James was a quiet, reserved young man. He lived with his parents in a small village in the English countryside, raised to be polite and obedient—or perhaps he was simply born that way. His parents, Margaret and Henry, never had any trouble with him. He was always well-behaved.
Next door, shouting and arguments were a daily occurrence. Barbara, their neighbour, was raising two rowdy boys on her own—Mike and Tom, just a year apart. Mike, the older one, was particularly wild, and Barbara often struggled to keep him in line.
“Mike, stop picking on your brother! Just you wait—” Barbara’s scolding echoed across the yard.
“He started it! You always take his side!” Mike shot back, his voice loud and defiant.
“Don’t you dare speak to me like that!” came the furious reply.
The commotion never ended. Barbara often sighed to Margaret, “I can’t handle these two. Your place is always so peaceful. Your James is such a good lad—I envy you, Marge. Then again, your Henry’s calm too. Must run in the family. My husband was a handful, always causing trouble, and look where it got him—gone too soon, all because of his temper. If he hadn’t been drinking, he wouldn’t have drowned. Mike’s just like him. Tom’s a bit quieter, but still never backs down. Oh, what a life I’ve got.”
Margaret nodded. “Aye, your boys are lively, no doubt. At parents’ evening, the teacher gave Mike a proper telling-off. You never go, do you?”
Their sons, James and Mike, were in the same class, walking to school together every day. James did well in his studies, while Mike barely scraped by.
“I can’t face those meetings. Too ashamed to hear the complaints, especially about Mike. If I see their teachers in the street, I cross the road to avoid them. Don’t want the lectures—I’d blush and sweat buckets,” Barbara admitted. “I envy you, Marge, truly. Your James is a proper lad, and mine…” She waved a hand and headed inside.
As they grew older, Mike remained as brash as ever. He left school after Year 11, while Tom stayed on.
“I’ll get my driver’s license, do my army service, then settle down,” Mike declared.
James and Mike still got along, though their lives diverged. James stayed quiet and gentle, content to wander the woods alone, picking mushrooms or reading books on the porch with a cup of tea. He trained as an electrician in the nearby town, never wanting to leave the village—not that his parents would let him.
“Your roots are here, son. This is where you belong,” Henry had always said, and James never argued.
He took the bus into town for his course—only half an hour away—but he disliked the crowds. He never courted any girls, though some glanced his way. A few bold ones even asked him to the cinema, not knowing how shy he was. He always declined, saying he had to catch the last bus home.
“James, don’t go getting tangled up with town girls,” Margaret warned. “They’ll wrap you round their finger before you know it.”
“Leave off, Mum,” he muttered, brushing her off.
He visited the village hall sometimes, mingling with the local lads—often in Mike’s company. But he never paid much attention to the girls, so they ignored him too. No one knew, but James had fancied a girl named Lizzie in his last years at school. He never told a soul, too afraid to speak up.
Alone, he’d scold himself: “Why can’t I be bold like Mike? Girls flock to him, and I—I can’t even talk to them. I like Lizzie, but I’d never dare say it. What if she laughs at me? When she’s near, my knees shake. I’ll die a bachelor, and Mike’s already planning his wedding.”
Mike clapped him on the back. “You’re coming to my wedding, yeah? It’s at the hall. Girls from Becky’s village will be there. Don’t miss your chance, or you’ll end up alone.”
Mike’s bride, Becky, was from a village a few miles away. No one knew why he hadn’t chosen a local girl—plenty fancied him.
“Alright, Mike. I’ll be there,” James promised.
The wedding was loud and lively. James sat quietly at the table or stepped outside for air. Then he caught the eye of Becky’s maid of honour—Daisy. She’d been watching him. Tall, dark-haired, with grey eyes, James was handsome enough to turn heads, even if he didn’t realise it.
“Come closer,” Daisy teased, appearing before him with a grin.
“Hello,” he mumbled, flushing.
“I know you. You’re Henry’s son,” she said. “He pops round to see my dad sometimes. I’m Daisy. You’re James, right?”
He turned redder, stammering something in reply, his back damp with nerves. But he liked her—which only made it worse. Daisy chattered away, laughing, while he listened, barely catching half of it, too anxious to speak much. He feared saying something stupid.
“Let’s dance! Why are we just standing here?” She grabbed his hand and dragged him into the crowd.
James had never danced before, but the slow music made it easy. She guided him, one hand on her waist, and he thought, “This is nice. Daisy’s lovely, really.”
They danced again and again. Time flew—soon, guests were leaving. “I’ve enjoyed tonight,” Daisy said. “We’ll meet again. Bye!”
The next day, James couldn’t stop thinking about her—her fair hair, blue eyes, how she’d turned his world upside down. But he was too shy to seek her out.
“She’s probably forgotten me. Just passing time,” he told himself.
Then, one evening, a whistle sounded outside. James peered out—Daisy stood there, grinning, waving. He stepped out, stunned.
“Fancy coming to a concert in my village tomorrow?” she asked, as if no time had passed.
“Yes,” he blurted.
“Let’s walk a bit. You can see me home.”
They strolled slowly, Daisy chatting. At the village edge, she said, “I’ll bike the rest. See you tomorrow!”
After that, they met often. Daisy took charge—setting times, meeting halfway. If he couldn’t come, she’d visit instead. Margaret disapproved.
“James, she’s too bold for you. She’ll lead you a merry dance. You need a quiet girl—she’s a wildfire!”
But James was smitten. Daisy hugged him, kissed him, left him breathless. Then one day, she said, “I love you. Let’s get married.”
“I’d like that,” he said, realising he should’ve asked first.
“Tomorrow, we’ll tell your parents.”
She took the lead again. “I love James. I can’t live without him.”
“I love Daisy. I’ll marry no one else,” James declared, surprising himself.
His parents relented. Villagers were shocked—quiet James, marrying a lively girl from another village!
“Did you hear? James is getting hitched! And to that firecracker Daisy!” the women gossiped.
Mike clapped his back. “See? My wedding led to yours. Daisy’s smitten—told Becky herself. She’s a keeper.”
The wedding was another lively affair. They moved in with James’ parents. Margaret worried they’d clash, but Daisy was respectful, heeding her advice. Soon, Margaret adored her. Then came grandchildren—first a boy, George, then a girl, Alice. The grandparents were overjoyed. The young couple built their own house, ready to start their life properly.
Sometimes, the quiet ones find the loudest love—and it’s the balance that makes it last.
