**Diary Entry**
“Dont be cross with me, Tanya, but I wont be living with you.”
“Maybe we should try, Steve?” Tanya gazed at him, barely blinking, a blush creeping into her cheeks.
“Ive said all I need to say, Tanya.”
Emma Birchwood was born when Steve was in his first year of school. He remembered her mother, Laura, the beauty of the village, with her swollen belly and her proud husband, George. Later, Laura would wheel the pram out through the gate, and Steve would peer inside, marveling as if it were some miracle.
Steve grew older, and little Emma grew toofirst a bright-eyed girl in a frilly dress, her blonde hair tied with a large ribbon, then later playing with friends, building makeshift houses by the garden fence. He watched it all from his parents house, just across the street.
“Steve, would you walk Emma to school?” Laura asked one day.
And so, for nearly a year, he escorted the first-year pupil. At first, they walked in silence, until Emma couldnt stand it and started chattering about her day. When her lessons ended early, shed wait patiently for him. Sometimes hed walk home with his classmates, Emma tagging along. He grew used to it, waiting for her by the gate in the mornings, taking her hand as they made their way to school.
The next September, Emma quietly asked if she could walk with her friends instead. From then on, the girls went ahead while Steve trailed behind, watching, ready to step in if needed. And step in he didonce, when a hissing goose blocked their path, wings flapping. He stood between them until the girls shrieked and ran past.
Then Steve left for secondary school in the next town, coming home only on weekends and holidays. Emma seemed to forget him entirely, walking past with downcast eyes. Later, he trained as a navigator, returning home even less frequently.
“Mum, whos thatEmma?” Steve looked up from dinner as a tall, striking young woman stepped out of the Birchwoods gate.
“Thats our Emma!” His mother smiled out the window.
“When did she grow up?” Steve marveled.
“Time passes,” his mother sighed warmly. “Shes got the best of her parents, hasnt she?”
He caught glimpses of her after thatcarrying buckets from the well, dressed smartly for exams. He even thought of walking her again. But what struck him most was her voicesoft, clear, impossible to ignore. Once, fetching water himself, he met her at the tap.
“Hello,” she said first, catching him off guard.
“Hello, Emma,” he managed, suddenly shy.
The buckets filled slowly, and he fumbled for words. When he left that time, it was with a quiet ache. He was in love.
After swearing his oath, he was stationed in Portsmouth.
***
The next time he came home, it was with hope. Maybe now hed tell her. But chores swallowed his leavechopping firewood, repairing the barn, replacing floorboards. Emma was nowhere to be seen.
“Mum, wheres Emma?” he finally asked.
“At university. Living in the city,” she said.
He left empty-handed.
A year later, he saw her oncewalking with a lanky local lad who laughed at his own jokes while Emma smiled indulgently. Then he learned shed married him. They lived in the nearest town now.
“Steve, stop torturing yourself,” his mother said gently. “Youre not a boy anymore.”
“Is it that obvious?”
“Of course. You watch her like a lost soul. Find someone in Portsmouth, move on. Plenty more fish in the sea, as they say.”
“I try not to think of her. But I do.”
***
He visited less often, sent to remote postings. Unmarried, he had no reason to refuse. Truthfully, he sought the hardest assignments, as if punishing himself.
He missed his fathers funeral, arriving late. Four years later, he was late for his mothers too. The neighbors had handled everything.
Laura met him at the gate, handing over the keyshed sent the telegram. The next day, he tidied the graves, then cleared out years of clutter. In the evenings, he pored over old photos and found a yellowed newspapera picture of him and Emma, mistaken for siblings.
Before leaving, he asked Laura and George to tend the house, letting them use the garden.
“Hows Emma?” he asked casually.
“Not well,” Laura muttered. “That husband of hers drinks. They live off his aunts pension and Emmas wagessewing handbags. Half the time, he sells them for drink. Ive got a dozen of them. Want one?”
He took it. The stitching was neat. He imagined her hands working on it.
***
After his service, Steve returned home, renovating the house, installing new windows, drilling a well. He drove to work in a decent car. The village saw little of him.
“Oi, you! Always locking up!” a woman called as he closed the gate.
“Hello?” He squinted at her.
“Dont recognise me?”
“No.”
“Your old teacher! Miss Thompson!”
“Of course! Come in.”
“So, youre back for good?”
“Wanted to settle in my own home.”
“Good. But you need a wife.”
She listed divorced and widowed classmates. He barely remembered them.
“Think on it,” she said, leaving.
He bolted the gate, wanting no more visitors.
***
One evening, driving home, he spotted a slender woman by the roadside. His heart leapt: *Emma.*
He pulled over. “Emma! Need a lift?”
“Hello.” That voice still undid him.
She got in. “Visiting?” he asked.
“For good. Vals dead.”
“So, youre a widow?”
She didnt answer.
At her gate, she thanked him softly. The word echoed in his mind all night.
That evening, he went to propose. Laura met him in the yard.
“Emma home?”
“She is. Here to propose, then?”
“Loved her since you first asked me to walk her to school.”
“I know. Your mother and I talked of it. But she was too young, then you left. And Val” She crossed herself. “Drank. Beat her. Lost jobs. She stayed, poor lamb, thinking she could change him.”
Inside, Emma appeared. “Steve?”
“I love you,” he blurted. “I always have.”
“I know.”
“Marry me.”
“Not yet. Vals forty days arent up.”
“Ive waited my whole life!”
She made him wait longer.
***
One day, returning from work, he found Miss Thompson and Tanyaan old classmateon his bench.
“Hello!” Tanya grinned. “Weve come visiting!”
Inside, she admired his renovations while Miss Thompson hinted at matchmaking.
“Tanya heres a good homemaker,” she said.
“I dont love her.”
“Love grows. Think on it.” She left them.
“Dont be cross, Tanya,” Steve said. “But I wont live with you.”
“Give it a try?” She leaned close.
“No.”
She left in a huff.
The door opened again. Emma stood there.
“Steve!” She rushed to him. “I was scared when I saw them.”
“Who?”
“I wont let anyone take you!”
***
He woke before dawn, as always. Emma slept soundly. After breakfast, he gazed at her, still disbelieving his luck.
Outside, Laura waited.
“Morning, son-in-law. Emma still asleep?”
“She is.”
“Bless you both.” She made the sign of the cross.
“Look after the house. I didnt wake her. Work calls.”
By next summer, Grandma Laura sat by the gate, rocking a pram with their long-awaited son, little Alfie.
