**Diary Entry 14th June**
“Tanya, please dont be cross with me, but I cant live with you.”
“Maybe we could try, Simon?” Tanyas cheeks flushed as she stared at him, barely blinking.
“Ive said all I need to, Tanya.”
Ira Birch was born when Simon was in his first year of school. He remembered her mother, Larissa, the beauty of the village, her belly round with child, and her proud husband, George. Later, Larissa would push a pram past the gate, and Simon always longed to peek insideit felt like magic back then.
Simon grew up, and so did little Irene. One day, she was running out of her parents house in a bright dress, a large bow in her fair hair. Another time, she played with friends, building a makeshift den near the front garden. Simon watched it all from his parents window, their house just across the street from the Birches.
“Simon, would you walk Irene to school?” Larissa asked one day. He agreed, and for nearly a year, he escorted the little first-year. At first, they walked in silence, until Irene started chattering about her lessons or little incidents at school. Her day ended earlier, and shed wait patiently for him. Sometimes, Simon walked home with classmates, Irene tagging along. Before long, hed wait for her by the gate each morning, taking her hand as they walked to school.
The following September, Irene shyly asked if she could walk with her friends instead. From then on, the girls led the way, Simon trailing behind, watching, ready to step in if needed. And he didonce, when a hissing goose blocked their path, wings flapping. Simon stood between the bird and the girls, and they dashed past, squealing.
The year after, Simon left for secondary school in the nearby town, returning only on weekends and holidays. Irene seemed to forget him, passing by with downcast eyes, never saying hello. Later, he enrolled in a navigation college and visits home grew rare.
“Mum, whos thatIrene?” Simon looked up from dinner as a tall, striking young woman stepped out of the Birches gate.
“Thats our Irene!” His mother smiled out the window.
“When did she grow up?” Simon marvelled.
“Time passes,” his mother sighed warmly. “Shes got the best of her parents, hasnt she?”
He glimpsed Irene a few more timescarrying water buckets from the well, heading to exams in smart trousers. Once, helping his father mend the fence, he heard her voiceclear, brightand thought, *Youd follow that voice anywhere.*
Then one day, at the well, she spoke first. “Hello!”
“Hello, Irene,” Simon stammered, inexplicably nervous. The buckets filled slowly; he couldnt think of a thing to say.
Leaving that time, he carried a quiet ache. He was in love, at last.
After swearing his service, Simon was posted to Plymouth.
***
On his next visit, hope flickered. Maybe now hed confess. Irene was old enough. But his father had planschopping firewood, repairing the barn, replacing floorboards. Two weeks vanished in work.
“Mum, why havent I seen Irene?”
“Shes at university. Lives in the city now.”
Simon returned to Plymouth empty-handed.
A year later, he spotted her oncewith a lanky village lad, laughing at his jokes. Simon didnt like the way she smiled at him. Later, he heard shed married him, moved to the county town.
“Settle down, lad,” his mother said gently. “Find someone in Plymouth. Let her go.”
“I try not to think of her.”
“But you do.”
***
Simon visited less. The service sent him to distant basesunmarried, no ties. He buried himself in hardship, as if punishing himself. He missed his fathers funeral, arriving on the ninth day. Four years later, he was late for his mothers, too. Neighbours had done everything properly.
Larissa met him at the gate with the house keyshed sent the telegram. The next day, he tended the graves, cleared years of clutter. In the evenings, he pored over old photosand found a yellowed newspaper. A picture of him and Irene, captioned *Brother and Sister*.
Before leaving, he arranged for the Birches to tend the garden.
“At least Irene wont buy potatoes now,” Larissa sighed. “That Val, always out of work”
“How is she?” Simon kept his tone neutral.
“Not well. Living with Vals aunt. He drinks, shouts at them both”
“Why stay?”
“She says its love. I think that aunt put a spell on her.” Larissa lowered her voice. “They scrape by on the aunts pension and Irenes wagessewing bags at the factory. Sometimes Val drinks even that.”
Simon took one of the bags. Sturdy, well-madehe imagined her stitching it.
***
After his service, Simon returned. He modernised the housenew heating, windows, plumbing. Drove to work in a modest new car. The village saw little of him.
One evening, locking the gate, a woman called, “Hiding away, are you?”
An older face, familiarhis old teacher, Mrs. Carter.
She nudged him towards his divorced classmates: good women, no decent men left.
“Think it over, Simon. A man shouldnt be alone.”
He locked the gate behind her, wanting no more visitors.
***
Driving home one day, he spotted a slender woman walking*Irene?* He pulled over.
“Hello! Need a lift?”
“Simon!” Her voice still struck his heart.
She climbed in. “Visiting?”
“Staying. Vals dead.”
“A young widow, then.”
She said nothing. At her gate, she thanked him softlyher voice lingered in his mind for days.
That evening, he proposed.
“Ive loved you all my life.”
“I know.”
“Marry me.”
“Not yet. Vals forty-day mourning isnt done.”
“*Him* again!”
“He was my husband. Ten years, however bad.”
Simons wait stretched on.
***
One evening, Mrs. Carter sat outside with Tanyaa widow now.
“Heres a match for you,” the old teacher declared.
Simon refused. Tanya pressed, but he stood firm.
After they left, Irene rushed in.
“I was so afraid when I saw them!”
“Afraid of what?”
“I wont let anyone take you.” She clung to him.
***
Now Simon wakes before dawnno alarm needed. Irene sleeps soundly. He tiptoes out, eats breakfast, gazes at her.
At the gate, Larissa waits.
“Good morning, son-in-law. Wheres Irene?”
“Asleep.”
“Long life and happiness.” She blesses him.
Next summer, Grandma Larissa rocks a pram by the gate, cradling their long-awaited grandson, Alfie.
