After getting a bonus at the factory, Andy sat in a cosy little pub with his two mates. The bonus wasn’t huge, but since he wasn’t married, money wasn’t something he stressed over.
“Got money—great,” he’d cheerfully say. “No money? Fine, I’ll wait till payday.”
He’d shrug it off whenever his mates moaned about handing their wages to their wives—if they managed to stash a bit aside, that was a win.
“Yeah, Andy, it’s easier when you’re single,” Ivan sighed. “I’ve got three boys, and the wages barely stretch. Take my advice—don’t get married. Once you do, it’s all ‘the kids need shoes, they’ve outgrown their clothes’, and on it goes…”
The lads laughed, but then a lively, pretty girl slid into their booth. Spotting Andy, she plonked herself right on his lap. He was the youngest of the group and flushed with embarrassment, but he still wrapped an arm around her.
“I’m Mary,” she giggled. “And you?”
“Andy,” he mumbled, while his mates smirked and elbowed each other.
Mary hopped off his lap, and Ivan quickly grabbed a chair from another table for her. Andy was a quiet, modest bloke, raised in the countryside, and he’d only been working in town for about a year. He had no idea how to handle bold girls like Mary—but he liked her. That night, they left together, and by morning, he woke up beside her.
“Gotta get to work,” he muttered, scrambling into his clothes while she lounged in bed.
“Andy, love,” she purred, stretching. “Hope this isn’t the last time? Come ’round mine after your shift—I’ll be waiting.”
The workday dragged, but as soon as his shift ended, Andy bolted to Mary’s student flat. True to her word, she was there, waiting. He fell for her—hard—without really knowing her, even though his mates warned him she was always flirting with other lads. Soon enough, he asked her to marry him.
A year later, their daughter Lottie was born. At first, Mary was a decent wife—cooked, cleaned, nursed the baby. But once Lottie turned one, everything changed. Andy would come home from work to find his daughter dumped on the neighbour, Mrs. Higgins, who’d scold him:
“Andy, I’ve got my own two girls to look after—I can’t keep minding yours. Tell Mary I’m done.”
They argued constantly. Andy even threatened to leave if Mary kept coming home drunk and neglecting Lottie. Then she started bringing other men home. He’d walk in to find a rowdy crowd and kick them all out. Finally, after one explosive row, Mary snapped:
“Take your kid and sod off—I don’t want either of you. Go back to your village.”
So he did. He’d been thinking about it anyway, hoping Mary would come to her senses. Back in the village, his mum, Margaret, was bedridden, and their neighbour Vera had been caring for her. The two houses were so close, Vera just stepped over the collapsed fence between their yards. She even brought meals over.
Andy hadn’t visited in ages—he’d had no idea his mum was so ill. And now he was stuck: a sick mother and a two-year-old daughter. He found work locally, and Vera watched Lottie while he was out. Her own son, Tommy, was three, and the two kids played together.
“Don’t know what I’d do without you, Vera,” Andy said gratefully.
Vera was married, but her husband Mick was a drunk and a brute. Andy had thrashed him more than once, but the last beating was enough—Mick packed up and left for good, moving to his mum’s in the next village. Vera wasn’t upset.
“Finally some peace,” she sighed. “He wouldn’t dare touch me, but a real man? That scared him off.”
She divorced Mick. A month later, Andy’s mum passed away.
After the funeral, Lottie spent her days with Vera. Andy helped with chores to repay her kindness. His cottage was tiny and ramshackle, while Vera’s was sturdy—her dad, Jim, had been the best carpenter in the county. But he’d overworked himself hauling timber alone and died young. Vera’s mum passed soon after, leaving her and her older sister alone at sixteen. When her sister married and moved away, Vera stayed—until Mick came knocking. Andy’s mum had nudged her:
“Take him, Vera. Better than being alone.”
So she did. Tommy was born, and though she adored her son, Mick’s drinking wore her down.
After his mum’s death, Andy started thinking. He fancied Vera—really fancied her. Nothing like Mary. She was kind, caring, a brilliant cook, and the way she looked at him melted his heart.
“How did I ever marry Mary? Vera’s the sort I should’ve gone for,” he’d grumble to himself.
One evening, he came home to find Lottie sick in Vera’s bed, feverish.
“Called the nurse—got her meds. Let her stay here tonight. I’ve given her tea with honey—just let her rest.”
Panicked, he barely slept. Next morning, he rushed over before work.
“Fever broke near dawn. She’s sleeping now—don’t fret.”
That evening, Lottie was sitting up, weak but smiling.
“Dad,” she chirped suddenly. “Can we live with Auntie Vera? I’ll call her Mum!”
The words stunned Andy and Vera—both had been too nervous to admit their feelings.
“Sweetheart, we can’t just—”
“Why not?” Vera cut in, blushing. “She’s right. That cottage is freezing, and…” She trailed off, embarrassed for speaking out of turn.
Andy rubbed his neck, then grinned. “Guess Lottie settled it for us. I’ve been thinking the same. Should’ve asked you myself.”
They married soon after. Life was good. Tommy and Lottie were inseparable—playing, starting school together. Tommy, the older one, always protected her.
Years passed. Tommy turned sixteen, Lottie fifteen. They were always together, not realising they’d fallen in love. Tommy was tall, with sandy curls and blue eyes that made girls swoon. They’d ask him out, but he only had eyes for Lottie.
“Why d’you drag your sister everywhere?” other girls sneered.
” ’Cause she’s my sister—and God help anyone who hurts her.”
“Even on dates?”
“Maybe.”
But there were no dates. They were happy just being together—reading, swimming, picking berries. By eighteen, Tommy knew he loved her.
“What do I do? She’s my sister…” He’d lie in the hayloft, agonising. “How can I live without her?”
But Lottie secretly felt the same. She’d hated seeing girls flirt with him.
When Tommy got called up for National Service, Lottie saw him off—she was training to be a chef.
He returned, and when they embraced, Vera saw the way they looked at each other. She understood. Tommy and Lottie couldn’t stop talking.
One day, Tommy confessed: “I’m moving to the city. Can’t stay here.”
Lottie bolted to the garden, sobbing under the old cherry tree—her secret spot. Vera found her.
“Love, what’s wrong? Did Tommy upset you?”
“No! He never would.”
“Then… are you in love?”
Lottie froze. “How’d you know?”
“I see it. You’re both suffering, thinking you’re brother and sister. But…” She took a breath. “You’re not. When Andy and I married, he had you, and I had Tommy. You just don’t remember.”
Lottie gasped, hugged her. “Mum… Tommy’s leaving! He told me!”
Vera rushed inside—Tommy was packing.
“Son, why? You belong here!”
“Mum, I can’t—” He spotted Lottie, beaming.
“Tommy, we’re not siblings!” she burst out. “Dad’s mine, Mum’s yours!”
He stared at Vera. “True?”
“True. You’re step-siblings—that’s all.”
They collapsed into each other’s arms.
“You’re staying?” Lottie whispered.
“Only if you marry me.”
“So soon? What about courting? Dates?”
Tommy laughed. “All of it, I promise.”
They married in a joyful ceremony. A year later, their son Charlie arrived—and the family was complete.
