From the moment she could remember, Nina despised her name—old-fashioned, frumpy, like something out of a 1950s sitcom. When she got older, her mum finally told her the truth: her dad had been hopelessly in love with a glamorous woman named Nina in his youth. She’d turned him down and married someone else.
*”Then he met me. And when you were born, he gave you her name. Never quite got over her,”* Mum said, calm as ever.
*”And you’re not jealous?”*
*”No. He loves you. He loves me. First loves stick with people. You’ll understand one day.”* She ruffled Nina’s hair.
*”Was his Nina ugly too?”* Nina huffed.
*”Don’t be silly. Remember the Ugly Duckling? And if you hate your name that much, you can change it when you grow up. What would you rather be called?”*
Nina stood in front of the mirror, trying on names like outfits. None fit. With a sigh, she accepted that a new name wouldn’t magically make her pretty. Mousy hair, small eyes, sharp chin—plain as porridge.
Dad loved Nina almost as much as he loved his pints. He’d stop at the pub after work, come home merry, always bringing her something: a chocolate bar, sweets, a little toy. If he’d forgotten, he’d slip her a fiver instead. She saved up, bought what she liked.
He died the year she finished school. Coming home tipsy, he’d seen kids playing by the river. Their ball had gone in the water. He tried to fetch it. Drunk, he drowned.
Mum raged—how dare he leave them? What was Nina supposed to do, stuck in their tiny village?
Nina grieved, but Mum insisted she leave.
*”What’s here for you? Go. Maybe you’ll meet someone.”*
Nina dreamed of being a doctor, but her grades weren’t stellar. She enrolled in nursing school instead. White coats still felt important.
Her dorm roommate was Margot—stunning, effortless. Voluptuous brunette, dark eyes, always turning heads. Nina? Invisible next to her. But they got on. Until Margot met Paul, an engineering student.
Nina was smitten the second she saw him. Gorgeous, charming. He’d wait for Margot while she studied, impatient.
*”You coming or what?”*
*”Take Nina to the cinema. I’ve got exams.”*
Nina would’ve melted at the chance—dark room, stolen glances—but Paul never asked. Just sat, sighed, left.
*”Why do you brush him off? If someone like him waited for me, I’d be over the moon,”* Nina grumbled.
*”He’s a flirt. Girls cling to him now—what’ll happen later? Aim lower, love.”*
Nina cooked well. One night, Margot was out. The dorm filled with the smell of fried potatoes with lard—Nina’s speciality. Paul’s eyes locked on the pan.
*”Fancy dinner? Margot’s late.”*
He didn’t need persuading. Devoured it, lounged back.
*”You’d make a cracking wife.”*
One Saturday, Margot left town. Paul arrived, disappointed.
*”Got tickets,”* he muttered.
*”Take me instead. Unless you’re embarrassed?”*
*”Course not. Get ready.”*
Nina nearly died of joy. Two hours beside him! Maybe he’d even hold her hand…
At the cinema, she nudged closer. During a tense scene, she grabbed his arm—*pretended* to be scared—and didn’t let go.
After, he walked her back.
*”Fancy a bite?”*
*”Waste of money. I’ve got lard at home. Better than any café.”*
They ate. Drank. Paul dozed off on Margot’s bed. Nina sat beside him. He leaned in, kissed her—maybe thinking she was Margot, maybe not caring.
*”Sorry,”* he said in the morning. *”Don’t tell Margot.”*
Three weeks later, Nina knew she was pregnant.
*”Paul’s,”* she admitted.
Margot scoffed. *”Good luck getting him to marry you.”*
Paul shrugged when she told him. *”Your problem.”*
Nina had the baby—a girl. Margot handed her cash, a bag of clothes.
*”Paul chipped in. He’s seeing someone. I’m off.”*
Nina sobbed.
*”Stop that—you’ll lose your milk,”* snapped their new landlady, Rose.
Money ran out fast. But Rose adored the baby. Fed Nina, introduced her to friends needing injections. Nina took night shifts at the hospital.
One day, pushing the pram, she bumped into Paul. He peered in. Started visiting, bringing gifts.
Then Rose died. Left Nina the flat. Paul proposed.
*”I’m not a total git.”*
Nina knew he wanted the flat, not her. But she took him anyway. He drifted in and out, living his own life. She didn’t care—he always came back.
Until he met a singer. Blonde, legs for days. Nina pretended not to notice. But Paul stayed out all night, smelling of perfume.
One evening, he said it. *”I’m leaving.”*
*”Go.”*
She kept the flat. Worked. Raised her daughter.
Years passed. Then the singer turned up—older now, tired.
*”Take him. He’s in hospital. Fell at work. I’m leaving town.”*
Nina went. Found Paul broken, grey.
*”I’m not forgiving you,”* she said. *”Just making sure you don’t die.”*
He recovered slowly. Cooked dinner. Watched telly.
One night, he wept. *”Don’t kick me out. I’ll be good.”*
Nina sighed. No queue of suitors for her. Her daughter was grown. And Paul? Her only love.
She patted his hand. He kissed it, tears wet on his lips.
*”I’ll make dinner.”*
*”Fry up some potatoes? Like you used to.”*
