**The Runaway Bride**
I stepped off the train, bid the attendant goodbye, and walked toward the old single-storey station building. Inside was one large hall—ticket booths, newsstands, and drink kiosks lined the walls, while rows of bolted-down iron chairs filled the centre. To the left of the doors, a small café sat behind a counter manned by a plump woman. About ten people sat waiting for their trains.
“Young man, could you spare twenty quid? I’m short for my ticket,” asked a woman of uncertain age, face flushed, makeup smudged. The pungent scent of alcohol hit me.
“How about I buy you a bite to eat instead?” I offered, taking her elbow to guide her toward the café, but she yanked free.
“Let go of me! And you look like a respectable man too!” she shrieked, loud enough for the whole hall to hear. Conversations stalled for a moment; all eyes turned to us before immediately looking away again.
“Bugger off…” The woman staggered away, and I smirked, approaching the woman behind the counter.
“Good on you, love, not givin’ her any money. She begs here every day. A right mess now, but she was beautiful once. What love does to folk,” the woman sighed, shaking her head. “Fancy a cuppa and a pasty?”
“No, thanks. I need to get to Mayfield. Where’s the bus stop?”
“No buses to Mayfield tonight. Next one’s at half five tomorrow mornin’.” She noticed my disappointment. “There’s usually blokes outside doin’ private runs in the evenings, though they charge a pretty penny.”
“Cheers.” I adjusted the strap of my large sports bag and walked outside.
It had grown dark quickly. I fished my phone from my jacket pocket, dialled a number, and held it to my ear. No answer.
Just then, a silver Vauxhall pulled up beside the station, and a girl hopped out, brushing past me into the building. Something about her tugged at my memory. But I’d never been here before—how could I know her? I followed her back inside. She was chatting with the woman behind the counter.
“Fancy some tea, love?” the woman asked her.
“No thanks, Auntie Lucy, I’ve got to go.” She turned—and collided with me. “Sorry, didn’t see you.”
I saw the blue lakes of her eyes, the dimples in her plump cheeks, and realised I’d never seen a girl so beautiful.
“Oi, actually, Tom’s headed to Mayfield. Tommy, give this lad a lift,” the woman called out.
The girl studied me carefully.
“Bye, Auntie Lucy. Come on, then,” she said, leading the way out.
I barely kept up. She opened the passenger door, pulled out a large bag.
“Let me help,” I offered.
“No need. It’s my veil and flowers,” she smiled, dimples flashing. “Just open the back door instead.”
She set the bag on the rear seat and turned to me. “Get in.”
“Wait. You’re Emily! I knew your face looked familiar. You’re even prettier in person,” I blurted, catching her surprised look. “I’m here for Simon’s wedding. We served together. He didn’t meet me, and he’s not answering his phone.”
“He’s at his stag do tonight.” Dimples again. “I saw your photo—Simon showed me,” I added.
The car wound through narrow forest roads, headlights pushing back the darkness.
“Not scared driving alone through the woods at night?” I asked.
“No. And I don’t do it often. Simon couldn’t come with me today.”
“No florists in Mayfield?”
“Plenty. But I wanted something special.” She kept her eyes on the road.
“That was quick—the wedding, I mean. Only a year since he left the army.” I regretted prying.
“We promised each other before he joined up—wedding as soon as he was back,” she said cheerfully.
I couldn’t look away from her dimple.
“So, you’re marrying him out of duty? Not love?” I asked softly.
“Love too,” she answered, oblivious to my tone.
We drove in silence a while.
“You’re a good driver,” I finally said.
“Simon taught me in school. Where in Mayfield should I drop you?”
“A hotel, I suppose.”
“Tell you what—I’ll take you straight to the pub for the stag do. Sort things out with Simon there.”
“A bit awkward with this bag,” I hesitated.
“Leave it with me. You can fetch it tomorrow. Straight to the pub, then?” She glanced at me.
“To the pub,” I agreed, smiling.
Watching the darkness ahead, I remembered a different photo I’d once seen in Simon’s possession.
“Who’s this?” I’d asked, eyeing a stunning redhead with a sultry gaze.
“Fancy her?” Simon smirked. “Forget it.” He’d snatched the photo back.
“Emily’s better,” I’d said.
Simon hadn’t replied. That night in the barracks, he bragged about his conquests before enlisting. “Just crook my finger, and any girl’s mine,” he’d boasted.
Simon was alright, but his bragging grated on me. I’d pitied Emily—he’d cheat on her, wreck her life. Then, a month ago, he’d called out of the blue, inviting me to the wedding. Why not catch up with an old mate? Especially since he kept calling to remind me.
“Alright. Let’s drop the formalities, yeah?” I suggested.
“Sure,” she agreed easily.
She dropped me at the pub, light spilling onto the pavement from its wide windows. Emily gave me her address, asked me to keep Simon from drinking too much, and drove off.
I watched her car disappear. The night was cool. Loneliness twisted sharply in my chest. Music pulsed from the pub. All I saw were blue eyes and dimples.
“Emily—what a perfect name. A girl like that doesn’t deserve a womaniser.” I shivered and pushed through the heavy pub door.
“Oi, Jack! Finally! Over here!” Simon stood, waving. “This is my mate from the army!”
We hugged. Simon was already drunk, swaying, eyes glazed. Someone shoved a shot into my hand. The music pounded; girls in tight dresses swayed on the dance floor…
I woke disoriented. No memory of the night’s end, how I’d ended up in a stranger’s flat, undressed. Lifting my head made the room sway like a ship. My mouth was parched.
The watch said 8:50. I sat up, waited for the spinning to stop, then stumbled to the kitchen for water. A glance into the next room—was that Emily in bed with Simon? Rage coiled in my gut. I strode over and shoved his shoulder. He groaned, smacked his lips, kept sleeping.
The girl turned her head—not Emily. Relief flooded me.
“You know he’s getting married today?” I hissed. “I’ll leave. Wake him up and get out.”
In the shower, the pounding in my skull eased. As I turned off the water, the front door clicked—she’d gone. “How can he do this? Three hours from now, he’ll be at the registry office, kissing Emily. How can she marry him? Does she love him that much? Not my problem. I’ll leave tomorrow and forget…”
“Alright, mate? Think I overdid it last night,” Simon slurred, stumbling into the kitchen. He looked wrecked.
“Come on.” I forced him into the shower and blasted him with cold water.
“You mad?!” he roared, flailing.
I switched to scalding. More curses. Back to ice-cold. He threatened to kill me.
Later, we drank coffee, truce declared.
“Cheers, mate. Saved me. Wedding was almost off,” he said.
“Good,” I muttered.
“It’s my wedding!” he snapped.
“Exactly. Who was the girl?”
“Oh… Lottie, an old flame. Hot as hell. Want me to set you up?”
I nearly punched the smirk off his face. The doorbell rang. I grabbed Simon’s robe and opened it.
Emily stood there, my bag in hand, already made up, hair perfect. I froze.
“Cat got your tongue?” She laughed. “Here’s your bag. How’s Simon?” Fear flickered in her eyes.
I wished she’d asked about me.
“Don’t be late,” she called, already on the stairs.
Her voice echoed long after the door slammed.
“Who was that?” Simon called from the shower.
“Neighbour. We’re late. Get dressed,” I ordered.
“Do you love her?” I asked, pulling a fresh shirt from my bag.
“Who? Lottie?”
“Emily.”
“You into her? She’s mine,” he snarled, pausing his buttons. “How’As the years passed, Jack often found himself smiling at the memory of that chaotic morning—the hurried escape, the tearful confession on the train, and the quiet certainty that running away with Emily had been the best decision of his life.
