The tale of Sam and Ethel
Sam had always been the invisible one in his class. He did not try to blend into the wallpaper; he was clever, with neat features that might have earned a handful of compliments if anyone had bothered to look. Yet the Year10 pupils in the small town of Ashford never seemed to notice him. They formed their own little cliques around shared interests, and Sam never fit into any of them. He was never bullied, but he never had friends either.
He was a lone wolf by nature, his world limited to the school dining hall, the classroom, and his modest terraced house. He did not particularly crave the company of his classmates, and so he drifted through his days unnoticed.
Then she arrived a new girl.
Her background was fragmentary: no parents, only a grandmother who seemed to regard her as an inconvenience. Like Sam, she was solitary, but instead of being aloof she carried an air of melancholy, as if the world had pressed down upon her shoulders.
When Sam first laid eyes on Ethel, the drab, monochrome world he had known burst into colour. Love, at once, at first glance.
Hello, he said, edging over to her desk after the lesson.
He had not expected to approach anyone, honestly. The other pupils were already streaming out of the classroom, their chatter echoing down the corridor.
Ethel closed her textbook and looked up.
Hello, she replied.
Im Sam. And you are?
Im Ethel, she said, a tentative smile forming. Ill try to remember that.
He realized then that courting a girl was not as simple as he had imagined.
Right, Ethel, Sam continued. How are you finding our class? I noticed you handed in a blank maths paper. Everything all right?
Ethel indeed had written nothing. She had, perhaps, hoped to make a good impression on the new teachers.
Its odd, she admitted. Im a little behind, but Ill catch up.
Could have asked someone for help, Sam offered.
Ask that sounds easy enough, she laughed, standing up. But I find it hard to meet people.
I understand. Im not much of a talker either. If you need anything, just let me know. I know this school well I mean, I do well here. Not that youre doing badly
Ethel smiled.
Thus began their friendship.
With a purpose finally found in his otherwise dreary school life, Sam set about not only befriending Ethel but also, in his shy way, looking after her. He was adept at maths, literature, even managed to cover for her in PE.
Sam, youre brilliant! Ethel would exclaim, leaning over her notebook. How do you work it out? The teacher explained it and I got nothing. I could never finish this school without you.
She exaggerated, of course, but Sam welcomed the praise, however modest.
Its just a matter of knowing the right formula, he would say. Youll learn it soon enough.
Its not as quick for me as it is for you, she confessed. Sometimes I dont get it at all.
Its not a race, Sam replied. The point is you understand. If you dont, Ill explain it again a hundred times if I must.
Even a thousand, as long as she stayed a while longer beside him.
By the time they reached Year11, Sam had resolved to confess his feelings when the moment was right. That moment, however, never came. Ethel, having absorbed the lessons and grown more confident, began to drift toward other pupils, who seemed to welcome her with ease. Sam felt a sting of envy as he watched her smile at the others.
Soon after, Ethels attention turned to Tom, a boisterous lad who loved being at the centre of every gathering. Toms loudness drew her in, and he quickly took notice of the shifting seat assignments, noticing how often she moved to sit beside him.
One afternoon, while they were sitting on a bench in the village park and Tom had gone off with his friends, Sam asked, Ethel, whats going on with Tom? You didnt turn up yesterday as wed arranged
Sorry, we got carried away, she said, a faint blush on her cheeks. Sam, I think Ive fallen in love.
Sam froze, then, out of a sense of duty, asked, Is he a good fellow?
He knew Tom from the first day of school, and his answer was hesitant. Hes easy to get along with.
And with me?
Ethels eyes flickered. Sam, youre my best friend. With friends things are easy. With a boyfriend its always messy, but hes simple. I think well make it work.
Sam understood. He would remain her friend, the best friend, but nothing more.
School ended, and with it the carefree days when Sam could see Ethel each morning under the pretext of a shared lesson. Ethel soon married Tom, and Sam attended the wedding, playing the part of the dutiful friend until the very end. He smiled, congratulated them, and posed for countless photographs among the gathered guests, all the while wondering why they had rushed into marriage.
Later someone whispered that Ethel was pregnant imminently so. The news hit Sam like a blow. All his lingering hopes evaporated. Ah, thats why they hurried, he thought. It wasnt romance that propelled them, but the plain, hardwon reality of responsibility, of fatherhood, of securing a steady footing.
Sam realised there was nothing left for him to chase. Their child would be born. He tried, truly, to move on. He dated, went to university gatherings, but nothing compared to the ghost of Ethel that lingered in his mind.
Ethels married life turned out to be far from the bright future she had imagined. She found herself living in Toms mothers house Mrs. Ingrid where the matriarch made it clear who ruled the home. Ethel, once a pretty, independent young woman, was reduced to the role of a servant.
This is mine, Mrs. Ingrid snapped when Ethel reached for a sweet from the bowl.
May I have one? Ethel asked meekly.
Fine, take one, the woman replied curtly.
Ethel had only known her grandmother before; now she was thrust into a household where every move was monitored.
When the baby arrived, Ingrid pressed her hard, demanding work.
When will you start earning? she barked. Were not a restaurant, nor a charity. Everyone must pull their weight.
Ethel tried to explain that she was nursing, but Ingrid dismissed her concerns, insisting she raise the child while also keeping the house in order. Tom, meanwhile, spent his days drinking with his mates, returning home as if drained of all sense.
In the evenings, Ingrid harried Ethel with endless chores, while young Kolya, the child, mimicked his fathers lax attitude.
Kolya, tidy up after yourself! Ethel would say, only to be rebuffed with, You do the cleaning, not me.
Toms occasional drunken rants filled the house, and when he stumbled home one night, bruised and incoherent, Ingrid snarled, Youve ruined my son! You always have someone else on the side. No wonder youve turned to the bottle!
Ethel could say nothing; the house was a vortex of blame and fatigue.
Years slipped by, etching lines on faces and scars in hearts. Sam, now twentyfive, had a steady job but no romance, still the solitary figure he always had been, only now more wary. He saw Ethel rarely; meeting her alone felt like a fleeting gift from Father Time.
One rainy morning at the bus stop, Sam caught sight of her.
Ethel! he called, his voice catching.
They had not spoken in almost a year.
Sam its been ages, she replied, startled.
Not quite a year yet, is it? he chuckled.
She laughed weakly. Time has slipped away.
He studied her face, noting a faint bruise under her cheek.
Did Tom do that? he asked, without hesitation.
Ethels eyes flashed with irritation. Thats none of your business, Sam.
From that moment, Sam realised his attempts to reach into her life were futile.
Ethel
Goodbye, she snapped, turning away.
Later, in the privacy of her modest flat, Ethel brushed off her makeup, revealing the bruise fully. She stared at herself in the mirror, whispering, What has become of me?
Her motherinlaw stormed in, shrieking about who had seen her and what would become of Kolya if the truth ever emerged. The pressure was relentless.
The family eventually decided to move to a country cottage, claiming the city flat was too costly. Tom agreed, indifferent to the disruption. No one asked Ethel what she wanted.
Before they left, she slipped away to see Sam one last time. He stood by the gate, his expression solemn, as if at a funeral.
This is a mistake, he warned. The move will trap you even more. Where are you heading?
You dont understand, Sam. No one asked me.
The choice is always yours, he protested, but it can be a hard one.
Who else am I for?
For me, he said quietly. Stay here. Come with me. You, Kolya, all of us.
His pleas fell on deaf ears.
The cottage was bleak, lacking any modern comforts. The surrounding fields offered no familiar faces. Tom, true to form, spent his days drinking, returning home as if exhausted by nothing at all. Ingrid, instead of easing Ethels burden, intensified her supervision, ordering her to slice the sausage, peel the potatoes, and sweep the floor.
Kolya absorbed his fathers habits wholesale, often demanding that Ethel fetch him a drink or a snack. You do the chores, mother, he would mutter, what else am I here for?
Ethel, exhausted by the constant belittlement, looked to Tom for a flicker of support, but he merely smiled and said, Right, son. From a young age you must be strict.
When the tension at home reached a breaking point, Ethel fled back to the city, seeking Sam in the hope that somewhere, something might change.
She arrived at his address, a modest terraced house on a quiet lane, and sat on the front step until night fell. She dared not ring the bell; his parents lived there, and Sam was nowhere in sight. The intercom buzzed once, then fell silent.
A few days later, Sams mother was seen escorting a welldressed woman out of the house, holding her arm. The woman was Toms mother, Mrs. Ingrid, hugging the woman who had been Ethels motherinlaw. It became clear that some doors, once shut, never opened again.
And so the memory of Sam and Ethel lingered, a story of youth, longing, and the harsh realities that turned bright hopes into faded echoes.
