James is a quiet, reserved lad who still lives with his parents in the countryside—whether it’s how he was raised or simply his nature, no one can say. His mother, Margaret, and father, Edward, never had any trouble with their son. He’s always been obedient.
Next door, the air is often filled with shouts and arguments. Barbara, their neighbour, raises her two sons—Mike and Tim—on her own. The boys, close in age, are a handful, especially the older one, Mike. Barbara’s at her wits’ end trying to keep him in line.
“Mike, stop picking on your brother, or I swear—just you wait!” Barbara’s voice carries across the yard.
“He started it! If he didn’t wind me up, I wouldn’t react!” Mike snaps back.
“Is that how you speak to your mother?” comes the exasperated reply.
It’s always like this. Barbara often complains to Margaret:
“I can’t get through to my rascals. Your house is always so peaceful. I envy you, Margaret. Your James is such a quiet lad. But then again, your Edward’s calm too—must run in the family. My husband was a live wire, always causing a stir, and look where that got him… If he hadn’t been drinking, he’d never have drowned. Mike’s just like him. Tim’s a bit quieter, but he still never backs down. Oh, what a life.”
“True enough, Barbara. Your boys are proper handfuls. At parents’ evening, the teacher gave Mike a right telling-off. You never go, do you?”
Their sons, James and Mike, are in the same class. They’re mates, walking to and from school together. James gets on fine with his studies, but Mike barely scrapes by.
“I don’t go to parents’ evenings. Too ashamed to hear about my troublemakers, especially Mike. And at work—well, if I see their teachers in town, I cross the street to avoid them. Soon as they start complaining, I go red and start sweating. I envy you, Margaret—properly, I do. Your James is a good lad, and mine…” She waves a hand dismissively and heads inside.
Time passes. Mike stays as wild as ever, leaving school after Year 11. Tim carries on.
“I’ll get my driver’s licence, do my National Service, then settle down,” Mike declares.
James grows up quiet and thoughtful, still happiest wandering the woods alone or sitting on the porch with a book. He trains as an electrician in the nearby town but never thinks of leaving the village—his parents wouldn’t let him anyway.
“Your roots are here, son. This is where you’ll stay,” Edward had decided long ago. James never argued.
He takes the bus to college—just half an hour into town—but dislikes the crowds. Girls glance his way, and some bold ones even ask him to the cinema, not realising how shy he is. He always declines, saying he’s got to catch the last bus home.
“James, don’t go getting mixed up with town girls,” Margaret warns. “They’re quick, they’ll have you tied down before you know it!”
“Mum, leave off,” he mutters, brushing her off.
He visits the village hall sometimes, chatting with the lads, often in Mike’s company. But he pays little attention to girls, so they ignore him too. No one knows, but back in school, he fancied a girl named Emily, a year below him. He never told a soul—too afraid.
Alone, he curses himself:
“Why can’t I be as quick as Mike? Girls flock to him, and I—I can’t even talk to them. I like Emily, but I’d never admit it. What if she laughs at me? When she’s near, my knees go weak. I’ll die a bachelor at this rate… And Mike’s already talking marriage.”
“James, you’re coming to my wedding, right? It’s at the village hall. Girls from Lucy’s village will be there—don’t miss your chance,” Mike grins.
Lucy, Mike’s bride-to-be, is from the next village over. No one knows why he didn’t pick a local girl when so many fancy him.
“Alright, Mike. I’ll be there,” James promises.
The wedding is lively, music thumping, guests laughing. James mostly sits at the table or steps outside for air—it’s stuffy inside. That’s when Daisy, Lucy’s bridesmaid, spots him. Tall, dark-haired, with grey eyes, he’s handsome enough to catch attention.
“Hey there,” she says brightly, appearing beside him.
“Hi,” he mumbles, flushing.
“I know you. You’re Edward’s son. My dad’s mates with him. I’m Daisy. You’re James, right?”
He turns redder, mumbling something back, his back damp with nerves. But he likes her—which only makes it worse. Daisy chatters away, laughing, while he listens, half-captivated, half-terrified of saying something stupid.
“Come dance! Why are we just standing here?” She grabs his hand and pulls him into the crowd.
James has never danced in his life, but somehow, it works. The music’s slow, his hand on her waist, letting her lead.
“This is nice,” he thinks. “Dancing with a girl… Daisy’s lovely.”
They dance again and again. He doesn’t notice the hours pass until Daisy says, “I’ve enjoyed this, James. But I’ve got to go—my brother’s giving me a lift. See you soon?”
The next day, James is lost in thought, Daisy’s blue eyes and blonde hair etched in his mind. But he’s too shy to seek her out.
“Why would I go to her village? What would people say? She’s probably forgotten me anyway.”
Then, on Saturday evening, a whistle rings out. James looks out—Daisy’s there, grinning, waving. He steps outside.
“Hi, James! I cycled over. There’s a concert in my village tomorrow—want to come?”
“Yes,” he says instantly.
“Let’s walk a bit. You can see me partway home.”
He pushes her bike as they stroll, Daisy doing most of the talking. When her village appears in the distance, she says, “Right, I’ll cycle the rest. See you tomorrow!”
After that, they start seeing each other. Daisy takes charge, arranging meetings, even cycling over if he can’t make it. Margaret disapproves.
“James, she’s too quick for you. She’ll twist you round her finger. You need a quiet girl—this one’s a firecracker!”
But James is smitten. Daisy hugs him, kisses him—how could he resist? Then one day, she says it first:
“James, I fancy you. You’re different. Let’s get married. Why wait?”
“I’d like that,” he says, wishing he’d asked first.
“Tomorrow, we’ll talk to your parents.”
And so they do. Daisy leads again.
“I love James. I can’t imagine life without him.”
“I love Daisy too. I’ll only marry her,” James blurts, surprising himself.
His parents relent, and wedding plans begin.
The village is stunned.
“Quiet James, getting married? And to a girl from another village!” the women chatter by the shop. “Daisy’s a lively one.”
Even Mike congratulates him.
“See? I had to marry first so you’d find someone. Daisy’s smitten—Lucy told me. She’s a good ‘un, quick but loyal.”
The wedding’s at the village hall again, guests streaming in from Daisy’s village. They move in with James’s parents. Margaret fears clashes, but Daisy’s respectful, heeding her advice. Soon, Margaret adores her.
Then come the grandchildren—first a boy, George, then three years later, a girl, Alice. The grandparents are overjoyed. The young couple build their own house, ready to start their next chapter.
