No Wedding
Emily had graduated with top honours from teacher training college, dreaming of university. But fate had other plans. Her father was in a serious car accident and spent months in hospital. When he was finally discharged, her mother took leave from work to care for him at home while he adjusted to life in a wheelchair.
Their small town had no university, so Emily would need to move to the nearest city. She decided to postpone her studies—she couldn’t abandon her parents in such difficult times. Instead, she took a job at the local school.
Doctors had been hopeful—with physiotherapy, medication, and exercise, they said her father might walk again. Her mother sold their holiday cottage to pay for a specialist physiotherapist and medication. Yet, despite everything, her father never left the wheelchair.
“That’s enough,” he snapped one evening. “Stop wasting money. It’s no use—I won’t walk again.”
His temper grew worse—he became irritable, suspicious, snapping over every little thing. His sharpest words were for Emily’s mother. The moment he called for her, she had to drop everything and rush to him—whether he wanted water, a question answered, or just idle chatter. Meanwhile, supper burned on the stove.
“You could wheel yourself to the kitchen, Tom. Now the potatoes are ruined,” her mother scolded.
“My life is ruined, and you’re worried about potatoes. Easy for you to say—you can still walk. Is it so hard to bring me a glass of water?” he snapped.
Sometimes, in a fit of rage, he’d hurl a plate or a cup at her. More often, he demanded whiskey, and when drunk, he’d lash out as though she were to blame for the accident.
“Dad, drinking won’t help—it’ll only make things worse. Why not read? Play chess?” Emily pleaded.
“What do you know? Trying to take away my last bit of pleasure? Books are full of lies. You read them. Real life’s nothing like that. I’m useless now,” he grumbled.
“Mum, stop buying him whiskey,” Emily urged.
“If I don’t, he’ll scream the house down. He’s suffering. What else can we do?” her mother sighed.
“He should be exercising, not drinking. The doctors said he could walk—he just doesn’t want to. He enjoys making us run around him,” Emily fumed.
She pitied her father, but the strain on her and her mother was unbearable. One evening, Emily returned from work exhausted, her throat sore, longing to rest. Yet her father kept calling for her. Finally, she snapped.
“Enough. I’m shattered, barely standing. You’ve got wheels—go to the kitchen yourself and drink as much as you like. You’re not the only one in this situation. Hundreds live like this—some even work, compete in the Paralympics. But you can’t even wheel yourself to the kitchen? Get moving. I’ve got lessons to plan.” She retreated to her room.
She heard the whisper of his wheelchair over the floor, the clatter of a glass in the kitchen, the wheels pausing briefly by her door. She braced for him to barge in, screaming—but the sound faded down the hallway. After that, he became more independent.
On warm days, Emily left the balcony door open. Her father would sit at the threshold—his version of “fresh air.” The doorway was too narrow, the step too high, but widening it was out of the question. They barely scraped by as it was.
“Put me in a care home,” he’d mutter after drinking.
“Don’t say such things! You’re alive—that’s what matters. We’ll manage,” her mother soothed.
“You’ll say that now, but soon you’ll tire of emptying my bedpan. You’ll stay out of pity. What use am I to you now? You’re still young…”
So life went on. Before she knew it, a year had passed, and autumn returned with its relentless rain. One afternoon, Emily stepped out of the school gates, only for the heavens to open before she reached the bus stop. She huddled under the shelter, shivering, as passing cars sprayed her with filthy puddles.
Then a lorry pulled up beside her. A young man jumped out, holding his jacket over his head, and dashed to her.
“Hop in—I’ll drive you home.”
Too cold to refuse, she ducked under his jacket—its scent of petrol and motor oil oddly comforting—and climbed into the warm, dry cab.
“Michael,” he introduced himself.
“Emily.”
“So, Emily, where to?”
She gave her address, and as they drove, Michael explained how he’d become a lorry driver.
“Mum raised me alone. I had to step up. A neighbour took me on at his garage. After the army, I got my HGV licence. Pays well, plus odd jobs on the side—hauling this, delivering that. So if you ever need a hand, just call.” He’d slipped into first-name terms as easily as shifting gears.
“You studying or working?” he asked.
“I teach at the primary school.”
“Good on you,” he nodded. “I’ll swing by the school, pick you up—make all the other teachers jealous. What, don’t believe me? This beast turns heads.”
He was easy to be around. And who knew? Maybe she would need help one day. She gave him her number. That evening, he called, asking her to the cinema.
“Sorry, I can’t. My dad’s in a wheelchair—needs constant care.”
“What if I come to yours, just for a bit?”
“Why?”
“Want to see you. I like you.” Simple, blunt.
“What if I don’t like you back? Doesn’t that bother you?”
“Why wouldn’t you? Not my face, is it? Or ashamed of a lorry driver?” His tone turned sharp.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to offend. Fine, I’ll come out.”
The next day, a horn blared outside. Emily glanced out to see the lorry idling below.
“Who’s that making a racket? A suitor?” her mother guessed.
“Just a friend. Can I go out for a few minutes?”
“Go on, before he wakes the neighbours.”
Michael started visiting almost daily. Sometimes, he’d pick her up after school, and they’d sit in the cab, chatting over thermos tea and sandwiches his mother had packed.
“Look at him, coming round so often. Quite the catch,” her mother remarked one evening as the lorry rumbled away.
“He’s not a catch.”
“Then why’s he here? Youth doesn’t last. Your friends are all getting married. Or do you plan to stay single till retirement? He’s not doing this for nothing.”
“Mum, I’ve got marking to do,” Emily deflected, retreating to her room.
Michael had started talking about marriage, but Emily stalled him. Her heart didn’t flutter when she saw him, didn’t race at his touch. Worse, he obsessed over money.
“Don’t worry—I’ve got the wedding covered. We’ll do it proper. Autumn’s busy—firewood deliveries, harvest hauls. You won’t go hungry with me,” he’d say, pulling her close in the cramped, oily cab. “I’ll get a proper car by winter.”
No flowers (a waste), no restaurants (just thermos tea and sandwiches). Occasionally, when his mother visited her sister, he’d bring Emily to his place. Their rare intimate moments were methodical, joyless. She invented excuses to avoid them.
She knew she didn’t love him. But where else would she meet someone? Michael was reliable, didn’t drink or smoke. Her mother approved. So Emily said yes—on condition they wait until summer.
Winter usually dragged, leaving room for change. But spring arrived abruptly, and after the May bank holiday, Michael insisted they register for marriage. He’d handle everything—she just needed a dress and to show up.
One afternoon, rushing home from the shops, Emily collided with a man in the dim hallway. Apologising, she moved past—until he called her name.
She turned, squinting.
“Paul? Is that you?”
The scrawny boy she’d known was now tall, broad-shouldered, handsome. His parents used to bring him to his grandmother’s each summer—right next door. Emily had visited often, devouring her granny’s potato cakes and courgette fritters.
They’d explore the countryside, picking strawberries by the river. In Year 3, they’d sworn always to stay together—not just in summer. Each parting had been tearful. But as they grew older, visits stopped—until now.
“I’m here for Granny’s seventy-fifth. You’ve grown… beautiful,” Paul said, studying her.
“You’ve changed too—I didn’t recognise you.” Her pulse quickened under his gaze.
“Working or studying?”
“Teaching. Dad’s in a wheelchair since the crash.”
“Granny mentioned. Any chance he’ll walk again?”
“The doctors say he couldbut he refuses to try—just drinks instead, Emily admitted, flushing, and when Paul gently took her hand, she realized she couldn’t marry Michael, not when her heart had always belonged to him.
