Mum, why do you want that layabout? He won’t give you anything good in life! Oh, you’ll cry rivers over him, mark my words. He’ll end up in prison for sure! You’ll be waiting for him like some soldier’s wife from the old days, won’t you?
Mum, don’t say that! Alfie isn’t a layabout. He’s kind and caring. And he loves me!
That sort only love while it suits them! Forget about him. You should pay attention to Geoffrey. Now, there’s a proper husband. He’d be your rock—trust me, I know.
Emily glared at her mother, who just didn’t—and didn’t want to—understand.
Mum, I don’t like Geoffrey. He’s too…
Too what? No, he might not look all rugged, but he loves you! Give him a chance! Chuck that good-for-nothing Alfie out on his ear!
No, Mum. I’ll only marry Alfie. That’s my final word.
Stephen, can’t you tell your daughter she’s wrong? Margaret shot her husband a look. Why are you just standing there?
Stephen heaved himself off the sofa and stepped between his arguing wife and daughter. He wasn’t fond of Alfred either, but he didn’t want to meddle. She was grown now, he reckoned—she could figure things out for herself. After all, she was the one who had to live her life.
Girls, what’s all this? Margaret, let her be with who she wants. And Emily, love, just be careful. If anything goes wrong, you come to me, alright? I’ll help however I can.
The woman threw her hands up, while Emily flung her arms around her father.
Thanks, Dad! We’re only dating for now. Alfie hasn’t even proposed.
Good. Let’s hope he never does, Margaret muttered.
Emily kept quiet, not wanting to set off another lecture.
At twenty, she reckoned she could sort out her own life, and her mum just didn’t get it. Alfie was her whole world—they’d been in love for years now, which only made Margaret angrier. Geoffrey, her uni mate, was Mum’s golden boy, but Emily couldn’t stand him.
With her dad’s blessing, she stopped hiding her relationship. Alfie was thrilled. Though he’d always been a bit of a troublemaker, with mates just as rough, he truly loved her—enough to change.
Alfie, we’ll rent a flat after the wedding, yeah? Can you manage it?
Course I can. Worst case, my folks will chip in. They’re dead chuffed about us, actually. Say you’re a good influence, Alfie grinned.
Really? Emily blushed, equal parts shy and pleased.
This talk happened in her final year. Alfie was already working, both saving up for the wedding. Margaret still refused to help—Stephen secretly slipped Emily money rather than argue.
Find yourself a decent bloke, then we’ll pay. Tie yourself to that waster? Sort it out yourself.
Emily cried from the hurt, but she couldn’t change her mother’s mind. They’d have to manage. Thankfully, Alfie’s parents were lovely—they’d welcomed her warmly.
I wish Mum didn’t hate you so much. Dad says I can make my own choices. He doesn’t interfere—he supports me.
Alfie pulled her close, meeting her eyes.
Em, don’t fret. She’s just worried. I can take it. Plenty haven’t liked me—I’m used to it.
Who didn’t like you? She nudged him playfully.
Oh… He kissed her. Just know I’ve only ever loved you.
Always?
Always.
True, he’d loved her since childhood. Since she’d moved to the neighbourhood and started primary. At first, he’d teased her—till she shoved back. That was the start—friendship, then love.
His wild streak hadn’t vanished overnight. He’d got into scrapes, sometimes regretted them, often didn’t think at all.
But now he’d straightened up—finished college, worked at a garage, earning well.
They married without her parents’ help. Alfie was trusted at work now, his rowdy youth fading. Emily was happy, though Margaret still—putting it mildly—disapproved. She swore her daughter would regret that scoundrel.
Alfie, let’s visit my parents tomorrow? Emily hugged him.
He stroked her rounded belly.
Em, not now. No stress till little George arrives. Then we’ll show him off. Mum and Dad want to pop round soon, though.
Alright. Ask your mum to make that amazing pie, yeah?
Alfie smiled.
She’d be chuffed. Loves spoiling you.
Your mum’s lovely. Emily rubbed her belly. She’s already doting on George—wants him healthy. Says I need to eat right.
Well, let her, Alfie laughed.
Money was tight—sometimes they borrowed. Emily hadn’t worked since uni, so Alfie carried them. But the former troublemaker never complained. He’d do anything for her.
Time flew. George arrived—his proud parents bursting to show him off. On Alfie’s day off, they visited her folks. They’d been at the hospital, but Emily missed them—and it’d been a month. Everyone was eager.
Margaret had cooked all morning; Stephen tidied, excited to see his grandson—he’d visited secretly, unlike his wife, who still resented Alfie.
Hi, Mum! They burst in.
Alfie carried George, humming; Emily lugged the nappy bag.
Love! Why are you carrying that? Some husband you’ve got—useless! Margaret went straight for the jab.
It’s not heavy, and Alfie’s got George. Mum, stop.
Alfie touched her sleeve—they’d agreed not to rise to it. But Emily couldn’t stay quiet when he was slighted.
Stephen swept the baby up.
Put him on the sofa, Dad, Emily said.
Blimey! Since when do you handle babies? Margaret gaped. You were scared of Emily!
I told you I visit. Play with George.
Stephen shot her a look. She flushed.
Fine. Come eat—I made your favourite, love.
Smells amazing, Alfie said politely.
Margaret ignored him. He sighed, following Emily.
Soon, they were all chatting—Stephen and Alfie about work, Emily and Margaret about the baby. Then Alfie joined in:
We’ll put George in boxing or wrestling when he’s older.
What, so he turns out a lout like you? Margaret snapped.
Mum! Enough!
Let her speak. Am I a bad husband? A bad father? Do I not provide? Not love my wife? Alfie met her eyes—he’d had enough. I’ve changed. Yes, I was a troublemaker—that’s past. What’s wrong now?
Silence. But Margaret wasn’t done:
Alfie, people don’t change. Their true colours always show. I just pity my daughter—you’ll ruin her life!
Mum, I am happy…
Margaret, Stephen cut in, how many school windows did I break? I was on the police register—regular at the juvenile unit.
That’s different! You changed!
Alfie burst out laughing. Emily grinned. Margaret turned crimson. Just then, George wailed—the argument forgotten in the scramble to soothe him.
…Alfie knew she’d never fully accept him. But he hoped—for Emily and George’s sake—she might soften. Not that he needed her approval, but it hurt Emily when they rowed. And he couldn’t bear seeing her sad.
Still, who knew? Maybe time would mend things. Not yet—but someday. Time had a way of healing.
