“I don’t think your mum likes me. Why? I’ve never done anything wrong to her,” asked Emily.
“Oliver, where are you rushing off to? Eat properly,” Veronica said sharply.
“Mum, I’m late.” Oliver bit off half his sandwich in one go, gulped his coffee, and bolted from the kitchen.
“You’ll give yourself an ulcer,” Veronica grumbled, shuffling after him on her short legs. “Rushing off to see your Emily, are you? I just don’t see what you see in her. Charlotte is stunning, outgoing, and head over heels for you. She’d suit you far better. You’d make such a handsome couple.”
Oliver chewed in silence as he tied his trainers.
“Like a little boy,” Veronica sighed, shaking her head. “Your Emily could wait five minutes—it wouldn’t kill her.”
“Mum, enough,” Oliver straightened up, adjusting his T-shirt. “It’s my life. I’ll decide who suits me.”
“Oh, you’ll decide alright. And then it’ll be too late. A girl like Charlotte won’t stay single forever—” The door shut behind him, cutting off her words.
She pursed her lips and trudged back to the kitchen, finishing the leftover half of Oliver’s sandwich while staring blankly at the wall. Then, in frustration, she began scrubbing the cooker—something she always did when annoyed or upset.
When the doorbell rang, she assumed Oliver had forgotten something. But instead, she found Emily on the doorstep, smiling up at her with wide grey eyes, hopeful and trusting, like a child waiting for a promised treat.
“Veronica, hello! Is Oliver—?”
“Gone five minutes ago. Just missed him?” Veronica forced a tight smile, watching Emily’s face fall with satisfaction.
“Oh… Could you tell him I stopped by? My grandma’s in hospital—we’re going to visit her.”
“Of course, I’ll pass it along. Why not call him yourself?”
“I tried. His phone’s off.”
Veronica always insisted he switch it off at home—the constant ringing gave her migraines.
Twenty minutes later, Oliver trudged back in, disheartened. “She didn’t show. She’s not home either. Mum, did Emily come by?”
“Why, was she supposed to?” Veronica feigned innocence. “Who knows what happened—she’s not going anywhere. She’ll turn up.”
Later, Oliver left for training, and Veronica polished the cooker to a shine before heading to the shops, where she bumped into Charlotte, his old schoolmate.
Veronica firmly believed looks mattered—and Charlotte was gorgeous, nothing like that doe-eyed waif Emily. Even better, her father worked in city government. That kind of connection meant status, a good job, maybe even a flat for Oliver. He couldn’t be an athlete forever. She wasn’t mercenary, but she wouldn’t let her only son flounder. He had to be smart about his future.
“Charlotte, darling! It’s been ages,” Veronica cooed.
“Hello. I’d visit more, but Oliver’s taken,” Charlotte replied, pouting.
“Oh, nonsense. Show a bit of initiative—ask him to the cinema, for a walk!”
“I’ve tried. He’s always busy.”
“I know what he’s busy with,” Veronica waved dismissively. “Between you and me, Emily’s away for the week. Don’t miss your chance—stop by tonight. We’ll have tea.”
Charlotte did. Veronica “went to put the kettle on,” nodding pointedly at Oliver’s room. Charlotte knocked and entered. Oliver lay on the sofa, staring at the ceiling.
“Hey. Ran into your mum earlier—she invited me over. Why so glum? Fancy catching a film? Lovely evening for it.”
“Char, just back from training—wiped out. Rain check?” He sat up reluctantly.
“Fine, but I’m holding you to that.” She perched beside him, chatting about training, competitions—anything but Emily. Later, at the table, Veronica hinted Oliver should walk Charlotte home. “A pretty girl shouldn’t walk alone after dark…”
***
Emily adored her grandma—that’s why she’d studied medicine. The woman was often ill but hated hospitals.
“I’ll grow up and treat you myself,” young Emily had said. Now she was in her fourth year at med school.
The doctor said it was just high blood pressure—a week’s observation, then discharge. Relieved, Emily packed to leave.
“Where are you off to? It’s break! Oliver’s not going anywhere,” her mum grumbled.
“Gran’s better. Stay with her till Oliver’s away for competitions, then I’ll swap with you.”
“Oh, fine—go on,” her mum sighed.
*Oliver’s a good lad. But she’s too wrapped up in him.* Her own marriage had collapsed despite grand love—her husband left when Emily was eight. *Maybe she’ll have better luck.*
Emily rushed to Oliver’s straight from the station.
Veronica answered, her frown like a brick wall.
*Ugh, this clingy girl again. Just when Oliver and Charlotte were getting close…* Still, she smiled thinly. “Oliver’s out. No idea when he’ll be back.”
“I’ll tell him you stopped,” she said, shutting the door. *Persistent little thing.*
Emily called again. No answer. She’d wanted to surprise him. She waited on the stairwell, watching the courtyard. An old man eyed her disapprovingly.
About to leave, she spotted Oliver—with Charlotte. The girl flung her arms around him, kissing his cheek—not a peck, but lingering. Oliver didn’t push her away.
Emily reeled back, descending slowly. At the door, she paused, hearing Veronica’s cheerful voice: “There you are! Dinner’s ready—”
*She never greets me like that.* Emily fled, tears choking her. *Three days, and he’s kissing Charlotte? Mum’s right—words mean nothing.*
At home, she cried herself out, regretting leaving her grandma and mum. Next morning, she returned to them.
When Oliver called, she ignored him. She’d seen him.
They finally met after his competition. He reached for her.
“Ollie, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong… with me. But you and Charlotte—kissing.”
“What? When?”
“I came back early. Didn’t your mum tell you I came by?” She shrugged. “I saw you. On the stairs.”
“Charlotte’s just a mate. Said she was chuffed I made first team—just a stupid kiss. I’ve known her since school. I love *you*.” He tried holding her.
“Leave it. Your mum won’t ever let us be happy.”
At home, Veronica and Charlotte giggled over tea.
“Ollie, join us! Charlotte baked biscuits!”
“Was this your idea?” Oliver glared. “That kiss—so Emily would see?” He turned to his mum. “You plotted this?”
“Oliver! What nonsense!” Veronica gasped.
Charlotte smirked. “Just a friendly peck. Thought you didn’t mind. She’s not even your wife and already jealous—imagine later.”
Emily avoided him. Between competitions and her studies, they barely met—only missed connections and silence.
***
Fifteen years later…
Oliver coached at a youth club—his sporting career cut short by injury. He taught self-defence to teens: troublemakers needing discipline, bullied kids needing confidence.
One day, a scrawny 13-year-old appeared.
“Getting picked on?” Oliver asked.
“Nah. Mum said I need male influence—no dad.”
“Good on her. Where’s your dad?”
“She says he’s an Arctic explorer. But I reckon he just left. Being a hero’s kid’s alright—but no one buys it,” said Daniel.
“Honest. Now show me what you’ve got.”
The boy fought wildly, missing every strike.
“Brave, but you’re not watching your opponent. I’ll fix that. Bring trainers tomorrow—and your mum.”
Daniel returned alone with cash and a note: *Thrilled he’s joining. Please excuse my absence—doctor’s schedule.*
Months later, Oliver held a parents’ evening. Midway, a flustered woman slipped in.
“Dr. Emma Nicholson, Daniel’s mum,” she introduced herself.
Oliver recognized her instantly but stayed composed. He discussed progress, took questions—avoiding her gaze, though he caught her glancing away too.
After, he sat beside her.
“Long time. How’ve you been?”
“Daniel won’t stop talking about you. Never imagined it’d be you,” she said lightly.
“Great kid. Independent.”
She beamed. “I adore him. Worried I’d spoil him—that’s why I sent him here.”
“He mentioned the explorer dad.”
She flushed. “What else could I say? Married badly, got pregnant fast, left when Daniel was four months. And you?”
“Charlotte said she was pregnant. Mum pressured me. Turned out”She was lying—we divorced in six months.”
