By the end of Year 9, Emily had blossomed into a striking young woman, turning heads among the lads and even a few older men in the village. Her parents were well-respected—Mum, Claire, ran the local post office, while Dad, James, was a mechanic. They’d built a spacious house, hoping for a big family, but after Emily, no more children came along.
“Emily, love,” Claire called out, “hang the washing, will you? Just finished it.”
“Alright, Mum, be right there.”
It was a scorching summer day. Emily stepped outside in a short sundress, carrying a basin of clean laundry to the line strung across the garden.
Everyone in the village knew her—beautiful, fiery, with a bold streak. At sixteen, she’d come into her own, casting sly glances at the men around her.
“James’s girl’s turned into a proper stunner,” the local women murmured. “She’ll have the lads twisted round her little finger in no time.”
As she pegged up the clothes, Emily spotted Simon lounging under the oak tree, smoking, his eyes fixed on her. He was her dad’s mate, helping lay paving stones in the garden with another bloke, Colin. James had gone inside to fetch cider—the men were parched—while Colin lugged sand in a bucket.
Emily shot Simon a look over her shoulder that nearly made him choke on his smoke. Then she bent over deliberately, arching her back like a deer stretching, hanging up a large towel.
“Bloody hell, Emily,” Simon muttered to himself. “What’s she playing at?”
But Emily wasn’t done. Once the laundry was up, she plopped down beside him, close enough that his pulse throbbed in his temples.
“Hot today, isn’t it, Uncle Simon?” she teased, shifting nearer.
“Blistering,” he admitted, wiping sweat from his brow.
“Mm, I can see you’ve caught the sun,” she smirked.
“Just my natural tan,” he said, proud but guarded.
Then he squinted up at her, arms crossed, signalling the conversation was over. She was just a kid, his mate’s daughter—no business flirting. Just then, James returned with cider and mugs.
“Colin, take a break, mate. We’ll finish by evening—good thing we started early.”
Emily stood and sauntered back inside. Simon watched her go from under lowered lashes, his thoughts a storm no one could see.
At thirty-four, Simon was still unmarried—handsome, fit, with strong hands and dark eyes. Plenty of village girls fancied him, but he’d never settled on one.
As the sun dipped pink over the horizon, Simon stepped out of the makeshift shower James had rigged in the garden, towel around his waist. He loved the quiet out there, just birdsong and peace. Colin and James were already on the patio, and Claire was setting the table—workers needed feeding.
Simon barely had time to blink before Emily appeared in front of him.
“Stalking me now?” he grunted.
“Didn’t know you’d be here,” she said, batting her lashes.
“Emily, you’re too young for this. Knock it off.”
“Too young for what?” She planted her hands on her hips, chest rising defiantly.
“You’re not even eighteen—”
“Maybe I want to marry you.”
Simon froze, glancing around. “Don’t be daft. You’re a kid. Piss off.”
He skipped dinner, claiming errands, leaving James baffled. Emily retreated inside.
She’d fancied Simon for ages, counting down to her eighteenth. Now she’d been accepted to college in town, set to leave in September, returning weekends and holidays.
Meanwhile, Simon wrestled with his conscience. Time was slipping by—no wife, no kids. And now Emily haunted his thoughts, sharp as a splinter in his heart.
To distract himself, he started seeing Vicky, twenty-nine and desperate not to miss her chance. She introduced him to her family, dreamed of weddings and babies, even picked out names. But two years in, Simon still hadn’t proposed.
Then Emily graduated, returned village—more stunning than ever.
“Hi, Uncle Simon,” she purred outside the shop.
“Blimey, look at you,” he managed, flustered. “Your dad home?”
“I’m eighteen now,” she said, locking eyes. “Three months ago.”
That was it. They were swept into a whirlwind—meeting secretly at first, but villages talk. Soon, everyone knew.
Vicky raged, calling Emily a homewrecker. “That little thief stole my happiness!”
When James and Claire found out, they were stunned.
“He’s twice her age!” James fumed—then sighed. “But he’s a good bloke. If it’s love…”
The wedding was lively, the couple radiant. They moved into Simon’s house, Emily scrubbing away his bachelor mess.
For two years, they were happy—though no kids yet. Simon doted but grew fiercely jealous, banning short dresses, gritting his teeth—though he never raised a hand.
“Simon, you knew what you were marrying,” Emily laughed. “Should I hide my looks?” She loved his jealousy.
Then trouble came. A contractor, Connor, arrived—charming, ambitious, full of city dreams. He flirted relentlessly, and Emily, dazzled, fell into his arms.
“With Simon, you’ll never leave this village,” Connor sneered. “But we could go to Spain—anywhere!”
At twenty, Emily’s head was turned. One night, while Simon worked late, she packed a bag. Connor drove her to his dingy flat in town.
Simon found her note: *”I’ve fallen for someone else. Sorry.”*
He drowned in drink—a first for him. Vicky swooped in, cooing over soup and tea, but Simon only wanted Emily.
Back home, James ranted. “Shameful! Running off like that—”
The village gossiped. Only old Granny Martha defended her: “Who here’s without sin? She’ll learn.”
City life soured fast. Their flat was cramped, cockroach-ridden. A neighbour shattered Connor’s lies: “He’s broke! Works at a textile factory, drowning in debt.”
Emily confronted him. “We’ll pay it off together,” he shrugged.
One dawn, while Connor slept, she fled to the bus stop.
Autumn rain fell as she trudged to Simon’s. The door was ajar—he was there, hungover but sobering.
“Forgive me,” she whispered.
He turned. She stood drenched, hoping for an embrace. None came. She just wanted him near.
Days passed in silence. She cooked, cleaned; he worked, slept on the sofa.
Two weeks in, she packed again—ready to slink back to her parents. Simon saw the suitcase and snapped.
“Don’t go,” he rasped, gripping her hands. “I’ve been lost without you. Felt like a wall between us—but it was sand. Crumbled when I saw you leaving.”
Emily flung her arms around him. This was her Simon—her one love. She’d never stray again.
That rainy autumn day, warmth returned to their home. By spring, she was pregnant.
