STARING INTO THE VOID
David and Emily wed when they were just nineteen.
They could not exist apart; each breath depended on the other. It was a wild, heedless lovethe sort that makes the air shimmer and the walls dissolve. Sensing the tempest, their parents quickly decided to make things proper, just in case anything… improper might arise.
The wedding was a grand, dreamy affaircakes stacked to the rafters, flowers spilling over, the hum of laughter mingled with the sharp crackle of fireworks. A doll perched upon the bonnet of Davids old Ford, confetti floating like blown apple blossoms. In the distance, guests shouted a strange wedding chant that echoed out into the cooling evening.
Emily’s parents took no part in footing the bill; their wages barely stretched to bread and ale. Davids mother, Alexandra, or Sandra as she insisted everyone call her for reasons never truly explained, paid for everything. Sandra, walking briskly in her solid shoes, tried her best to warn David about marrying a girl whose parents tipped the bottle as a matter of breakfast. But David was unmovablelove so mighty, he said, would sweep away any troublesome heredity.
Sandra clucked and quoted her favourite English saying:
Dont expect oranges from an oak, my boylove thats shorter than a robins beak, mark my words…
David and Emily stood, on tiptoe, at the edge of what seemed like unbroken happiness. They imagined the endless spring of their devotion, parties without end, bright days unfurling like bunting. The world seemed to sway at their feet.
But life, as it tends, told its own tale.
Sandra and her husband presented the newlyweds with a flata neatly trimmed place in a lively terrace. Live well, and be merry, my children! they declared. At first, everything was bathed in a golden glow.
Emily bore two daughtersLucy and Hazel. David was enchanted by them, proud and assured in his little kingdom.
But before five years had passed, Emily began to drift mysteriously from home. When she returned, the tang of gin or bitter clung about her. David asked for an explanation. Emily at first stayed silent, then suddenly declaredcold eyes alightthat she had never truly loved him. It was just teenage fancy, never more.
Now, she said, she had met the man of her dreamsa married fellow with three daughters of his own. She would go to him. And that was that.
David was catapulted into a bone-deep fogbetrayed by the one he adored.
Emily and her new beloved slipped away to some threadbare village at the far edge of the map. She insisted that happiness could be found in a broom cupboard if only the heart was glad. The girls were left adrift.
Sandra, being a force of natureone youd never catch if you triedtook the granddaughters into her home. She and her husband doted on them, giving out sweets and gentle scoldings.
David, awash in grief and confusion, was coaxed by a friend into joining a peculiar church. He soon remarrieda widow named Edith with two blustering sonsand was formally blessed by the churchs odd rites.
Now, David’s hours were consumed by Ediths endless woes. If he dared mention his daughters, Edith would tut,
They have their mother, dont they? Now do see Oskar off to school and feed little Victor his porridge.
David did as he was told.
He still loved Emily. But he knew the path to her was lost.
Seven years slid by, and suddenlyEmily appeared at Sandras door, clutching a little girl of about four.
Sandra eyed her sharply,
Well, Emilylook at the state of you. Lifes taken a bite, hasnt it? Is that your daughter?
Yes, her names Molly. May we stay here for a while? Emily shuffled, uncertain on the threshold.
Did someone throw you out? Sandra pressed.
No, I left. Couldnt take the beatings and the bottle anymore. My husbands drunk from dawn till dusk.
Thats the man you picked. No one dragged you there. Why not run home to your parents? Sandra sniffed.
I missed my girls. I wanted to see themplease, Sandra, dont refuse me.
Sandra snorted, Now you remember your children? Youre quite the mother-hen, arent you, Emily?
Before it could grow heated, the bell chimed. In tumbled Lucy and Hazel, sheepish, teenagers now. They recognised their mother but felt nothing, stewing instead in silent anger. Sandra mourned her granddaughters orphaned hearts.
But still, Sandra couldnt chase them into the street. Emily and little Molly stayed.
A month passed. Then, one drizzly morning, Emily was gone. She had vanished back to the village and her sweet tormentor. She left Molly in Sandras care.
Now Sandra and her husband raised three granddaughters, and the house rang with kindness, respect, and a sort of sad laughter.
Time cannot be bargained with.
Years galloped by.
Grandma Sandra, and soon after her husband, slipped quietly past the veil.
Lucy married but remained childless. Hazel let her hair grow silver and clung to spinsterhood.
Molly, at seventeen, bore a childfather unknownand traipsed off to the village to join her mother.
Youth swept out the door without so much as a wave, and old age crept in, unannounced.
Emily lived alone. Her companion had been carted off to the city by his daughters, sickly and beyond Emilys help. They blamed her for his illnessMind your own patch and keep your nose out of ours, they snarled as they left.
Villagers called Emily a shameless tipplerthe kind whose misfortunes bounce between glass-topped walls. Gossip drifted lazily above the hedgerows, and Emily became the punchline of many unkind tales.
David, in turn, fled Edith and escaped the church that had ensnared him. He was left alone in his mothers old flat, sipping tea that tasted of regret, his only companions three catsPatch, Dusty, and Princeto keep despair at bay. That was all the love that remained.
And yet, happiness had once lingered, knocking at the door of Emily and Davids dreams.
