A Sham Marriage
Stephen strolled along the train platform, soaking up the gentle spring sunshine. The young man had spent the last seven years working away, felling timber up north. Now, with a decent sum saved up and arms full of gifts for his mum and sister, he was finally heading home.
“Where you headed, lad? Need a lift?” came a familiar voice behind him.
“Grandad John! Don’t recognise me?” Stephen grinned.
The old man shielded his eyes with a hand and squinted at the stranger.
“It’s me, Stephen! Have I changed that much?”
“Stevie! Blimey, look at you! We’d given up hope of ever seeing you again. Could’ve dropped us a line, you know.”
“Worked in such a backwater, the post hardly ever made it. How’s everyone? Mum? Lucy—they all right? Bet my niece Lily’s in school by now?”
The old man dropped his gaze and sighed.
“So you don’t know… It’s bad, Stevie. Real bad. Your mum’s been gone nearly three years now. Lucy went off the rails, then just upped and left little Emily behind.”
“Emily? Where is she?” Stephen’s face fell.
“Lucy locked the poor mite in the house and vanished last winter. Took us days to notice. My missus heard a racket, went to check, and there she was—standing at the window, crying for help. We got Emily out. Hospital first, then foster care.”
The ride home was silent. John left Stephen to his thoughts, knowing better than to pry. Half an hour later, the horse-drawn cart pulled up to an overgrown yard. Stephen barely recognised his childhood home, eyes stinging with tears.
“Don’t lose heart, lad. You’re young, strong—you’ll set things right. Fancy coming to ours first? Rest up, have a bite. The wife’ll be chuffed,” John offered.
“Ta, but I’ll head home. I’ll pop round tonight.”
All day, Stephen hacked through the weeds. By evening, visitors arrived: John and his wife, Grandma Clara.
“Stevie! Look at you—proper grown! Handsome as anything!” Clara flung her arms around him. “Brought supper. Let’s eat, then we’ll help tidy. Oh, it’s grand you’re back!”
“Any word from Lucy? How’d it happen? She was always so sensible…” Stephen asked over stew.
“Not a peep. Poor lass cracked. First her husband, then your mum… Too much for one pair of shoulders. What’ll you do about Emily? Might you take her? You’re her uncle, after all,” said Clara.
“Dunno. Get the house sorted first, then visit her. She won’t know me from Adam.”
A week later, Stephen steeled himself to see Emily. En route, he ducked into a toy shop. A pretty brunette greeted him with a warm smile.
“Need help picking something?”
“Aye. Clueless about toys. A doll for a seven-year-old, maybe? Whatever you reckon.”
Swiftly, she fetched a boxed doll and a board game.
“These’ll do the trick. Every little girl’s mad for this doll, and the game’s all the rage.”
“Cheers! Hope my niece likes ’em,” Stephen beamed.
***
Emily met him with ice. Glowering and silent—until she saw the gifts. Then, just like that, a flicker of a smile.
“You don’t know me at all,” Stephen began.
“I do. Gran and Mum showed me your photos. Told me all about you,” she interrupted.
“Oh aye?” He chuckled. “What’d they say?”
“That you’re kind and good. Uncle Stevie… when are we going home?” she whispered, glancing about.
The question floored him. Life here wasn’t treating her well.
“Em… someone hurting you?”
A nod. Her head dipped, tears plopping onto her lap.
“I can’t take you yet. But I promise—soon. All right?”
“…All right.”
Straight to the care home director he marched, only to hit a brick wall.
“I get you’re blood, but kinship alone won’t sway the panel. You employed?”
“Just back from contract work. But I’ve decent savings—”
“Not good enough! Paperwork’s king. Married? Kids?”
“No.”
“Then you’re stuck. Want guardianship? Get a job. Get a wife.”
“Christ, that takes time! Emily *wants* to come home!”
“Not my circus,” the man shrugged.
On the last bus home, Stephen slumped into his seat, stewing—until a voice piped up beside him.
“Oh! Hello again!”
The toy-shop girl.
“You? What’re you doing here?”
“Live in Lower Pepperton. Work in town, but Gran’s at home. I’m Anna,” she smiled.
“Well, strike me! We’re neighbours! I’m from Pepperton too!”
“Your niece like her presents?”
“Aye,” he sighed, then—helpless—spilled the whole sorry tale.
“Bloody system,” Anna fumed. “All about forms, never feelings. Listen—we need a stockman at the shop. Light work, deliveries twice a week. Proper payslips.”
“Brilliant! Just a wife to rustle up now,” he joked weakly.
Next day, Anna put in a word, and Stephen got the job. That afternoon, armed with sweets, he visited Emily. On the bus back, Anna sat beside him again.
“Ta. You’ve been a lifesaver.”
“Nice to help. Shame about the wife hurdle…”
“Hopeless. Don’t know a single free woman. All married off while I was gone.”
“There’s always a way,” she said firmly.
“Anna… you’re free, aren’t you?”
“I am. But I’m not looking to marry,” she flushed, edging away.
“Not like that! A sham marriage. For the paperwork. Divorce in six months?”
Anna gawped. This wasn’t the plot twist she’d expected.
“Please! I’ll pay you—”
“No money. I’m doing it for Emily.”
Two months later, Emily was home. For a week—until the follow-up inspection—Anna stayed over, the pair terrified their ruse would unravel.
Emily thrived. Only snag? She’d grown fiercely attached to Anna.
“Em, Anna’s just a friend. Not really my wife.”
“So? Can’t she live here forever?”
“She’s got her own life. A gran who misses her.”
“But *we’ll* miss her!”
“Aye,” Stephen smiled. “She’ll visit.”
After Anna left, Emily moped.
“Uncle Stevie… when’s she coming?”
“Dunno. Busy, probably.”
“Let’s visit *her*!”
“Bit forward. We’ve not been invited.”
“But you’re her husband! Fake, but still!”
Stephen laughed. “Alright. Tonight.”
Emily dressed up, then dashed next door, returning with a giant bouquet.
“Flowers? What for?”
“For Anna.”
“Spot on,” clucked Grandma Clara, trailing in. “About time you stepped up. You two’d make a lovely pair!”
“Don’t be daft. She’s not interested.”
“Says who? Half the village’s seen her mooning after you!”
Flushed, Stephen and Emily arrived to find Anna hanging washing.
“Oh! You came! Dinner’s nearly ready—”
“See?” Emily hissed, jabbing him. “Give her the flowers and *ask properly*!”
Stephen turned beetroot, thrust out the bouquet, and blurted:
“Anna… be my wife? *Properly*.”
“But we’re already—”
“*Real* wife.”
Gran Vera popped out, beaming.
“At last! This silly mare’s cried buckets, but swore she wouldn’t chase you.”
“I *made* him come!” Emily announced. “He’d never have thought of it!”
Stephen and Anna burst out laughing.
“Good lass,” Vera winked. “Now help me lay the table.”
Anna turned to Stephen. “True? She put you up to this?”
“Dead honest. I was scared you’d boot me out,” he admitted, pulling her close.
