“Blink and You Might Miss It”
“Emily, will you marry me?”
James, blushing, slid a velvet box across the table towards her. They sat in a cosy café, the air rich with the scent of fresh pastries, soft music playing in the background. His eyes shone with hope, his lips trembling slightly from nerves. When she hesitated, he added, “So will you? Or?”
Emily, who had been smiling serenely moments before, grew serious, a flicker of irritation crossing her face. She pushed aside her glass of sparkling wine and sighed. “James, Im sorry but I cant.”
“What do you mean you *cant*?” he stammered. “Weve been together five years. Unis behind us. Weve got good jobs, a flat. Why not make it official? Dont you want us to be a family?”
She shrugged. “James, Im just not ready! I want to live for *me* first. All that domestic blissSunday roasts, nappies, visiting relatives every weekendits not for me yet. I want to travel, go out with mates, do what *I* fancy. Im younglifes ahead of me! I dont want to be tied down!”
“So Im just baggage?” he asked, hurt.
“Dont be daft! Ive got other plans! Besides, arent we fine as we are? Loves what matters, right?”
But frustration boiled in James chest. “Other plans? I thought we *shared* plans! Turns out youd rather party like that grasshopper from the fable!”
“Oh, so *Im* the grasshopper? And youre the sensible little ant, deciding everything for us? You dont care what *I* want?” Emily snapped. “Bugger off!”
She stormed out, leaving James stunned.
Fuming, she marched through London until she reached Hyde Park, collapsing onto the first bench she saw. Anger churned inside her like molten lava.
“Who does he think he is? Deciding my life for me? Were not even thirty! And he wants to box me into domestic drudgery?”
Lost in rage, she barely noticed the woman who sat beside heruntil a sharp, sour smell hit her nose. A homeless woman, ragged and hollow-eyed, gestured to an empty bottle under the bench.
“Mind if I take that?”
Emily scowled. “Ever tried *working*? Youve got arms and legsget a job!”
Normally kind, she just needed to lash out, her fury scorching her insides.
The woman nodded. “Would if I could. But folks dont hire the likes of me.”
“Whose fault is that?”
“No ones!” She fished a dog-eared fag from her trackie pockets, then tucked it back. “They call me Maggie the Tramp. If I hadnt been such a silly cow in my youth, maybe Id be grandkids on my knee now, pickling onions, ironing shirts. I was pretty once, like you!” She coughed, grinning toothlessly. “Young, you think the worlds yours. Then its *gone*. Lads fancied meone, a bloke named Dave, an electrician. Decent chap. Adored me. Brought flowers, read poetry! Everyone said, Take him, youll want for nowt. But I sneered. Wanted some posh bloke, jet-setting, sweeping me off my feet. Free as a bird, I said”
She trailed off.
“What happened?” Emily asked, her own troubles forgotten.
Maggie shrugged. “Chased that dream, didnt I? Partied hard. Then met a smooth-talker. Charmed the knickers off meliterally. Got my council flat signed over to him. Used me, then tossed me out. No family to fight for me. Dave? Married now, kids, nice house. Saw him once hid. Ashamed.” She sighed. “Point is, lovedont toss away real happiness chasing fairy tales. Cosy homes beat flashy fantasies.”
Without goodbye, Maggie shuffled off, bottle in pocket.
Emily sat, stunnedthen defiance flared. “*She* was daft, letting some bloke con her. Not *me*.”
She trudged home, unease clinging like grime. Distracted, she stepped onto a crossing against the light
***CRASH.***
***
The hospital reeked of antiseptic and orangesthe woman in the daisy-print gown sharing slices. “Docs love a fresh smell!” she chirped, offering Emily some. “New girls awake! Hows the leg?”
“Fine,” Emily mumbled. “Just sore.”
“Course! Dont go leaping under lorries!” She nodded at the fruit and snacks on Emilys tray. “Your hubbys doting! Barely touched hospital slop!”
“Who?”
“James! Sat up all night, dashed to work, still brought your favourites.”
Emilys heart raced. Had she *married* him and forgotten? Noimpossible!
That evening, James rushed in with toiletries. “Hows the gut? Need the loo?”
“*What?*”
“Docs said stress mucks your digestion. Need help?”
“NO!”
“Right. Grab my neck.”
For a week, he ferried her to the loo, boiled water, tucked her in. Finally, she asked, “Why does everyone call you my husband?”
He smiled sadly. “Else they wouldnt let me in. Dont worryonce youre better, Ill vanish. You want that, yeah?”
Emily looked at him*really* lookedand realised: she *never* wanted to recover if it meant losing him.
“James I was an idiot. But now I dont *want* you to go. Marry me? Ill be a proper wife, swear it.”
P.S. Lifes better with a bit of magic. Cheers!
