Not Like in the Films, But Close
Olivia adored romantic dramas and dreamed her life might mirror those silver-screen tales where everything ends happily. Yet dreams remained dreams, while reality crept along, grey and monotonous, in a tiny village tucked into the northern fringes of Yorkshire.
She’d married Alex, thinking it was love. But Alex, flighty and restless since boyhood, hadn’t changed. He brought her to his old cottage, and three years later announced:
“I’m off to the city. You do as you please. Too cramped here—my soul’s gasping for freedom.”
“Alex, what’re you on about? We’re fine as we are,” Olivia faltered, bewildered.
“You might be. I’m not.”
With that, he left, snatching up his passport and a worn rucksack of belongings. The village buzzed with gossip. Neighbours whispered behind their hands:
“Alex has gone and left Olivia, dashed off to the city. Reckon there’s another woman waiting.”
Olivia stayed quiet. No tears, no complaints. She carried on living in Alex’s house. Nowhere else to go—her sister’s family crammed into their parents’ place, no room left. She had no children.
“Guess God decided Alex wasn’t meant to be a father,” she thought, watching the neighbour’s little ones play.
Each evening, chores done, she’d sit before the telly, soaking up soap operas where passions flared and lives shattered. She let the stories wash over her, then tossed in bed, unable to sleep.
Mornings began with routine—feeding the piglet, the hens, the calf, Billy, tying him by the veggie patch, never letting him join the herd.
“Olivia!” a neighbour hollered. “Billy’s gone loose—charging round the village!”
“Where?!” She bolted out the gate. The calf was butting the neighbour’s fence, testing his new nubs of horns.
“Billy, Billy,” she coaxed, offering a crust. The calf shook his head. “Oh, for pity’s sake!” Olivia snapped. Billy lurched sideways, scattering a gaggle of geese.
She might’ve chased him all day if not for Jack, the mechanic. He snatched the rope, pulled the calf to the fence, and knotted it tight. Olivia stared at his strong hands, the muscles straining under his faded shirt. Suddenly, she wished those arms would fold around her, press her close.
She shook off the thought:
“What’s got into me? Acting like some lovestruck girl.”
She flushed. Jack was a schoolmate—ginger, always grinning, the village joker. Lived next door with Nina, a sturdy woman. Not for her.
“Never felt this way about him before,” she mused, glancing away.
She’d divorced Alex the moment he fled. Suitors came, even proposed, but none took her fancy. She stayed alone, unloved.
Jack wiped his hands on the grass. Olivia blurted, “Come through, wash up proper.”
Silently, he followed. Her back prickled under his gaze.
She noticed Jack looked at her differently now, and wondered,
“What’s got into him?”
He scrubbed his hands, dried them on the towel, shot her a loaded glance, and left.
From then on, a thread seemed strung between them. Olivia flushed when Jack passed. He started cutting through her yard—never had before. She rose early to weed the garden in the cool dawn—or so she told herself. Truth was, she hoped to see him. Their eyes would catch, his burning with something raw, almost worshipful.
She pushed the thoughts down, fearing Nina.
“If she notices—disaster. The whole village’ll know.”
But Jack kept coming, his gaze scorching. Olivia met it with soft looks, half-smiles. It felt like a telly drama—no end, no clear finale.
One day, as she swept the yard—
“Afternoon, Liv,” came a familiar voice. Alex’s nickname for her.
She turned. Her ex stood there—same cocky smirk, same squint of blue eyes, same stubble.
“Back again. Letting me in?”
“City life not pan out?”
Her heart didn’t skip. The love was gone, or burnt out. The door in her heart had slammed when he left chasing “better things,” abandoning her.
Alex reclaimed his house. Olivia had nowhere else. At night, she barricaded her bedroom door with the wardrobe. Alex holed up in the other room. Rarely home, always out with mates.
Jack grew sullen. Then one evening, spotting Olivia climbing out the window, something in him snapped:
“So she never took him back.”
Next morning, Olivia clambered out, her foot hit wood. Beneath the window sat two nailed-together planks.
“Who’d do this?” she marvelled. “Not Alex—he’s never here.”
Jack had built the step in the night. He and Nina weren’t married, just lived together for years. No children, though he doted on her lass from a past fling. Nina had come to him after a pub crawl, stayed, brought the girl along.
Winter set in. Alex’s money ran dry—no one in the village would buy him drinks—so he bolted back to the city. Olivia breathed free. Then Jack’s luck turned: Nina fell ill. The hardy woman wasted fast. Nina’s mum took the girl. Jack tended her, but they carted Nina to hospital. She never returned.
The whole village turned out for the funeral. Spoke kindly of her:
“Big woman, but soft-hearted. Never a cross word,” sighed old Gran Martha.
Jack was alone now. Dawn often found him shovelling snow from Olivia’s path, stealing glances at her windows.
Come spring, Olivia returned from work to an open door. A heavyset woman sat in her kitchen, sipping tea from her cup, spooning her jam.
“Surprise,” Alex drawled. “Me and Tracy are moving in. My house.” He was punishing her refusal. “This is my soon-to-be wife. Pack your bags—unless you fancy watching our bliss.”
Tracy cackled. Olivia decided to stay the night, leave at first light. Again, she shoved the wardrobe against the door.
“Lord, what’ve I done?” she whispered. “Auntie Clara’s place, maybe—she’s on her own…”
Morning came. As she hauled out her bags, Jack appeared. Wordlessly, he took the cases, carried them to his cottage. Shifted everything. Olivia stayed mute. Alex and Tracy exchanged smirks.
“What’s this, then—true love?” Alex sneered. “Look at ol’ Jake carting your rags.”
Jack took Olivia’s hand, led her home.
“Passions flared while I was gone,” Alex muttered. Tracy jabbed him. He shut up.
Inside Jack’s cottage, Olivia burst into tears—happy, relieved. He held her, lifted her. The ceiling spun. They were laughing.
Jack and Olivia married quick. A baby’s due. Alex glowers from his yard, but Olivia doesn’t care. At her back stands Jack—her solid wall.
