**Diary Entry – June 12th**
“Bloody hell, Lizzie, what kept you?” I said when she finally dashed out of her house. We were in the same class, and we’d be late for school if she didn’t hurry.
“Mum poured the tea boiling hot—nearly scalded me,” Lizzie replied, laughing. “Had to wait for it to cool. Relax, we won’t be late. It’s not far.”
We’d been neighbours since we were kids, just a fence between our houses in the little Yorkshire village. Our parents got on well—sometimes too well. More than once, they’d joked about us marrying someday since we’d grown up so close.
I was the only son of Margaret and Thomas. Mum doted on me—to her, I was the cleverest, handsomest, most respectful lad in England. And, well, I did my best to live up to that. Lizzie was quiet but sharp—already sewing, knitting, and cooking proper meals while her mum was at work. Learned it all young.
“That Lizzie’s the one for our Jack,” Mum would say, practical as ever.
“Aye, and if they marry, we can tear down the fence—live as one big happy house,” Dad would chuckle.
The whole village expected it—me and Lizzie, always together. I liked her well enough, but not like *that*. Still, we were close. I think she hoped for more.
Then in Year 11, a new girl joined our class—Marianne. Dark hair, a dimple in her chin, and eyes full of sadness. I was gone the moment I saw her.
She and her mum, Theresa, had moved from London after her dad died. He’d drowned saving a neighbour’s boy—pushed the kid to safety, then his heart gave out. After the funeral, Marianne couldn’t bear to look at the boy he’d saved.
“Every breath hurts, Mum,” she’d say. “I can’t even say his name.”
Theresa sold their flat, bought a cottage here, and left the city behind.
Lizzie befriended Marianne, pitying her for the pain she carried. She saw how I felt about Marianne but never held it against either of us.
Time passed. Mum wasn’t pleased when Marianne and I started courting.
“Lizzie’s the one, Jack—practical, hardworking. This London girl? Who knows what she’s about? Probably can’t even boil an egg!”
“I never promised Lizzie anything, Mum. That was *your* plan.”
Dad stayed quiet, but if Mum nagged too much, he’d step in.
“Let the lad live his life, Margaret. It’s his choice.”
“His *choice*? He’s throwing everything away on some city girl! And you’d let him? Must be your mother’s influence—never liked me, that woman.”
Dad was sick of the feud between Mum and his mother. It had started the day they married and never ended.
After sixth form, Marianne and I decided to wed. Dad warned me not to rush, but I wouldn’t listen.
“I’ve thought it through. She’s the one.”
We slipped off to the registry office, married quietly, and came home to face the storm.
Mum erupted. “I won’t have that girl under my roof!”
I packed my things and moved in with Theresa. She and I got on well. As for Mum and Dad—I cut ties. Didn’t even invite them to my army send-off.
“I’ll visit for your swearing-in,” Marianne promised, and I grinned like a fool.
She kept her word—showed up, beaming. Then whispered, “Jack… I’m pregnant.”
I wrote to Mum and Dad with the news. No reply.
When our son, Alfie, was born, Marianne was hurt Mum refused to meet him. Theresa steered clear of Mum’s house.
After my service, I stopped by my parents’ first—missing them, foolishly hoping they’d missed me too.
“My boy!” Mum fussed, pouring me whiskey. I never drank, but exhaustion and her pushing wore me down.
Two glasses in, she leaned close.
“That Alfie’s not yours. Soon as you left, some lad visited Theresa’s—claims he’s a cousin, but I know better. The boy looks just like him.”
“Don’t talk rubbish,” I snapped, but the drink had loosened my grip on sense.
“Ask anyone—he’s not got your look.”
Something in me snapped. I grabbed Dad’s shotgun—unloaded, thank God—and stormed to Theresa’s.
Mum chased, wailing, as I levelled the gun at Marianne, Alfie in her arms, Theresa shielding them.
Mum shoved me—trigger clicked on empty air.
“Jack, don’t!” she screamed, clinging to my arm. “She’s tricked you!”
Theresa slammed the door, bolted it. I hammered until Mum dragged me home.
Later, Theresa whispered to Marianne, “We’ll leave. That woman won’t stop till she’s ruined us.”
They vanished the next day.
Mum threw a party for my return. Barely anyone came—not even me. They found me drunk outside the pub.
Lizzie refused to go.
“Honestly, Aunt Margaret—d’you think I’d want Jack now? After *this*?”
“What d’you mean?”
“You *lied*. You stole his son from him—his own mother! D’you think he’ll ever forgive you?”
Mum paled. She hadn’t considered that.
I drank myself into a stupor until my mate Paul shook me awake.
“Enough, Jack. Your mum’s poison. That ‘cousin’? Theresa’s nephew—fixing a fence! She even asked *me* to lie about Marianne. I told her where to go.”
The truth hit like a brick.
At home, I glared at Dad. “You *knew*?”
He looked away.
“I’ll never forgive you.”
I moved into Theresa’s empty house, worked myself ragged driving a van. Then Lizzie found me.
“Paul and I are getting married.”
“Good lad. I’ll be there.”
“Jack… go to Pinebrook. Marianne’s there.”
My heart lurched. “You’re sure?”
I drove like the devil.
Theresa was in the yard when I pulled up, Alfie in her arms. Marianne rushed out. I fell to my knees, clutching my chest.
“Are you hurt?” she gasped.
“I’ll die without you—both of you. Forgive me.”
We stayed in Pinebrook. Dad visits, adores Alfie. Mum pretends we don’t exist.
Theresa watches us sometimes, smiling.
*If they’re meant to be, no distance, no lie, no wretched mother can keep them apart.*
**Lesson learned:** Love’s worth fighting for—but never with a gun. Only with your heart.
