**Hello, Emma**
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**Hello, Emma**
31 May 2024
268.7K
12 min
“Em, hi. What are you up to?” came the voice of her best friend over the phone.
“Just got home from work. Is something urgent? Sorry, I’m exhausted—it’s been a mad day,” Emma replied.
“I’m calling to remind you about my birthday tomorrow. Seven o’clock at ‘The Griffin’. No excuses. See you then.” Before Emma could say another word, Lily, as always, hung up.
“Who was that?” Mum had been lingering in the doorway, eavesdropping.
“You heard everything,” Emma said. Mum pressed her lips together in annoyance. “Lily invited me to her birthday,” Emma softened.
“Shame you didn’t buy that blue dress—it’d have been perfect now.” Mum’s tone dripped with reproach.
“Mum, I completely forgot. I haven’t even got a present. And honestly, I don’t feel like going. I’ll wish her happy birthday another time.”
“Another time? Lily’s your only friend, and you’re about to upset her. You’ll end up alone. I’ll get the gift tomorrow, don’t worry. Go out, take your mind off work. You’re nearly thirty, and no family, no children. Honestly, not even a serious relationship.”
“What’s that got to do with anything? I’m only twenty-seven!”
“Only? Try already. Lily’s got suitors lining up. Maybe she’ll introduce you to someone,” Mum muttered.
“Feels like you’re desperate to get rid of me, just like Gran used to say.” Emma didn’t bother hiding her irritation.
“What’s so bad about that? Your old classmates’ kids are nearly finishing school…”
“Lily, by the way, isn’t married either, despite her queue of admirers,” Emma snipped.
“Oh, she’ll marry soon enough. But you…”
“Here we go.” Emma rolled her eyes. Mum had resurrected her favourite, painful, unsolvable topic.
“Go on, say you’re about to drop dead, and I’m still not settled.” Emma was properly riled now.
“I’m not planning to die yet, but time’s ticking. I’d like to bounce grandchildren on my knee while I still can,” Mum shot back, equally cross.
“Good grief, Mum, you’re only fifty-three!”
“Exactly. Soon I’ll retire with no grandchildren. So, you’re going tomorrow. Oh, the chops are burning!” Mum bolted to the kitchen.
The next evening, gift bag in hand, Emma stepped into the restaurant. She wore the blue dress Mum had insisted on, her hair curled and loose—another of Mum’s suggestions. She felt out of place, like Alice after growing too big too fast. She was late, thanks to the row with Mum.
The dining room buzzed, every table taken. Waiters in long black aprons wove silently between them. The clamour of voices washed over Emma like a tide.
“Do you have a reservation, or are you joining someone?” The maître d’, stiff in his suit and fixed smile, materialised beside her.
“My friend’s birthday…” Emma mumbled, suddenly feeling like an intruder. She rarely dined out and always felt awkward.
“This way.” He led her to the table where Lily sat with two men. She recognised Daniel Whitmore—banker’s son, introduced once before. The other bloke looked plainer, slightly out of his depth. Of course. Lily had dragged him along as a setup.
The maître d’ pulled out a chair. Emma sat.
“Finally!” Lily hissed. “We’ve already ordered—hope you don’t mind. You look lovely, by the way.”
Emma wished the floor would swallow her. She apologised for being late, handed over the gift, and Lily set it aside without a glance.
The room glittered—too many lights, too many sequins. Daniel poured champagne.
“Just a little,” Emma warned as the bottle neared her flute. “I’ve got a night shift later.”
“Emma’s a nurse,” Lily announced with faux reverence.
Daniel gave a short toast. They clinked glasses. Emma sipped the sharp fizz and set hers down as the first course arrived.
“Meet Oliver. He’s a sailor, believe it or not,” Lily confided, picking up her cutlery.
“Merchant navy?” Daniel asked.
“Fishing trawler,” Oliver said tersely.
“Pay well?”
“Can’t complain.”
“Must be rough, six months at sea. No booze, no women. How do you stay sane?” Daniel refilled the glasses.
“After a shift, you’re too knackered for anything. You get used to it.”
Oliver ate heartily, answering questions. He never glanced at Emma but kept sneaking looks at Lily. Of course. She was stunning—men always fell for her. Emma felt invisible.
When the band struck up, Lily dragged Daniel to dance. Others followed. Emma excused herself when they returned—she needed to change before her shift.
“Oliver, walk Emma home,” Lily commanded like a queen granting favours.
“Really, it’s fine,” Emma protested, already standing.
“Absolutely not,” Lily insisted, fixing Oliver with a look.
Emma said quick goodbyes and fled.
“You don’t need to walk me. It’s just round the corner,” she said sharply once outside.
“I’ll walk you,” he insisted.
“Suit yourself,” Emma muttered.
They reached her building in silence.
“We’re here. Goodnight.” Emma stopped.
“I fly to Aberdeen in two days. Medical checks, then back to sea.” Oliver studied the building. “Which ones are yours?”
“Safe travels.” She turned toward the door. When she glanced back, he was already gone.
“Who was that?” Mum pounced the moment Emma stepped inside.
“You saw.” Emma kicked off her heels with relief.
“I just happened to look out the window,” Mum fibbed.
“Right, totally by accident.” Emma brushed past her.
“So, who was it?” Mum pressed, handing Emma a lunchbox as she reappeared in jeans and a hoodie.
“One of Lily’s admirers.” Emma took the box, pecked Mum’s cheek, and left.
Later, Lily admitted she’d invited Oliver as a setup. “You’re welcome, bestie. I’ve got your back.”
Warm May bled into a fleeting summer, then a damp autumn. By November, a howling wind rattled the hospital windows when an ambulance delivered a bloke with a broken arm and concussion.
Emma recognised Oliver. After X-rays, she cleaned his cuts while the doctor plastered his arm.
“What happened, lad? Should we call the police?”
“No. Got back from a trip, went to see my girl—turns out she’s getting married. Her fiancé got jealous and gave me this. But I got a few in too.”
“Rough luck,” the doctor mused. “Was she at least pretty?”
“Tell me, Doc—can girls not wait? Or is it me?”
“Ask Emma. She’d know better.”
“You’re ashore two months, then six at sea?” Emma asked.
“Give or take,” Oliver admitted.
“Girls don’t get time to love you. And they’re scared. Sailors have a wife in every port, don’t they?”
“We dock in Norway for a day or two—barely step ashore. Mum nags me to settle down,” he sighed.
Emma laughed.
“What’s funny?”
“My mum’s obsessed with seeing me in a white dress. Girls want their men close. Maybe quit the sea? Then you’ll get a family.”
“Few more trips, save for a flat, then I’ll settle.” He looked at her hopefully.
“Done. Off you go, Emma.”
In the corridor, she removed her mask. She’d liked Oliver that night at the restaurant—enough to remember. He hadn’t recognised her.
During her shifts, Oliver shadowed her—waiting while she gave injections, helping with IV stands. Once, she entered his ward to find another patient in his bed.
“Your sailor got discharged this morning. Asked when you’re next on. Smitten, that one,” a colleague teased. “He’s not bad. If I were single…”
After her shift, Emma stepped into the freezing dark.
“Hello, Emma.” Oliver’s voice made her jump.
“Didn’t mean to scare you.” He held out roses.
“Thanks.”
“I got out today,” he said, falling into step. “Fancy the cinema?”
“I’m dead on my feet. You’ve seen my job.”
“So, no cinema?”
“Ask someone else. Plenty of girls about.”
“Have I upset you?”
“We met seven months ago. You didn’t recognise me.”
“We’ve met before? NoThey married the following spring, and as the years passed, they often laughed about how stubbornness and chance had brought them together, proving that love, like the tide, always finds its way.
