For Love
“Excuse me, miss, do you know where Victory Street is? I’ve been going in circles, and no one seems to know.”
Standing in front of Emily was a nice-looking bloke with a big black bag slung over his shoulder.
“Is that your idea of a pick-up line?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Name’s Oliver. And you?”
“Margaret,” Emily smirked, rolling her eyes before turning to walk away. But the guy caught up with her.
“Honestly, I really am looking for the street. A mate invited me to his wedding, and I’ve got no clue about this city.”
Emily finally took proper notice of him—checked shirt, loose trousers, nothing like the skinny jeans everyone else wore. And that travel bag. Definitely not from around here.
“Keep going down this road, turn right at the traffic lights into the side lane. That’s Victory Street,” she said, softening a little.
“Cheers.” Oliver grinned, and his whole face lit up. “So, what’s your real name?”
“Why do you want to know?”
“Mum’s a massive Shakespeare fan, named me Oliver. Could’ve been worse—imagine if she’d gone with Hamlet?” He laughed, and Emily had never heard a guy laugh like that—genuine, wholehearted.
“Dunno if my mum’s into Shakespeare, but she called me Emily,” she admitted, laughing too.
“Fancy coming to the wedding with me tomorrow? My mate’s getting hitched, and I don’t know a soul here.” His hopeful eyes locked onto hers.
She hesitated. He seemed decent enough.
“Sorry, I’ve got an exam tomorrow. Need to revise.” She turned to leave again.
“Give me your number, and I’ll leave you alone. How else am I supposed to tell you the wedding time?”
“Did I say I was going with you?” Emily frowned.
“No, but… You’re at uni, right? Let me guess—future doctor.”
“Yeah. How’d you know?”
“My mum says the kindest people are teachers and doctors. I’m not leaving till you give me your number. I’ll follow you home if I have to. Turn up tomorrow, stand in the middle of your street, and shout your name.”
With a sigh, Emily rattled off her number.
“I’ll call you!” he called after her.
Mum had wanted Oliver to go to uni straight after school, but his grades weren’t quite enough for a full ride, and they couldn’t afford the fees. Oliver had always been more into footie than textbooks anyway.
He and his mum lived in a small market town with one school—where she taught English—and a tiny clinic for minor things. Anything serious meant a trip to the city.
Oliver started working at his dad’s old mate’s garage. Uni could wait till after his service. Girls liked him well enough, but none had ever really touched his heart.
His dad had died in a fire. He’d been a builder, raised a beautiful home for his family. One evening, walking back, he saw smoke pouring from a wooden house. That summer had been brutally hot, fires weren’t rare. A woman ran to him, begging for help—her son was still inside.
The flames were already licking the windows as people gathered. The front door was locked from the inside. Oliver’s dad smashed a window and disappeared into the fire. He found the boy quickly—luckily, he’d guessed the right room—but the kid had already passed out from smoke. His dad passed the boy out the window but didn’t make it out himself.
Turned out the woman’s husband had come home drunk, locked the door, passed out with a fag still lit.
The next day, Oliver called Emily. Asked how her exam went, reminded her about the wedding.
It was Saturday, no studying, so Emily said yes. Warm May air, cherry blossom petals scattered like snow underfoot. When Oliver saw her coming, he froze.
After the wedding, he walked her home, talking, kissing at her doorstep.
“I leave tomorrow. You should visit. It’s gorgeous where I live—there’s this church tower with views that’ll knock your socks off. Our house is proper nice, my dad built it. The river splits the town in two.”
Back when his dad was alive, they’d go fishing at dawn. Mist on the water, dew on the grass, silence so deep you could hear the fish jump. They’d bring back perch, bream, even a pike once—”This big!” Oliver stretched his arms wide. “Okay, maybe a bit smaller. When I was serving, I dreamed of home every night.”
“Why didn’t you go to uni part-time?” Emily asked.
“Mum said education should be proper. Reckon she just wanted me out of that town. Work’s scarce there. Come after your exams, yeah? See the place for yourself. Big town, loads of flats. Two-hour bus ride to paradise.”
They didn’t want to say goodbye. Would’ve talked till sunrise if Emily hadn’t started shivering.
On the bus next morning, Oliver texted—*Miss you already. Counting the days.*
Emily smiled over breakfast.
“Was that last night’s boy?” Mum asked.
“You saw us?”
“Course. Who is he? Another student?”
“Yeah, engineering at the polytechnic,” Emily lied.
Mum wanted the best for her only daughter. She wouldn’t approve of Oliver—just a mechanic in some no-name town.
After that, they talked for hours, Skyped till midnight. One weekend, Oliver made it back—summer tourists meant the garage was swamped. He left on the last bus.
“You promised you’d visit. I’m waiting,” he’d said as they said goodbye.
Exams done, Emily told her parents she was off to see a friend for a few days.
“Didn’t know you had mates out of town?” Mum frowned.
“Didn’t. Now I do. Lovely place—river, fishing.”
“So you’re going fishing?” Mum scoffed.
“Leave her be. She’s grown. Let her go,” Dad cut in. “Wouldn’t mind a fishing trip myself.”
“Right, I’m off. Thanks, Mum.” Emily kissed her cheek before the bickering could start.
Next morning, Dad drove her to the station.
“You’re not really visiting a friend, are you?”
“Don’t tell Mum. I’ll be fine, I’m not daft.”
“Hope you know what you’re doing. Call us.”
“Yeah, Dad. Ta.”
Oliver met her as promised. Her little hand disappeared in his as they walked to his house. The town *was* gorgeous. Emily worried how his mum would take a near-stranger staying under her roof.
She’d expected some run-down cottage—but Oliver led her to a proper two-storey home. His dad had built it for the future—room for a family.
Her room was cosy. His mum showed her around—hot water, shower, gas stove (and a fireplace just in case). Better than her flat back home. A framed photo of Oliver’s dad on the wall—Oliver was his spitting image.
They walked till late, talked till they were hoarse. That night, Emily lay awake, replaying the day, listening to the house creaking—like it missed its master.
Oliver took three days off to help her settle in. No holiday—too much work, another mechanic had broken his arm.
That day, he finished a job early, called the owner to collect.
“Can you drop it off? Wife’s pregnant, can’t leave her.”
“No bother.”
Oliver changed to keep the car clean, drove across the river where the fancy houses were.
Teens always hung around the bridge in summer—swimming, fishing, lazing. From a distance, Oliver saw one boy fall in. He slowed, ready to yell at them for diving off the bridge—dangerous. But the lads were already waving him down, dragging him to a gap in the railings.
A kid had slipped through. Oliver scanned the water—no sign of him. Without thinking, he jumped.
Below, a concrete slab jutted with steel rods. Lucky he hadn’t dived headfirst. One rod scraped his back as he grabbed the boy, then—white-hot pain speared his spine.
He pushed the kid up, but his legs wouldn’t move. The oldest teen jumped in, swam over. A driver stopped, saw the commotion, rushed to help. The boy survived.
Oliver, fighting the current, couldn’t make it. The stranger hauled him out—unconscious by then.
At the hospital, the doctors shook their heads. No one there could operate on his spine. They sent him to the city, but no luck there either.
“One vertebra’s shattered. We can’t fix it here—too risky. Needs London, specialists. And money. A *lot*. They’d replace the bone with a graft. Still no guarantees he’ll walk, but it’s his best shot.”
His mum cried. That kind of money? Impossible.
“Get him to London. I’ll find the cash,” EmilyShe sold her car, emptied her savings, and when her father quietly matched the rest without a word, she knew love was worth every sacrifice.
