The wall turned out to be made of sand.
By the end of Year 9, Emily had blossomed into a striking young woman, her graceful figure turning heads—boys and young men alike couldn’t help but stare. Everyone in the village knew and respected her parents. Her mother, Margaret, managed the local post office, while her father, William, was a mechanic. Their house was large—built with the hope of a big family—but after Emily, no more children came.
“Emily,” her mother called, “go hang the washing, love. Just finished it.”
“Yeah, Mum, in a minute…”
Outside, the summer sun blazed. Emily stepped into the yard in a light sundress, carrying a basin of freshly washed clothes toward the line strung between two posts.
The villagers all knew this headstrong, fiery girl—beautiful, with a temper to match. At sixteen, she’d come into her own, and now she cast bold, appraising glances at men herself.
“William’s girl’s turned into a proper beauty,” the village women murmured, watching her. “She’ll have lads falling over themselves for her, mark my words.”
As she hung the laundry, her gaze landed on Daniel, sitting on a bench beneath the old oak, cigarette in hand, eyes fixed on her. He was her father’s friend, here to help lay the garden path with William and another bloke, Colin. William had gone inside to fetch cider—the men were parched—while Colin lugged sand in a bucket from the pile nearby.
Emily glanced over her shoulder at Daniel, the look she gave him so brazen he nearly choked on his smoke. Then, slow and deliberate, she bent forward, arching her back like a deer stretching, hanging a large towel with deliberate grace.
“Bloody hell, Emily, what’s she playing at?” Daniel thought, pulse quickening.
She had no intention of stopping. Once the washing was hung, she sauntered over and perched beside him. Daniel’s blood roared in his ears.
“Hot today, isn’t it, Dan?” she murmured, shifting closer.
“Christ, yeah, Emily, proper scorcher,” he muttered, wiping sudden sweat from his brow.
“Mm, I can tell—look at that tan,” she teased.
“That’s just how I am, love,” he said, pride masking his nerves.
Then he looked up, squinting against the sun, arms folded—a silent end to the conversation. She was just a kid, his mate’s daughter. No business flirting. Just then, William returned with cider and mugs.
“Colin! Come get a drink, mate. We’ll finish by evening—glad we started early.”
Emily stood and walked inside. Daniel watched from under lowered lashes. No one knew the storm inside him.
Thirty-four and still unmarried, Daniel was handsome—tall, lean, with strong hands and dark eyes. Half the village girls fancied him, but he’d never met *the one*.
At sunset, Daniel stepped out of the makeshift shower William had rigged in the garden, towelling off when Emily appeared, startling him.
“You stalking me now?” he growled.
“Didn’t know you were here,” she said, playful.
“Emily, you’re too young for this. Knock it off.”
“Too young for what?” she challenged, hands on hips, chest rising with each breath.
“For Christ’s sake—”
“Maybe I want to marry you.”
Daniel froze. “You’re *seventeen*,” he hissed. “Get away from me.”
He left before dinner, claiming errands. William was baffled. Emily retreated inside.
She’d fancied Daniel for ages, waiting impatiently for him to notice her. Waiting to turn eighteen. Now she’d been accepted to college in the nearby town—come September, she’d be gone weekdays, home weekends.
Meanwhile, Daniel knew time was slipping away. He needed a wife, kids. But tonight, sleep was impossible—Emily’s face haunted him.
Months passed. Tortured by love, Daniel knew she was out of reach. To distract himself, he took up with Veronica—desperate at twenty-nine, convinced she’d missed her chance. When he paid her attention, she assumed fate had intervened.
“Oh, Danny, I love you,” she whispered during walks by the river.
She introduced him to her family as her fiancé, dreaming of weddings and babies—names already picked. But for two years, Daniel never mentioned marriage.
Then Emily returned, college finished. The wild girl was now a stunning woman. She hadn’t stayed in town, though everyone expected she’d marry there.
At the village shop, their eyes met. His heart lurched.
“Hi, Dan,” she said, voice soft, womanly.
“Christ, Emily. You’re gorgeous.” He fumbled. “Your dad home?”
“I’m eighteen now,” she said, gaze steady.
Something in him shattered.
From then, they were swept into secrecy—meeting in hidden corners, his house. But villages have eyes. Soon, whispers spread. What could a man his age want with his friend’s daughter?
Veronica raged. “That *girl* stole him from me!”
When William and Margaret heard, they were stunned.
“He’s too old for her!” William fumed—then paused. “But he’s a good man. Known him years. If they love each other…”
The wedding was loud, joyous. They moved into Daniel’s house. Emily scrubbed away his bachelor mess.
For nearly two years, they were happy—though no children came. Daniel, however, grew possessive, banning short dresses, jaw clenched when men looked at her.
“Dan, you *chose* me,” Emily laughed. “Why hide what you married?”
Then trouble arrived—a visiting technician, Jake, charming and full of city dreams. Compliments poured from him, keeping Emily awake at night, replaying his words.
One day, she crossed a line. Jake was different—young, ambitious, spinning tales of travel, mocking Daniel’s simple life.
“With him, you’ll never leave this village,” Jake sneered. “With me? We’ll see the world.”
At twenty, Emily’s sense hadn’t caught up to her beauty. Seduced by promises, she packed her things one night while Daniel worked late. Jake drove her to his cramped flat in town.
Daniel found her note: *I’ve fallen for someone else. I’m sorry.*
He drowned in drink—never a drunk before. Veronica swooped in, cooing sympathy, but he barely noticed.
Back home, William fumed. “Disgrace! Running off with some city boy!”
Villagers gossiped. Only old Mrs. Higgins defended her: “Who here hasn’t sinned? She’ll learn.”
Emily’s city life lasted a month. Jake’s flat was tiny, infested. His debts piled up—revealed by a neighbour.
“Jake, is it true?” she asked.
“So what? You’ll work too—we’ll pay it off.”
At dawn, while he slept, Emily left for the bus. She cried all night, missing Daniel.
Autumn rain fell as she trudged to his door. Unlocked, she stepped inside. He was there—sobering, rough.
“I’m sorry, Dan,” she whispered.
He turned.
She stood drenched, waiting. Not for forgiveness—just his presence.
He lit the fireplace, silent. Days passed without words. She cooked, cleaned; he worked, slept on the sofa.
Two weeks later, she packed her suitcase. If he couldn’t forgive her, she’d return to her parents.
Seeing her with the case, something in him broke. He grabbed her hands.
“Don’t go,” he rasped. “I’ve been lost without you. There was a wall between us—but it was sand. It’s gone now.”
Emily clung to him, weeping. This was her Dan—her only love. She’d never stray again.
By spring, she told him they’d be parents.
