The Runaway Bride
Edward stepped off the train, exchanged farewells with the ticket inspector, and made his way toward the old single-story station building. Inside, a single hall stretched before him—ticket counters, newsstands, and snack kiosks lined the walls, while rows of bolted-down metal chairs filled the center. To the left of the entrance, a small café stood with a plump woman behind the counter. About ten people sat waiting for their trains.
“Can you spare fifty quid, lad? I’m short for my ticket,” slurred a woman of indeterminate age, her face flushed, makeup smeared. The sour tang of alcohol clung to her.
“How about a bite to eat instead?” Edward suggested, taking her elbow to guide her toward the café. She wrenched her arm free.
“Let go! And here I thought you looked decent!” Her voice echoed through the hall. Conversations faltered momentarily before buzzing back to life.
“Piss off…” She staggered away.
Edward smirked and approached the woman at the counter.
“Good on you, love. She begs here every day. Used to be proper lovely too. Love’s done her no favors,” 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?”
“Last one’s gone for today. Next’s at half five tomorrow.” She noted his disappointment. “There’s usually blokes outside doing private rides, though they charge a pretty penny.”
“Cheers.” Edward adjusted the strap of his bulky duffel bag and headed out.
Dusky twilight blanketed the streets. He pulled out his phone, dialed, and pressed it to his ear. No answer.
A silver Ford pulled up beside the station, and a girl dashed past him inside. Something about her seemed familiar—odd, since he’d never been here before. Intrigued, Edward followed.
She was chatting with the café attendant.
“Tea, love?” the woman offered.
“No thanks, Auntie Liz, I’m off.” She spun around and collided with Edward. “Sorry, didn’t see you.”
Edward froze. Her blue eyes, the dimples in her rosy cheeks—he’d never seen anyone so lovely.
“Oh, Ed’s heading to Mayfield! Ed, give this lad a lift,” Liz called out.
The girl studied him.
“Bye, Auntie Liz. Come on,” she told Edward, striding toward the exit.
He scrambled to keep up. She yanked open the passenger door and hauled out a large bag.
“Let me help—”
“No need. It’s my veil and bouquet,” she grinned, dimples flashing. “Just pop the back door.”
Once the bag was settled, she turned to him. “Hop in.”
“Wait—you’re Evelyn! I knew I recognized you. You’re even prettier in person,” he blurted, then hurriedly added, “I’m here for Steve’s wedding. We served together. He didn’t meet me, though—not answering his phone.”
“His stag do’s tonight,” she said, dimples reappearing.
“I saw your photo. Steve showed me,” Edward admitted.
The car wound through narrow forest roads, headlights pushing back the gloom.
“Not scared driving alone in the dark?” he asked.
“Not really. Don’t often do it, but Steve couldn’t come to town today.”
“No florists in Mayfield?”
“There are. Just wanted something special.” Her grip tightened on the wheel.
“Bit quick with the wedding, isn’t it? Only a year since he left the army.” Edward immediately regretted prying.
“We promised each other before he enlisted,” she said cheerfully.
Edward couldn’t look away from her dimples.
“So… you’re marrying him out of obligation? Not love?” he murmured.
“That too,” she replied, missing his tone.
Silence settled between them.
“You drive well,” Edward said eventually.
“Steve taught me in school. Where in Mayfield should I drop you?”
“Hotel, I suppose.”
“Tell you what—I’ll take you straight to the pub. Sort things out with Steve there.”
“My duffel’s a bit much for a pub.”
“I’ll keep it at mine. Collect it tomorrow. Pub, then?” she glanced at him.
“Pub it is.”
As darkness swallowed the road ahead, Edward recalled another photo he’d once seen in Steve’s bunk.
“Who’s this?” he’d asked, staring at a striking redhead.
“Fancy her?” Steve had smirked, snatching it back. “Not a chance.”
“Evelyn’s better,” Edward had said.
Steve hadn’t replied. That night, he’d bragged about conquests. “Just a wink, and they’re mine.”
Decent bloke, but the boasting grated. Edward pitied Evelyn. Steve would cheat—ruin her. Then, out of the blue, a wedding invite. Why not catch up?
“Let’s drop the formalities,” Edward suggested now.
“Alright,” she agreed easily.
The pub was ablaze with light. She gave her address, asked him to keep Steve from overdoing it, and drove off.
Edward watched her go, the chill air sharp against his skin. Sudden loneliness crushed him. Music thumped from the pub; blue eyes and dimples haunted him.
*Evelyn—like a fairy tale. And she’s marrying that tosser.*
Inside, Steve lurched to his feet. “Ed! Finally! Lads, my army mate!”
They embraced—Steve already hammered. Someone shoved a shot into Edward’s hand. Girls in tight dresses swayed to deafening music…
***
Edward woke disoriented. No memory of the night’s end. The room spun. His watch read 8:50.
In the kitchen, he gulped tap water. Peered into the next room. Steve lay tangled with a girl—thank God not Evelyn.
“Up. You’ve got three hours till the registry office,” Edward barked in his ear.
The girl stirred. “Know he’s getting married today? Wake him and leave.”
Under the shower, the pounding in his skull eased. The front door clicked—she’d gone.
*How can he do this? Three hours from now, he’ll be kissing Evelyn at the altar. Why’s she marrying him? None of my business. I’ll be gone tomorrow…*
“Christ, I’m wrecked,” Steve groaned in the kitchen.
Edward forced him into the tub. Ice-cold water. Screaming. Hot. More cursing. Repeat.
Later, over coffee, Steve grinned. “Cheers, mate. Saved my wedding.”
“Good.”
“My wedding, not yours.”
“Exactly. Who’s the girl?”
“Lena—old flame. Fancy her?”
Edward’s fists clenched. The doorbell rang.
Evelyn stood there, makeup flawless, holding his bag.
“You alive?” she laughed. “Steve alright?”
He wished she’d asked about him.
“Don’t be late!” she called from the stairs, her voice echoing long after the door slammed.
“You love her?” Edward asked as Steve dressed.
“Who? Lena?”
“Evelyn.”
“She’s *mine*,” Steve snarled.
At the registry office, Steve vanished. Edward found him in a storage closet—trousers down, with the redhead from the photo.
A gasp. Evelyn fled. He caught her outside, tears streaking her mascara.
“Go back in, or there’s no wedding,” he said.
“I won’t.”
“Sure?”
“Could you?” she shrieked.
He bundled her into the decorated car.
At her flat, she changed, numb.
“Come with me. My place in London. Decide later.”
She packed in silence. Below, voices—Steve and his mates. They hid until the coast cleared, then fled to the station.
“Tickets?” the conductor asked.
“Missed booking. Just two stops—we’ll pay,” Edward pleaded.
The woman eyed Evelyn’s tear-streaked face. The train whistled.
A sigh. “On you go.”
As Mayfield disappeared, Edward asked, “Regrets?”
She shrugged.
***
Three years later
“Wake up, Daddy! Happy birthday!”
Edward opened his eyes to Evelyn holding their giggling toddler.
She handed him a gift—a sleek laptop.
“All our savings,” she admitted.
Shaving later, he studied his reflection.
“Happy?”
“Bloody right.”
“Talking to yourself again?” Evelyn called.
“On the phone!”
At the kitchen table, cake waiting, he pulled them close.
“Thank you for existing. I love you.”
“Love you too. Imagine if I hadn’t got in that car…”
