**Diary Entry**
It couldn’t have been an accident.
Lottie floated toward the club as if she had wings. A denim miniskirt, form-fitting silver leggings, pristine white trainers, and a crop top with some model’s face plastered across it. Pink lipstick, eyeshadow in rainbow shades—she was a proper star.
Everyone said Lottie was something else. She knew it too. The pride of the neighbourhood. Got into uni in Manchester—on her own. No favours, no connections.
Like Miss Higgins used to sneer:
*”You, Sinclair, have as much chance at uni as flying to the moon barefoot! Best you can hope for is college, and even then, only if your stepdad pulls strings. Otherwise, street cleaners will be crying for you.”*
Oh yes, the stepdad. Her real dad vanished years ago. And the stepdad? Not likely to lift a finger for *”such a lost cause.”*
Miss Higgins expected tears. Instead, Lottie stood, met her gaze, and tossed back:
*”We’ll see who ends up where.”*
Miss Higgins narrowed her eyes and swore revenge come exam time. But Lottie passed. Got in. Alone. No *”special treatment.”*
*”Fancy a bit of proper love, love?”*
*”With you? Harris, lost the plot, have you?”*
*”Come on, Lottie. How’s life?”*
*”Better than yours.”*
*”That figure, though…”*
*”Want one like it?”*
*”Wouldn’t say no.”*
*”Stop by, I’ll dress you up—you’ll look a treat.”*
*”Cruel, Sinclair. Might even love you.”*
*”Piss off. Gran blessed an aspen cross—works on your sort and nightmares alike.”*
*”Harsh.”*
*”Safety first.”*
They strolled down the evening street, tossing jokes back and forth. Young. Free. Invincible.
*”Listen, let’s pop by the school Monday?”* Harris suggested.
*”Mad? Why?”*
*”Imagine Miss Higgins choking when she hears you got into uni alone.”*
Lottie smirked.
*”Couldn’t care less. And you?”*
*”Skiving off till summer, then army. You’ll wait?”*
*”Course. Park bench, headscarf, knitting you a sock. A hundred metres long.”*
*”Oh, sod off—”*
*”Oi, look—it’s Martha! She went to trade school?”*
*”Yeah. Each to their own. Right, Mike, off I go—my girls are waiting. You and Martha, then?”*
*”Nah, just… hanging about.”*
*”She’s nice. She’ll wait. I won’t.”*
*”So… no chance?”*
*”None.”* Clear. Final. She walked away.
Uni came easy to Lottie. Not because it was—she just never complained.
*”How d’you manage it all?”* her flatmate asked.
*”What?”*
*”Going out, clubbing, keeping up with studies…”*
*”Dunno,”* Lottie shrugged. *”Just live, yeah? No whinging. No tying myself to blokes. Uni’s my future. Fun? Now’s the time.”*
*”I want to marry rich.”*
*”I don’t.”*
She met Danny at the club. Too pushy—she bolted. Next day, he turned up at halls. Flowers, chocolates. She slammed the door. He came back with cinema tickets. She dodged again.
By then, her eye twitched at the sight of him. Nearly hated him. Then Harris started writing from basic training. Not about drills—about *feelings.*
As if she’d forget Harris running around in brown tights under his tracksuit till fourteen. His nan dragging him to a witch for bed-wetting.
Danny rode a bike, lurked like some film hero. Then—he crashed. Right in front of her. And she ran. Not for Danny. For a person.
Then—somehow—she agreed to a date.
Six months together. Not butterflies. Not love. Just… comfort. He became family.
Then Harris’s letter: spite, accusations, filth. Someone snitched. Not that she hid it.
Danny was easier. Steady. Reliable. With him, she dreamed—wedding, future.
*”Lucky you, Lot,”* her flatmate said.
*”How?”*
*”With Danny. You know who he is?”*
*”Meaning?”*
*”His dad’s loaded. Bought him the bike. Now a car. Only child. Old money.”*
*”And?”*
*”Rumour is… he’s got a fiancée. Lily. Family merger.”*
That night, she asked. Danny fidgeted.
*”Dad’s idea. I refuse. Don’t want Lily. Got you. We’ll leave.”*
*”I’m visiting my folks this weekend.”*
*”Right…”*—she thought she heard relief.
When she returned, the air shifted. Girls stared. Lads smirked.
*”What’s happened?”*
*”Sit down… Lot… Danny… He—”*
*”What?”*
*”He got married.”*
No shake. No tears. Inside—collapse. Outside—stone.
*”That’s it?”*
*”You’re so calm—”*
*”What else? I knew. Left to think. He married. I allowed it. Makes sense.”*
She leaned in:
*”Don’t say his name. Ever. Dead to me.”*
After graduation, Lottie didn’t go home. She went to the hospital.
Alfie was born. Tough. A fighter.
*”Lottie… you’ll tell the father?”*
*”Mum, never. Don’t ask.”*
*”Alright, just… hoped you wouldn’t follow my path.”*
*”I won’t. You married Dad. I didn’t.”*
*”You’ll stay with us?”*
She saw it—Mum was scared. Stepdad—not pleased.
*”Got it. Not even taking us home?”*
*”Don’t be daft, Lottie… ’course we will…”*
They arrived. Stepdad shook her hand in silence.
*”Dad says you can stay a month or two.”*
*”Ta. We’ll be quick.”*
Alfie hardly cried. Like he knew—they weren’t wanted.
A month later, Lottie moved in with Gran. She hugged them close: *”Home now.”*
One day, a knock.
*”Harris? Where’d you come from?”*
*”Got your address from Mum—”*
They sat in the kitchen. Gran squinted.
*”Not the dad. Mike. Childhood friend.”*
*”Right… Bundle the lad up—fresh air,”* Gran muttered, leaving.
*”Lot…”* Harris started. *”I’m here for you. Both of you.”*
*”Out of pity?”*
*”No! Love you. Need you.”*
*”And my kid doesn’t bother you?”*
*”No, I—”*
*”What about Auntie Sandra’s face when she heard I had a baby? Your mum. Acted like I was dirt.”*
*”Lot, that’s past—”*
*”Piss off. Don’t look my way again.”*
*”Who’d want you with baggage?!”*
*”Who’d want you without a brain?”*
He slammed the door. She stood there. Tears.
*”Friend?”* Gran asked gently.
*”Classmate. Idiot. Followed me around since school.”*
*”Proposing, was he?”*
*”Gran—”* Lottie laughed through tears. *”He wet the bed till thirteen!”*
Gran chuckled. Then, softer:
*”But what if—”*
*”No *what if,* Gran. Lived with a stepdad. Know what I’m saying.”*
Lottie stood again. For Alfie. For herself.
Because none of it was accidental. It was her path. Her fight. Her strength.
