**Love**
William sat for a long time, staring at his phone. He’d been putting this off forever. Finally, taking a deep breath, he pressed the call button. One ring, then another… “No, I can’t,” he scolded himself for his cowardice, about to hang up—but then, Michael’s voice crackled through the receiver:
“Alright, you old git! Where’ve you been hiding?”
“Hey. Just swamped with work, you know…”
“Everything all right? Need a hand?” his friend shot back, ever the worrier.
“Nah, all good. How’s things with you lot?”
“Not bad. Though Lily’s been a handful lately. Bloody hell—she’s gone and fallen in love, can you believe it? One minute she’s sobbing, the next she’s dancing around. Out all hours or locked in her room. And stubborn as a mule—won’t say a word about who it is. Speaking of, you still not tied the knot?”
William swallowed hard, like he was standing on the edge of a diving board. Here it was—the slippery question.
“No. But I’m planning to,” he said, his voice suddenly flat.
“Blimey! Finally found the one to tame the bachelor, eh? ’Bout time, mate. Don’t you dare stiff us on the wedding invite, or I’ll never forgive you.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it. Wouldn’t be right without you there.”
“You not coming down to visit, then?”
William had been dreading this. No turning back now.
“Actually… I’m already here. Got in a while ago.”
“What? And you’ve been sitting on that! Where you staying? Some hotel? Emily’ll have your head. When you swinging by?”
“Hold up, slow down,” William laughed. “Can’t keep up with you. I’ll pop round soon.”
Truth was, he’d been back six months. No need for Michael to know that. Sorting a flat, furnishing it, sorting work—and his dad had been poorly. But the real reason he’d stayed away? Lily.
“None of that ‘soon’ rubbish. Heard it all before. Come round tomorrow,” Michael insisted.
“Too late now. Tomorrow, promise,” William said.
“Right. Tomorrow, then. I’ll tell Emily—she’ll be chuffed.”
So. First step taken. If only Michael knew what a right mess William was about to drop in their laps. Lily could hold her head high—here he was, acting like some wet-behind-the-ears lad too scared to face his girl’s parents. “Lily’s got guts, keeping it quiet. Christ, I held her when she was just a babe in arms, and now I want to marry her.”
But let’s take it from the top…
***
They’d been mates since uni—Michael, William, and Emily. Both lads had fallen hard for the clever, sharp-witted girl. Plenty had fancied her, but none stood a chance against Michael and William. They’d rowed over her, neither willing to back down. If Emily ever guessed at the storm raging in their hearts, she never let on—played it cool, treated them both the same, never flirted, never played games.
The lads near lost their heads over it, almost came to blows. In the end, they shook on it—if she picked one of them, or neither, they’d step aside. Still, each fought tooth and nail to win her over. But Emily never gave an inch. All they could do was wait.
Then, third year, out of nowhere, Emily started leaning William’s way. His chest puffed up like a peacock. Meanwhile, Michael was half-mad with heartache—but a deal was a deal. He vanished from lectures, couldn’t bear to see them together.
William bought a bottle of whiskey and turned up at Michael’s flat. They drank the whole thing, talking into the small hours. By dawn, William realised—he didn’t love Emily the way Michael did. His mate was half-dead without her.
So he fixed it. Pretended he’d fallen for some other girl. Emily, of course, went spare—shouted, sobbed, called him every name under the sun. Just as he’d planned, she ran straight into Michael’s arms.
And Michael loved her so fiercely, so completely, that in time, Emily gave him her whole heart right back. William ached with jealousy—love doesn’t vanish overnight—but he knew she’d be happier with Michael. Never once regretted it. Neither of them ever guessed the part he’d played in their happy ending.
They married right after graduation. William was best man. Nine months later, Emily had a daughter. The lads stood side by side at the hospital, flowers in hand, grinning like fools. The midwife hesitated—which of them to hand the pink-swaddled bundle to?
Michael stepped forward first, took his daughter—then passed her to William.
“Here, you hold her. I’m shaking like a leaf,” he whispered.
William peered into the blankets. A tiny miracle blinked up at him—rosebud lips, a button nose, cheeks like velvet. His heart squeezed so tight, tears pricked his eyes. “She could’ve been mine,” he thought.
Days later, William left. First to Manchester, then up North. On visits home, he’d drop in. Lily grew into Emily’s double—gangly girl with plaits one minute, then a spitting image of her mum the next. He envied their happiness, in a good way. Never found “the one” himself. Plenty of women, but none he’d wed.
***
Lily? Always different. Maybe because of that moment in the hospital, when his heart had cracked open at the sight of her. Coming home this time, he was struck—she’d grown up. No more running to hug him, no cheeky kiss on arrival. Just shyness. He put it down to being a teen.
His holiday ended too soon. His parents were ageing, ailing—William started thinking seriously about moving back. They said goodbye at home—he was catching the first train to London, then flying to Aberdeen.
The carriage was near-empty. William slumped by the window, shut his eyes—hoped to doze off. Then he felt someone sit opposite. A stare boring into him. He opened his eyes—Lily. Wide awake now.
“What’re you doing here?”
“Seeing you off. I know you don’t take me seriously, but I need to say it… I love you.” Straight out with it, no warning.
“I love you too. From the moment I saw you. Like a daughter,” he said carefully. “Your parents don’t know you’re here, do they? They’d have my head. Next stop, you’re getting off and going home.”
“Knew you’d say that.” Not a flicker of upset. And suddenly, he saw her—not a kid, but a woman who knew exactly what she was doing. No tears, just words that punched right through him.
“I’ve known your parents forever. Was in love with your mum once. You know that story. I’m thirty-seven. What happens if I say yes? By the time you’re my age, I’ll be an old man. You’ll hate me. People will pity you. Men your age will fancy you. And one day, you’ll take a lover—”
“You’re overthinking,” she cut in, dropping the formal ‘you’. “What if I don’t live to see you old? Life’s unpredictable. Either way, I’ll break your heart. So why not be happy until then?”
Cheeky little minx had done her homework. William was speechless.
“We could just talk. Calls, letters. I’ve got school, then uni. But don’t expect me to fall for some daft boy and forget you.”
“What if I meet someone and marry her?” He’d found his footing now, playing along.
“Doubt it. You just said you love me.” The train slowed. She crossed over, kissed him—properly, like she’d done it before—then walked off without a backward glance.
William pressed to the window. The platform was empty—like she’d never been there. Maybe he’d dreamed it? But his lips still tingled.
Wish she’d screamed, cried, anything but this. Was it love or just a game? Did he have the right to wreck her life? But then—she’d figure it out. Find some lad her age. Forget him.
She rang as he queued to board. Silly, sweet chatter. And it hit him—no woman had ever got under his skin like this.
Calls came daily. If she missed one, he’d pace, jittery, missing her voice. Emails full of poems. He replied carefully—her parents might see.
Sometimes, she’d Skype. Twirling in her prom dress, begging his opinion. So young. So lovely.
He’d beg her to forget him, remind her of the years between them, lie about meeting someone. She’d go quiet for weeks. He’As the years passed and their little boy grew, William would often catch Lily watching him with that same steadfast love in her eyes, proving that sometimes, even the most tangled beginnings lead to the happiest endings.
