Unloved
From childhood, Emily had despised her name. Old-fashioned, frumpy. When she grew older, her mother explained that her father had once been infatuated with a dazzling young woman named Emily in his youth. He had adored her, but she had rejected him and married another.
“Then he met me. And when you were born, he gave you her name. Never quite forgot that first love,” her mother said calmly.
“And you don’t mind?”
“No. He loves you and me. But people always remember their first love. One day, you’ll have one too.” Her mother stroked Emily’s hair.
“Was his Emily as ugly as I am?” the girl grumbled.
“Don’t be ridiculous. Remember that old tale about the ugly duckling? And if you hate the name so much, you can change it when you’re older. What would you prefer?”
Emily stood before the mirror, trying on different names like dresses, but none suited her. She sighed, sensibly deciding a new name wouldn’t make her prettier. After all, it wasn’t the name that made a person. And she had grown used to it.
But Emily doubted anyone would ever love her as her father had loved that other Emily. Dull, mousy hair, small, narrow eyes, a sharp chin. In a word, plain.
Her father loved her almost as much as he loved a drink. On his way home from work, he often stopped at the pub. A pint or two made him cheerful, and he always brought Emily something—a chocolate bar, sweets, a trinket. If he forgot, he simply handed her shillings. She saved them and bought what she liked.
When she finished school, her father died. He had been walking home when children playing by the river lost their ball in the water. Drunk, he waded in to fetch it and drowned.
Her mother cursed him for abandoning them. How would they manage? Emily needed to study, but on what money? What future awaited her in their small village?
Grief-stricken, Emily refused to leave, but her mother insisted.
“What’s here for you? Go, perhaps you’ll marry,” her mother said regretfully.
So Emily left. She dreamed of becoming a doctor, but with her village schooling, she knew she stood little chance. Instead, she enrolled in a nursing college. There was something about white coats she adored.
Her dormmate was the beautiful Margaret. God had blessed Margaret—lustrous brown curls, dark eyes, fair skin, scarlet lips, and a perfect figure. Emily couldn’t compare.
She watched Margaret with envy, while Margaret thrived in the contrast, feeling like a queen beside her. The two got on well, until Margaret met Paul, a student from the polytechnic.
Emily was smitten at first sight. It was hard not to be—he was handsome. He often waited in their room while Margaret studied, determined to graduate with honours and enter medical school.
“Are you done yet?” he’d ask impatiently.
“Take Emily to the pictures. I’ve an exam tomorrow,” Margaret would say, waving him off.
Emily would have loved to sit beside him in the dark, trembling with excitement, but Paul never asked. He’d linger, sigh, and leave.
“Why do you treat him like that? If someone waited for me like that, I’d be over the moon,” Emily fumed.
“What’s he to you? Clearly, he’s just having fun. Girls flock to him now—what’ll happen later? Find someone simpler, love,” Margaret advised.
Emily was an average student, putting in little effort. One evening, Paul arrived to find Margaret still at the library. On the table sat a pan of fried potatoes and shop-bought pies. Paul couldn’t take his eyes off the food.
Emily cooked in the old country way, with lard her mother sent. The aroma drew students from the entire floor. She never left her pan unattended—turn your back, and it vanished.
“Fancy supper with me? Margaret will be back soon,” Emily offered, watching Paul swallow hard.
He needed no persuading. He devoured the food, while Emily gazed at him, adoring, and wished Margaret would stay away.
“You’d make a fine wife,” Paul remarked when he finally sat back, replete.
One Saturday, Paul arrived to take Margaret to the pictures, but she had gone home after a call from her mother.
“Apologise to Paul for me,” she had said before leaving.
Emily prepared another culinary masterpiece.
“I bought tickets,” Paul sighed when he learned Margaret was gone.
“Take me instead,” Emily suggested. “Or are you ashamed?”
“Don’t be absurd. Get dressed—I’ll wait outside.”
Emily hardly dared believe her luck. Ninety minutes beside the man she adored! Perhaps he’d even hold her hand. She wouldn’t dare initiate it. She dressed quickly, dabbed on perfume, and rushed out before he changed his mind.
“I’m ready,” she smiled.
“Right,” Paul muttered, eyeing her gloomily.
She chattered all the way, sharing funny tales from student life and inventing some on the spot. Paul laughed heartily. At one point, she took his arm—just friendly—and didn’t let go until they reached the cinema.
The film was gripping, but Emily barely watched. She kept waiting for Paul to take her hand, nudging hers closer. He seemed oblivious. Then a tense scene struck, and she seized his hand, pretending fright. She clung tight until the credits rolled.
Afterward, he walked her back.
“Fancy a café? I’m starved,” he said.
“Rubbish, wasting money. I’ve lard at home—Mum sent it yesterday. Delicious! Mash and pickles too. Better than any café. Come on, I’ll feed you.” Without asking, she led him back.
There was wine, too. Full and tipsy, Paul sprawled on Margaret’s bed and dozed off. Emily turned off the light and sat beside him. He slumped against her, rested his head on her shoulder, and soon pressed for a kiss. Perhaps he thought she was Margaret. Or perhaps he didn’t care. Breathless, she kissed back.
“Sorry,” he said the next morning. “Don’t tell Margaret, eh?”
Emily felt no guilt, only joy. Paul didn’t fret either—he never refused a willing girl.
Three weeks later, Emily knew she was pregnant.
“Who’s the father?” Margaret asked.
“Paul,” Emily admitted at once.
“Quick work. Don’t expect him to marry you.”
Realising this might be her only chance, Emily told Paul.
“Look, it was an accident. Sort it yourself,” he replied.
Hurt, she didn’t cry. “I’m keeping it.”
“Suit yourself.”
Emily passed her exams but missed graduation—labour struck, and she was rushed to hospital. She had a girl. Margaret visited, bringing money and clothes from the girls’ collection.
“We pitched in—I shook down Paul too. Going home?” Emily shook her head. “Thought not. The dorm won’t keep you, so you’ll need a room. I found one—the landlady’s lonely, thrilled to have you. Cheap, too.”
In a way, Emily was lucky. The landlady, Mrs. Rose Wilson, offered help at once.
“Paul gave money, but don’t expect more. He’s seeing someone,” Margaret said before leaving. “I’m off home—delayed because of you.”
Emily wept.
“Stop that, you’ll spoil your milk,” Mrs. Wilson chided.
The money ran out quickly, but Mrs. Wilson doted on the baby, brushing off Emily’s apologies and feeding her. Soon, she brought friends round for Emily to administer injections—elderly folks always ached. Gaining confidence, Emily took night shifts at the hospital to spend days with her daughter.
One day, pushing the pram near the city centre, she ran into Paul. Curious, he peered in. He began visiting with small gifts.
Then Mrs. Wilson died in her sleep. She’d often said she’d leave the flat to Emily, who hadn’t believed her. Sorting the woman’s things, she found the will. The police suspected foul play, but Mrs. Wilson’s friends vouched for Emily.
Now, Emily had her own home. When Paul called to visit his daughter, she cooked his favourites. He still loved to eat.
One day, he proposed.
“I’m not a complete cad.”
Emily knew the flat tempted him, not love for her. Still, she agreed. They married. Little changed—Paul lived as he pleased, coming home when he fancied. But she was content. He always returned.
Then she noticed a shift—he grew distant, staring blankly past her. Pushing spaghetti around his plate, lost in thought. For the first time, Emily worried.
She phoned his friend and learned the truth: Paul had fallen for a pub singer.
Emily went to see her. Pretty enough—slim, in a shimmering dress slit to the thigh, long legs flashing with every step. Blonde, with a Monroe curl and a sultry voice. Emily, though she tried, had never shed the weight from childbirthShe let him stay, because in the end, even a flicker of his presence was better than the emptiness of being alone.
