Hope and her husband Oliver sat at the dining table in their cosy cottage in the village of Ashford. Suddenly, there was a knock at the door. Standing on the doorstep was Grace, an old schoolmate of Hope’s. The couple exchanged glances, their faces mirroring surprise. Grace rarely visited, and her appearance was unexpected.
“Come in, Grace,” said Hope, masking her confusion. “I’ll admit, you’ve caught us off guard.”
“Won’t beat around the bush,” Grace said, stepping inside. “I reckon you, like me, want your kids close and happy…”
“You’re talking in riddles,” Oliver frowned. “Sit down. Hope’s made a cracking beef stew—help yourself.”
“My son’s decided to get married,” Grace blurted, looking at them with determination.
“Blimey! What’s that got to do with us?” Oliver set his spoon down.
Hope and Oliver couldn’t fathom where this was heading, and the room grew tense.
Earlier that week, Hope had walked through the village with her daughter Lily. Two neighbours stood by the roadside, deep in gossip. Spotting Hope, they fell silent and turned, clearly eager for news about her trip to visit her eldest son.
After exchanging pleasantries, Hope and Lily paused to chat briefly about the neighbours’ affairs before mentioning her grandson and his mum. Just as they moved to leave, a woman passed by. With a smile, she called out, “Hello, old classmate! How’s life? All good? No time for a natter?”
Hope met her dark, lash-framed eyes and smiled lightly. “Rushing home. Haven’t seen Oliver in three days—missed him.”
Grace gave her a mocking look. “Oh, love comes and goes. If you ever need sympathy, you know where to find me.”
Hope’s smile remained. “Your eyes are full of pity, but I don’t believe it’s genuine.”
She and Lily walked on.
“Mum, why’s that woman so sharp?” Lily asked. “She’s always got a chip on her shoulder.”
“Just her way,” Hope replied, though she knew the real reason for Grace’s bitterness.
“She needles you every time,” Lily pressed. “And you always know what to say. Why does she act like that?”
“Want the truth?” Hope smirked. “Grace fancied your dad, but he chose me.”
Lily froze. “Seriously?! He loved you both and picked you? Why?”
Hope laughed. “Ask your father…”
That evening, after supper, Lily curled up beside her dad, who was watching telly. Nestling closer, she suddenly asked, “Dad, why’d you pick Mum over Auntie Grace?”
Oliver glanced at his daughter, then at his wife. “Go on, she’s curious,” Hope grinned.
“Long time ago, but I remember it like yesterday,” Oliver began. “Our school’s Christmas party—your mum played the Snow Maiden, and my mate Jack, tallest in class, was Father Christmas. Your mum looked stunning—blue dress like her eyes, hair in a long braid down her back. That’s when my heart gave way. Knew I wanted her by my side forever.”
“But I was shy,” he continued. “Waited for the right moment. After school, I didn’t get into uni, and your mum went off to study in London. I’d wander the village, hoping to spot her when she visited. One day, I saw her coming from the shop. Summoned my courage, told her I was joining the army. She burst into tears—‘So I won’t see you for ages?’ I nearly jumped for joy. Hugged her and whispered, ‘Two years’ll fly. Write me?’ She nodded, kissed my cheek, and dashed off.”
“Those two years flew by thanks to her letters,” Oliver smiled. “Came back, proposed straight away, and we wed.”
“Dad, that’s such a lovely story,” Lily sighed.
“Oi, too soon for you to be dreaming of weddings,” he teased.
Lily giggled and darted out.
Grace and Hope had been classmates. Sturdy and sharp-featured, Grace was the opposite of Hope’s delicate but strong frame. Growing up with three brothers, Hope was toughened by years of training—soon, she could chin-up as well as any lad.
One P.E. lesson, she asked to try and stunned everyone by matching the boys. After that, they respected her; the girls seethed behind sneers.
Hope was always kind, never rose to barbs—just disarmed them with witty comebacks.
By sixth form, girls had suitors. Grace fancied Oliver, slipping him notes, inviting him to dances. But after the army, he proposed to Hope. A quiet feud began.
Grace later married a classmate, settling near Hope, who’d had a son. Years passed—Hope had two more sons and Lily, while Grace remained childless. Doctors found no issue, but Grace suspected a terminated pregnancy in her youth was to blame.
Seeing Hope’s growing family ate at Grace. Then, against odds, she had a son, Andrew, around the time Lily was born.
The boys became friends. At seven, Lily got a baby sister.
Recently, Hope and Lily returned from visiting her eldest. Outside, they bumped into Grace, who seized the chance to jab her old rival—never guessing Lily would soon reshape their lives.
One night, after a raucous pub gathering, Andrew spotted Lily returning from the shop. Head high, she breezed past his mates.
“Oi, gorgeous, no ‘hello’?” Andrew winked.
Lily paused, curtsied playfully. “How doth his lordship fare upon his feather bed?”
She strode off to laughter.
“What was that?” Andrew gaped.
“Put you in your place,” his mates howled.
“Who is she?”
“Your mate Sam’s sister—Hope’s daughter. Fiery one, that.”
“Sam’s sister? But she’s just a kid—”
“Not anymore. Second year at uni in London.”
From then, Andrew was smitten. Lily’s green eyes haunted him. He tried talking to her at the shop—she just smiled and walked on. Another time, he lurked by their garden, but her dad appeared, sending him packing.
He couldn’t shake her. His last hope—the village dance.
Andrew went, but Lily wasn’t there. His mates nudged him.
“Look—Olive’s here, and… think that’s your girl.”
Andrew brightened—there was Lily in cobalt blue. When a slow song played, he marched over. She refused. He didn’t ask anyone else, glowering as she sat alone.
He tried again—another refusal. His mates cheered her on, but she stood firm. The third time, she relented, and they swayed together.
“Took the mick, didn’t you?” he muttered. “Came just for you. Why play with my feelings?”
“Testing you,” she grinned. “Three tries means you’re serious.”
Her smile left him dizzy. After, he walked her home—she wouldn’t stay out, fearing her dad’s wrath.
Next evening, Andrew hopped their fence, hiding by the shed. When Lily appeared with a bucket, he swept her up.
“Caught you, my dove,” he murmured.
She wriggled free, scared her parents would hear, and fled. Andrew, buoyant, went home, resolved.
That weekend, as Hope, Oliver, and Lily ate lunch, the door knocked. Grace stood there—she’d only visited once before, for Hope’s mum’s wake.
“Come in,” Hope said, hiding unease. “Didn’t expect you—must be important.”
“It is,” Grace nodded. “You love your kids and want them near.”
“Speak plain,” Oliver frowned. “Eat—Hope’s stew’s brilliant.”
“My Andrew wants to wed,” Grace announced. “Says if I won’t propose for him, he’ll leave, and we’ll lose him.”
“Come again? What’s that to us?” Oliver pushed his plate aside.
“He’s chosen your Lily,” Grace said.
Lily gasped and fled. Oliver froze, bread in hand.
“You what? Propose to my girl?”
“Wanted your thoughts first,” Grace said. “If you’re agreeable, we’ll do it proper.”
“Agreeable? She’s just—”
“Eighteen, Olly,” Hope cut in gently. “Don’t overreact.”
“You’d let her go so young?” Oliver’s voice shook.
“They’re always our babies,” Hope said. “But Lily decides.”
She slipped out to Lily, putting the kettle on.
“I won’t allow it,” Oliver insisted. “My word’s final—too soon!”
“And you married Hope at what, nineteen?” Grace smirked. “You broke my heart, now Andrew’s chosen your girl. Talk to her, then we’ll see.”
Hope returned. “She’s willing. Olly, you’ll have to accept it.”
Two hours of arguing later, Oliver relented.
“RightGrace left with a promise to return the following weekend, her heart lighter than it had been in years, knowing their children’s love might finally bridge the old divide between them.
