Emily Whitmore placed the last marked exercise book on top of the pile at the edge of her desk. Now it was time to record the term grades in the register. Outside the staffroom window, snowflakes drifted slowly in the glow of the streetlights, long after night had fallen.
She heard the clatter of a metal bucket and the wet slap of a mop hitting the floor just outside the door. It was the cleaner, Mrs. Wilkins—whom even the teachers called “old Val”—who had come upstairs to scrub the corridors. Spotting the strip of light under the staffroom door, Val grumbled loudly:
“Lingers till all hours, tramping about—why don’t they just go home?”
The mop whispered against the linoleum as if agreeing.
*No one’s waiting for me. You’ll have to endure me a little longer, Mrs. Wilkins*, Emily sighed inwardly before opening the class register.
Forty minutes later, she shut it wearily, shelved it with the others, and paused. She hadn’t even noticed when the noise outside had stopped. Emily slipped on her coat in front of the mirror, grabbed her handbag, gave the staffroom one last glance, and flicked off the light. The wet floors still gleamed faintly under the dim glow of the emergency bulb at the far end of the corridor.
Downstairs, even the security desk was unmanned. She stepped into his cubbyhole, hung the key in the glass-fronted cupboard.
“I’m leaving—staffroom’s locked, key’s in the cupboard!” she called, shattering the school’s heavy silence.
No answer. No one emerged. But she knew the building was never truly empty. A caretaker or guard always stayed overnight.
“Goodnight!” she announced before stepping outside.
A few steps from the school, she glanced back and spotted the elderly caretaker locking the doors from within.
The icy playground, worn smooth by hundreds of student footsteps, was already dusted with fresh snow. Emily picked her way carefully across it and stepped through the wrought-iron gates.
The street was deserted, cars few and far between. She hurried home.
Ever since childhood, playing school with her dolls and friends, “Em” had dreamed of becoming a teacher. What else could she be, with her mother also teaching English and literature? After school, she breezed into teacher training college.
There were few men in her faculty—and those paid attention only to the prettiest girls, a group Em never counted herself part of. By graduation, she had neither a husband nor even a boyfriend.
She wasn’t troubled. There was time. Em looked younger than her years, often mistaken for a sixth-former. Her mother, though, worried endlessly. She believed teaching shaped one’s character—and the longer Em went solo, the harder it would be to find a worthy partner. Her parents bought her a flat, granting her independence.
But what use was freedom when even the school staff was overwhelmingly female? Aside from the P.E. teacher—who fancied every woman in sight—the safeguarding officer (an ex-soldier with three grandchildren), and two elderly caretakers.
“God forbid you follow my path—marrying late, having your only child at forty,” her mother fretted.
But would fretting about it conjure a husband?
Christmas lights twinkled in windows as Em walked. She hadn’t bothered with a tree. Why bother? She’d just go to her parents’ as usual. Turning into a quiet side street, footsteps echoed behind her. Uneasy, she glanced back.
A hooded figure kept pace a short distance away. She gripped her handbag tighter and quickened her step.
Rounding a corner, she pressed against the wall, holding her breath. Seconds passed—no footsteps. Unable to bear it, she peeked out—and collided with the man.
“What do you want? Why are you following me? I’ll call the police!” Her voice trembled. “Help!” she squeaked for emphasis.
He yanked back his hood.
“Miss Whitmore—it’s me, Daniel Harper,” he said, smiling.
“Daniel?” She truly didn’t recognise this tall, broad-shouldered man as the boy from her first-ever class. “Are you robbing me?” she gasped, eyes wide.
“Of course not. I’ve been walking you home for days. It gets dark early, the alleys lack lighting—and times are uneasy. Tonight you stayed unusually late.”
“You’ve done this often?” Em asked. “I never noticed.”
“Was the school tree lit yet?” he asked, still smiling.
“Yesterday,” she admitted, finally returning his smile.
“I loved when they put up a real pine in the hall—smelling of tinsel and promise. Impossible to focus those last days before Christmas,” he mused. “Come on, I’ll walk you.”
“That’s alright, Daniel. It’s just round the corner.”
“Don’t worry. It’s been years since we talked properly.” His tone turned earnest.
They walked the empty street, Em asking after his life. He ran a small IT repair business, he said, planning to open a shop with a friend—”You’d remember him. Tom Rigby.”
At her door, he glanced up. “I’ve never seen lights on when I drop you off. No one’s waiting.”
“You should’ve been a detective,” she joked, thanking him before turning to leave.
“Not inviting me in, Miss Whitmore?” he called after her.
“It’s late. I’m exhausted,” she said over her shoulder.
The next evening, she left school early. Before she could even change, the doorbell rang.
Daniel stood there, one arm hugging a bound Christmas tree, the other holding a printer-paper box.
“Evening. I had a hunch you hadn’t got a tree. Brought decorations too,” he grinned.
“That’s kind, but I wasn’t planning to. I’ll be at my parents’.” His smile faltered. “Come in,” she relented, stepping aside.
The flat filled with the scent of pine as Daniel set up the tree. Decorating, their hands brushed—flustering them both. Over tea, he asked:
“Can I call you Em? We’re not in school anymore. And ‘Miss Whitmore’ is a mouthful.”
She liked that he didn’t opt for “Emily”—she’d always hated that name, associating it with the simpering heroine of some old period drama.
“I checked your socials—saw your friends call you that,” he admitted shamelessly.
“What else do you know?” she asked warily.
He laughed. “Shall I drop the ‘you’? We’re not teacher and pupil now.” Not letting her recover, he added, “I had a crush on you back then. Loved how you blushed while handing out detentions.”
Em froze. She’d noticed his glances, but pupils often fancied teachers—especially young ones. Reciprocating was unthinkable.
Her first class stuck in memory. At their leavers’ ball, Daniel had asked her to dance. They’d waltzed alone under scrutiny—the other teens couldn’t manage it. Em’s mother had taught her.
“You know, I worked harder because of you. Couldn’t bear looking dumb in front of you. First in English, then everything else. I wanted to achieve enough to deserve you. Dreamt of coming back someday…” He paused. “But I lost patience. Afraid someone else might.”
She studied him—no longer a boy, but a striking man. Sharp features softened by warm eyes.
“Daniel, I’m older…”
“Does it matter? Barely four years. I know tradition says men should be older, but who cares nowadays?”
“You’re serious? About marriage?” She was stunned. “You’ve grown, but so have I.”
He met her gaze. “I’ve loved you for years. Waited to say it like this. We’ve both changed—so let’s spend New Year’s together and get to know each other now. If you’ll let me. Give me a chance.”
*Why not?* she thought, flushing. *He looks my age now. Mum will stop fretting about my ‘ticking clock’. We’ll see.*
“Alright,” she whispered.
“Really?” His whole face lit up. “You handle supper—I’ll bring champagne and surprises. No dull moments.” Rising, he hesitated until she stood too.
They locked eyes until he broke the silence hoarsely: “It’s late. Tomorrow we’ll plan properly.”
The raw hope in his gaze made her look away, heart pounding.
Leaning against the door after he left, cheeks burning, she called her mother next day: “Mum, I won’t make it for New Year’s. Don’t worry—I won’t be alone.”
Her mother rushed over, demanding details. Em omitted that he’d once been her student—unthinkable for a woman in the Local Education Authority.
By summer term, a slim wedding band and rounding stomach accompanied her lessons. Daniel met her daily after school.
Colleagues watched enviously; girls whispered about her flowing dresses. Whatever anyone thought, Em and Daniel were happy.
**Lesson: Love often arrives unexpectedly—never dismiss it for fearYears later, as they decorated the Christmas tree with their children, Em realised that sometimes the greatest gifts aren’t found under the tree, but in the quiet moments of love that find you when you least expect them.
