat. Terrified, she left. Both women were single mums now, but they carried on—no time for men. Their exes had long vanished from the village. The only joys left? Sophie and Alfie.
After school, Alfie trained as a lorry driver, Sophie went off to uni. He waited for his call-up papers; she left for the city. When his papers arrived in late November, Sophie came home to see him off. They spent three days glued together before he left.
All winter, Sophie visited on weekends, popping in to see Lucy—who’d share Alfie’s letters, even though Sophie got her own. But over time, Lucy noticed the visits stopped. After New Year’s, she only came once or twice. By March, she’d vanished.
*”Em, why’s Sophie not coming round?”* Lucy asked one evening after work.
*”Studying. Loads of coursework.”*
April rolled in, still no Sophie. But Emily suddenly left for London. Lucy noticed her friend had gone quiet—just work, no chatter, no visits.
When Emily returned, still silent, Lucy couldn’t take it. She marched over that evening.
*”Out with it,”* she demanded at the door. *”What are you hiding?”*
Emily sighed. *”No point now. Sophie’s married. Expecting.”*
Lucy froze, then bolted like she’d been scalded.
*”Married! Pregnant!”* she fumed. *”And what about Alfie? Oh, Alfie—what now?”*
She scribbled a letter to her son—venting her hurt but begging him not to take it too hard. When Alfie finished his service, he didn’t come home. He went north with a mate, buried himself in work—drilling rigs, long shifts, anything to numb the ache in his chest.
Emily and Lucy stopped speaking. Alfie only visited once in three years—just a few days to fix the house, help his mum, sit by the river. Sophie never came back at all.
*”Our Sophie’s too posh now,”* the village women clucked. *”Too city for home. Won’t even bring her boy to see his nan.”*
One day, the postie, Rita, stopped by Lucy’s.
*”Lucy, love—Emily’s asking for you. Taken poorly, the nurse was round.”*
*”Rita, you know we’ve not spoken in years,”* Lucy said. *”Fell out proper.”*
*”I know, but she’s proper poorly. Wants to talk.”*
Lucy hesitated, then nodded. *”Alright. I’ll go.”*
Emily lay on the sofa under a blanket, pills and water beside her.
*”You look rough,”* Lucy said.
*”Just tired. Everything caught up with me.”*
Silence. Lucy refilled her glass, waiting.
*”Lucy… I’m sorry,”* Emily whispered.
*”For what? Sophie’s choices aren’t yours.”*
*”No. Listen.”*
What Emily said next left Lucy stunned. Then she shot up and sprinted home—straight to the phone Alfie had bought her.
*”Alfie, love—come home. I’m not well,”* she lied, voice wobbling. *”I know you’re busy, but—”*
*”Mum?! What’s wrong?”* he shouted, but she hung up.
From then on, Emily perked up—even Sophie came home with little Ollie.
*”Sophie’s back with the lad! Emily’s over the moon,”* Lucy told the women outside the shop.
Then, one evening, Alfie walked in—rucksack on his back, confusion on his face.
*”Mum? You said you were ill,”* he said, eyeing her bustling around the kitchen.
*”Oh, that? Nothing serious. Just missed you.”*
Something was off. She was too happy, too nervous.
*”Mum, what’s going on?”*
*”Nothing! Just glad you’re home. Fancy a walk by the river?”*
Alfie stood by the water, memories flooding back—little Sophie splashing, giggling, him watching nervously as she “fished,” terrified of scaring the tiddlers away.
*”Hey, Alfie.”*
He didn’t turn—thought it was the wind.
Then—small feet shuffling. He turned.
Sophie stood there, holding a three-year-old boy—*his* boy. Same curls, same nose, same eyes as the photo on his wall.
*”Sophie? No—Sophie?!”*
*”Meet Ollie,”* she said softly. *”Your son.”*
The boy stared. Alfie swept him up, tears streaming.
*”Why? Why hide him?”*
*”There’s no husband,”* she said. *”Where’s your wife?”*
*”Wife? Never had one!”*
When her mum noticed she was pregnant, she’d forbidden her from coming home—convinced it was someone else’s. She hadn’t known about that last night before his service.
*”And you never wrote?”*
*”Your mum told mine you’d married in the army. I believed her.”*
*”Mum said *you*’d married!”*
Sophie sighed. *”Stupid, isn’t it? But Mum was scared—thought she’d angered God. When she got sick, she confessed to your mum. They made up. Then they decided it was time we did too.”*
Alfie exhaled. *”Women. All this over nothing.”*
*”But it’s alright now,”* Sophie said, stepping closer. *”I’ll fill that hole in your heart—with love, happiness, everything.”*
They held each other until Ollie tugged their hands.
*”Mum, Dad—come on!”*
*”Alright, lad,”* Alfie laughed, swinging him up. *”Let’s go sort those grandmas out.”*
And hand in hand, they walked home—readyHand in hand, they walked towards the village, where laughter and the promise of a new beginning waited for them under the evening sky.
