**Diary Entry**
*10th June*
I never meant to hurt you, Tanya, but I cant live with you.
“Maybe we could try, Simon?” Tanya gazed at him, barely blinking, her cheeks flushed.
“Ive said all I need to say, Tanya.”
Emma Birchwood was born when Simon was in his first year at school. He remembered her mother, Larissathe local beautywith her swollen belly and her proud husband, George. Then Larissa would push the pram through the gate, and Simon would crane his neck to catch a glimpse of the baby inside. Back then, it had seemed like magic.
Simon grew older, and little Emma did too. Soon she was dashing out of her parents house in a bright dress, a big ribbon tied in her fair hair. He watched from his bedroom window, their house just across the lane.
“Simon, could you walk Emma to school?” Larissa asked one day.
And so he didfor nearly a year, he escorted the little girl to class. At first, they walked in silence, but Emma was the first to break it, chattering about her lessons and little stories. She finished school earlier than him and would wait patiently for him to finish. Sometimes he walked home with his mates, and Emma tagged along. Before long, he waited for her by the gate each morning, taking her hand as they made their way to school.
The next September, Emma shyly asked if she could walk with her friends instead. From then on, the girls went ahead, and Simon followed at a distance, watching, ready to step in if needed. And one day, he had to. A goose blocked the path, hissing, wings flapping, and the girls froze in fear. Simon stepped between them, and they dashed past with shrieks of laughter.
The year after, Simon left for the secondary school in the next town and only came home on weekends and holidays. Emma seemed to forget him, passing by with downcast eyes, never saying hello. Then he went off to the Merchant Navy Academy and visited home even less.
“Mum, whos that?” Simon paused mid-bite as a tall, striking young woman stepped out of the Birchwoods gate.
“Thats our Emma!” His mother smiled out the window.
“When did *that* happen?” Simon was genuinely stunned.
“Time flies,” his mother sighed warmly. “Shes got the best of both her parents, hasnt she?”
He caught glimpses of her after thatthankfully, the net curtains hid him well. There she was, carrying buckets on a yoke to the well, the wind catching her blouse just so. Another morning, in a smart trouser suit, off to sit her exams. Simon even thought of walking her again.
But the final straw was her voice. He heard it while helping his father fix the fence*”With a voice like that, Id follow you anywhere!”*
Then, one day, he met her at the well, buckets in hand.
“Hello,” Emma said first, and his heart stuttered.
“Hello, Emma,” he replied, suddenly awkward.
The buckets filled slowly, but he couldnt think of a single thing to say.
He left that time with a quiet ache in his chest. He was in love.
After his swearing-in and posting, Simon found himself in frigid Aberdeen.
***
The next time he came home, it was with hope. Maybe now hed tell her how he felt. She was old enough, wasnt she?
The first day, he slept off the journey. Then the chores beganhis father had a long list. They chopped wood in the forest, split logs, stacked them in the shed. Then the rotting bathhouse beams needed replacing, the door frame adjusting, the floor relaying. The cowshed floor came last. Two weeks vanished like that.
Between chores, Simon glanced at the Birchwoods gateusually shut. Larissa or George would come and go, but no Emma.
“Mum, wheres Emma?” he finally asked.
“At university. Lives in the city now.”
Simon returned to Aberdeen empty-handed.
A year later, he saw her onceand hated it. From behind the curtains, he watched her walk with some lanky village lad. The boy joked and laughed at his own wit; Emma smiled indulgently, looking at him with a fondness that twisted Simons gut.
Later, he learned theyd married and settled in the county town.
Over the years, he saw herand worse, *heard* herwhenever he visited.
“Simon, stop moping. Youre not a boy anymore,” his mother said gently.
“Is it that obvious?”
“Plain as day. Find someone in Aberdeenput your heart at rest. Shes not for you.”
“I try not to think of her. But I do.”
***
Simon visited less and less, dragged around the country by the Navymostly remote postings. No wife, no ties. Truthfully, he sought the harshest assignments, as if punishing himself for something.
He missed his fathers funeral, arriving only on the ninth day. Four years later, he was late for his mothers, too. But the village didnt abandon its ownneighbours had done everything properly.
Seeing him at the gate, Larissa came out and handed him the key. Shed been the one to wire him about his mothers passing.
The next day, he tidied the graves. Then he cleared years of clutterhis parents kept everything. His mother, ill towards the end, had let the house go. He scrubbed, dusted, and in the evenings, alone, pored over old photo albums.
Then he found ita yellowed newspaper, folded small. A photo of him and Emma, walking to or from school. A visiting reporter had snapped them during harvest season, mistaking them for siblings.
Before leaving, he asked Larissa and George to tend the house and gardenthey were glad to.
“At least Emma wont need to buy potatoes in town now. That Vals always skint,” Larissa sighed.
“How is she?” Simon kept his tone neutral.
“Not well. Lodging with Vals aunt Marylike a guest in her own marriage. Val drinks, berates them both…”
“Why stay?”
“Love, she says. I think Mary put a spell on her!” Larissa whispered. “They live on Marys pension and Emmas wagessewing bags at the factory. Sometimes shes paid in stock. What they cant sell, Val drinks. Ive a dozen of those bagswant one?”
Simon nearly refused but took it. Well-madehe wouldnt have guessed it came from home. He liked to think Emma had stitched it herself.
***
After his service, Simon returned to the village. He renovated the housenew heating, windows, a septic tank, a well. He drove to work in a modest but decent car.
The village rarely saw himjust glimpses when he left for work or locked the gate behind him. No friends here now; old classmates were busy with their own lives.
“Oi, landlord! Locking yourself away again?” A womans voice, oddly familiar.
Simon paused mid-latch. An older woman smiled at him.
“Hello,” he said, studying her face.
“Dont recognise me?”
“No…”
“Your old teacher!”
“Mrs. Wilkins!”
“Invite me in, then.”
He did.
“So youve come home?”
“Had my fill of wandering.”
“Good. But a house needs a mistress.”
“True,” he admitted.
“Well, two of your classmates are divorced, two widowed. Fine womendecent men are scarce.”
“Remember Susan and Mike? Sweethearts at school, married after his service. Divorced nowhe left, she waits for Prince Charming. Or Lindaput up with her Toms affairs twenty years before kicking him out. And Tinalost her Vince. Good man, but frail. And Marie, our beautywidowed young, her boy grown now.”
Simon realised hed never once thought of them. They meant nothing. He didnt want any under his roof.
“See? Plenty to choose from,” Mrs. Wilkins said slyly.
“Ill think on it.”
“Think hard, Simon. A man alone isnt right.”
She left. He bolted the gate.
***
One evening, driving home, Simon spotted a slender woman walking ahead.
*Emma?*
He slowed. Yes*her*.
He pulled over. “Emma! Need a lift?”
“Hello.” That voice still froze him.
Her parents house was just ahead, but she climbed in.
“Visiting?” Hed talk about anything to keep her speaking.
“For good. Vals gone.”
“A young widow, then?”
She said nothing.
At her gate, she thanked him softlythe word echoed in his heart all night.
He proposed that evening. Larissa met him in the yard.
“Aunt Larissa, is Emma home?”
“Where else?”
“Ive come to ask for her. Loved her since you first sent me to walk her to school.”
“I know. Your mother and I talked of it often.
