Barbara smoothed her dress over her hips in front of the mirror, touched up her lips with rosy lipstick, then fluffed a stubborn curl. She took a step back and scrutinised herself with a critical eye. “Not bad,” she murmured, pleased with her reflection.
Her husband appeared in the hallway doorway, leaning his shoulder against the frame.
“Blimey! Where are you off to, all dressed up like that?”
“Work. Jealous, are you?” Barbara widened her already large, beautifully lined eyes.
“Course I am. Why don’t I drive you? It’s chaos on the bus—you’ll get squashed,” Alex offered eagerly.
“Stay home. Where are you going with that cast, anyway?” Barbara zipped up her light quilted coat, adjusted her scarf snug under her chin, and grabbed her handbag.
“I’m off then.” But she paused at the door.
“Oh, nearly forgot. I’ll be late tonight. Nina’s getting married—sort of a hen do at the café. Don’t worry.”
“Hold on, let me pick you up later,” Alex pushed off the doorframe.
“No need.” Barbara pursed her lips, blew him a kiss, and stepped out.
Alex moved to the window, watching Barbara hurry across the courtyard below.
“I’ve told her a hundred times to get her licence. Wouldn’t have to cram onto a packed bus if she drove,” he muttered, as if she could hear.
The café buzzed with music. Six women huddled around pushed-together tables, sipping cocktails and swapping hilarious wedding mishaps, their laughter ringing bright. Then a waiter appeared with a tray, setting an expensive bottle of wine before Barbara.
“Compliments of the gentleman at the next table. Shall I open it?”
Barbara turned. The generous stranger nodded and smiled. Her heart skipped, then raced to the music’s beat. Heat rushed to her cheeks, and her smile vanished like snow off a hill—swift and unstoppable.
She knew him. How could she forget? Paul had been the most handsome lad at university, older, effortlessly charming. Girls flocked to him. Before summer exams, she’d failed a test. Sitting on the wrought-iron staircase between floors, she’d wept—her first exam in two days, but without clearance, she couldn’t sit it.
“What’s all this? Failed, have you?”
Barbara looked up. Paul stood there, speaking to her—while she sat red-nosed, mascara streaked.
“I didn’t pass,” she sniffled, dabbing her eyes.
“Pull yourself together. You’re smudging your makeup.”
Barbara gasped and fumbled for her compact. Paul handed her a handkerchief.
“Silly goose, save the tears for the professor. Thought all girls knew how to sweet-talk. Go on, catch him before he leaves. Say you studied all night, your head’s foggy.”
“D’you think that’ll work?”
“Won’t know till you try. Go!” He nudged her up the stairs, their clang echoing behind her.
When she emerged, beaming, Paul waited.
“That’s better,” he said.
He walked her home, chatting all the way. She barely heard, dizzy with one thought: He’s here! With me! She basked in envious glances from passing women, pride swelling her chest.
After exams, they dated briefly—cinema trips, beach walks. She knew he changed girls like socks, but her heart ignored logic. Then, suddenly, Paul vanished. No address, no way to find him—everyone had scattered for summer. Barbara pined, convinced he’d return… until she realised she was pregnant.
“You were floating on air, now you’re moping. Aren’t you well?” her mum asked.
“Just a chill,” Barbara coughed convincingly.
“See a doctor, don’t brush it off.”
“Tomorrow, Mum.”
At a private clinic—too scared of bumping into acquaintances at the NHS—pregnancy was confirmed.
“Mum’ll kill me… I’ve uni… and he’s gone…” Sobs wracked her in the surgery.
The doctor took pity. Early enough, she said—no need for surgery, but it’d cost. At home, Barbara spun a tale of pricey prescriptions, dodgy tests… Her mum, none the wiser, gave her the cash.
Two days of agony, like wire twisting her insides. She bore it silently, lest her mum suspect.
Come September, she returned to class aching to see Paul. He passed with a pretty fresher, pretending not to know her. Worse, girls whispered he was marrying—finally settling down. Barbara fought tears.
In lectures, Alex slid beside her. An unremarkable bloke, he’d fancied her for ages. No heartthrob—girls only chased him for scribbled notes.
“Cheer up. Fancy the cinema tonight?”
Barbara shrugged. Better than crying over Paul. Afterwards, they ambled through town. Alex recounted a book he’d read—so engrossing, she forgot Paul entirely.
With Alex, she could be herself. No pretense, no fear of missteps. Outside her door, she blurted:
“Alex… you like me, don’t you? Marry me.”
He gaped. “You serious? I do. But not like this.” He turned on his heel and left.
“Even that sod’s gone.” Her self-worth cratered.
Next day, as the lecturer entered, Alex whispered to him. The professor nodded, stepping aside. Alex faced the class:
“There’s a lass here named Barbara. I’d like to ask her, in front of you all, to marry me. I vow to love her forever, make her the happiest woman alive.”
“Well, Barbara? Show yourself. Let’s see who’s worth disrupting my lecture,” the professor teased. Laughter rippled.
Classmates chanted her name. Flushed, she approached Alex—now holding a ring box. Front rows craned for a look. Flowers materialised in his hands. Cheers erupted.
“Will you?” he asked over the noise.
“Yes,” she whispered.
Later, he explained: he’d wanted it memorable—not her desperate plea.
The tale became legend, recounted to wide-eyed freshers for years.
Their marriage wasn’t fiery, more steady friendship. Barbara never conceived, but Alex never pried.
Now, five years on, she saw Paul in the café. He’d grown handsomer, exuding charm. She compared him to Alex—sweatpants with stretched knees, a sling for his broken arm, a slight paunch. Bloody gym wouldn’t hurt him, she thought irritably. Nearby girls ogled Paul.
He asked her to dance—bizarre, given the cramped space. Under staring eyes, she stiffened. Thankfully, the slow song ended. Paul offered her a lift.
Outside, snow glittered in her hair like diamond dust. Paul pulled up in a flashy car, boasting: divorced, two kids, his own business… and endless flattery.
She asked him to stop at the far entrance. Knew Alex would be watching. Paul’s chatter grated. “Vain peacock,” she thought. “What do women see in him? And me—giddy as a schoolgirl.”
She thanked him, opening the door.
“Your number?” He brandished his mobile.
Barbara thought of Alex, of Paul’s abandonment. Wordless, she slammed the door. Walking away, she heard the engine’s purr—knew he watched.
Then—two hooded lads lunged. One grabbed her handbag, yanking hard.
“Help! Paul!” she screamed.
Tires screeched. The lad gasped, releasing her. The other sprawled aside. And there stood Alex—in flip-flops, wielding a walking stick.
“You alright?” he panted.
“Alex!” She buried her face in his chest, feeling his shivers.
“Let’s get you home. Don’t need pneumonia on top of this.” The attackers—and Paul—were gone.
Inside, she asked: “You were waiting by the window?”
“Having tea when I heard you call. Came out as I was.”
Guilt pricked her. She’d called for Paul—who’d fled. Alex, broken arm and all, had charged out. She studied him—really saw him—for the first time.
“Why’re you staring?”
“You’re my hero. I love you.”
“Right. No more solo outings. And for God’s sake, get your licence.”
“Whatever you say, love.” She smiled.
That night, curled against him, she melted. Their passion, long dormant, flared. Three weeks later, a test confirmed: pregnant.
On Sunday, Alex found the stick on the sink.
“This what I think?”
“Meant to surprise you.” She pouted playfully.
“Bloody brilliant. I’d given up hope.” He kissed her tenderly.
Barbara marvelled: When did I fall for him? He’s the best—my man. Without Paul, I’d never have known his worth. Patient, brave, steadfast. Rushed to save me, broken arm and all.As she nestled into his arms that evening, the quiet certainty of their love felt deeper than any fleeting passion, and she knew—without a doubt—this was where she truly belonged.
