What is meant to be, will be.
I saw Harry off to his National Service, clinging to his shoulder and pressing my head against his chest. My blue eyes were brimming with tears; parting from the boy I loved felt like tearing a piece of my own heart away.
Dont worry, love, Harry said, trying to meet my gaze. Time will fly, youll see. Ill be back and everything will be fine. Nothing will happen to me, just wait for me.
Of course, Harry, I whispered. Its a comfort that we can still call on each other now and then. Mum used to tell me that when she was my age there were no mobiles, only letters that sometimes got lost in the post.
Then well keep in touch as often as we can, he promised.
An officers voice rang out over the crowd of conscripts: Line up! A roll call followed, then another command: Board the coach!
From my seat by the window I waved at my parents, and caught sight of Sophie Miller standing beside me. She had been a relentless thorn in Harrys side ever since school, always trying to get a word in, always leaning into his space. She smiled sweetly, her eyes locking onto his with a knowing glint.
Whats she doing here? I thought, turning my gaze back to Harry, who was already turning away, his bag slung over his shoulder. Probably another tearjerker, I muttered, remembering how much he disliked seeing me cry.
Sophie had shown up to see Harry off, a habit of hers to make his departures a little more uncomfortable. I left early, not wanting her to stir up any more trouble.
All I could tell myself was that the months would pass while I finished college, that there would be little free time, that Harry would finish his service and we would finally have our happiness. I was studying at Bexley College in the nearby market town of Ashford, while my parents lived in the adjacent village of Littleford. Every weekend I travelled home, and on Sunday evenings I caught the last coach back to the college. Harry hadnt gone to college; after finishing school hed taken a job at the local factory and was waiting for his callup. Every weekend he met me at the coach stop and walked me home.
Our love had started back in Year Ten, when we were in parallel classes. Sophie had been Harrys classmate, and when Harry and I began seeing each other she did everything she could to block us, spreading gossip about me wherever she could. Everyone in our small community knew her reputation.
I was a brightlooking girl with a sunny smile, blue eyes and light hair, and many boys took notice. I fell for Harry, a tall, sandyhaired lad with a warm grey gaze. In the school corridors we were always together; the girls whispered, some with jealousy, while Sophie’s friends from her class loathed me, encouraged by Sophie herself.
Emily, Sophie’s again pulling nasty stories about you, said my seatmate, Ilya, a close friend. She cant stand that she cant win Harry over, so she gets nasty.
Let her mumble, I replied. Harry knows who I am, and I dont care about anyone elses opinion. My friends dont believe her anyway.
At the school leavers dinner we all sipped a little champagne, Harry and I included, but only a modest amount. After that we roamed the riverside park all night, singing with a guitar and shouting that we were finally grownups. Some lads got so drunk they fell asleep on the benches.
The night began with everyone together, Sophie included. Perhaps for the first time shed even had a sip of champagne. In front of everyone she slipped her arm around Harrys neck and then planted a kiss on his lips. We all froze. I stood nearby as Harry tried to shake her off. Finally he pushed her away.
Sophie, what on earth are you doing? You cant just lunge at people, he snapped. Youve had too much to drink; its making you reckless. Sophie laughed loudly, her cheeks flushed.
Youll still be mine, Harry, she giggled and stepped back.
Harry took my hand and led me to the riverbank.
Are you alright, love? he asked, concern in his voice.
Dont worry, I said, feeling a strange calm in the gentle blue dress Id chosen for the evening, the large bow at my shoulder matching the colour of my eyes. I know nothing can ever truly separate us. We believe in each other.
By dawn Harry escorted me home, then headed back to his own house. The next day I sat my entrance exams, passed them, and was accepted into college. From then on Harry would meet me after my lessons and walk me back, just as we had before.
Sophie, hearing that Id be studying locally, brightened. Finally Ill have a chance to win Harry over, she whispered to herself, plotting to drive a wedge between us. She was clever, goodlooking, and determined to sabotage our relationship. She even managed to get close to Harrys mother, Valerie, who lived just two houses down. Valerie, a woman with a colourful past, was often the subject of village gossipmarried to a man who had long since left her, she kept a young man named George close, calling him my little love. The whole village knew the tale.
One afternoon, while the women at the shop were chattering about Georges latest escapades, they muttered, Theres George again, always at home, while the rest of us are out doing the chores.
Harry and I rarely called each other; the army was strict about phone use, but we wrote letters whenever we could. Three months after his enlistment, Sophie concocted another scheme.
Val, could you give me Harrys address? He never answers my calls, she asked Valerie, feigning concern.
Why do you need it? Valerie replied, wary.
A friend, Vicky, wants to send him a parcel. Hes at the training centre, far from home, Sophie replied.
Valerie read off the address from a piece of paper, and Sophie slipped a fake letter to Harry that night, hoping to poison his mind.
Harry will think Emily is cheating on him, she wrote, Ill keep feeding him lies, and eventually hell believe me.
For three months Sophie sent cleverly worded letters, painting me as a homewrecker. Harry even asked his mother whether I was seeing other men. She brushed it off as Sophies gossip, urging him not to listen. No one in the village suspected that Sophie had secretly travelled to the barracks to meet Harry in person, hoping her lies would take root.
One evening, after a call from the base, I heard Harrys voice distorted by a staticfilled line.
Hey, Emily, how are you? he asked, his tone oddly distant.
Just fine. Why do you sound like a stranger, Harry? Whats going on? I replied, uneasy.
Dont call me again. Youve betrayed me. I know everything, he snapped before the line went dead.
Is this Sophie’s doing? I managed to ask, but he hung up.
When I returned home for the weekend, I stayed locked in my room. The boy Id trusted with my whole heart had vanished from the army, and rumors swirled that Sophie had gone to him, possibly even pregnant.
The following March, on International Womens Day, I spent three days at home. The mood was somber; the split with Harry still a fresh wound. My grandmother and mother laid a modest table for the occasion, and my younger brother, Stephen, who was sixteen and about to finish school, brought fresh tulips hed bought early that morning. He entered my room, beaming.
Emily, I hope everything turns out better for you. Youll find happiness again.
Thanks, brother, I kissed his cheek, grateful for his support.
The day turned into a blizzard. Heavy, wet snow piled on the roof, the shingles creaking under its weight. Stephen rushed outside, then back in, calling for help to shore up the roof before it gave way. He was the only man left in the family; our father had left years ago.
Soon a stranger appeared, a young man named Graham, whom Stephen had met on his way home. Graham was visiting his aunt Vera, who lived nearby, after delivering flowers for her own familys Womens Day celebration.
Graham, could you lend a hand? The snows crushing the roof, and the women are inside with the celebration, Stephen shouted.
Sure, Graham replied, pulling on a pair of warm gloves. He climbed onto the roof, his fingers numb.
Soon I emerged with a fresh pair of mittens for him, cheeks pink from the cold.
Nice work, Graham. For a lad as fine as you, well make sure everythings perfect, I said, smiling.
After the roof was secured, Graham joined us at the table. The women laughed, the tension easing as he fixed his eyes on me. He whispered, Emily, would you like to take a walk?
My pleasure, I replied, my cheeks flushing, my blue eyes sparkling.
My mother breathed a sigh of relief. Thank heavens youre alright, love, she said.
Stephen added, A stitch in time saves nine.
Six months later we celebrated our wedding. Aunt Vera, watching us from the sofa, smiled and repeated a saying shed heard long ago: What is destined will surely happen.
After college I stayed in Ashford with Graham. We built a life together, happy and content, having finally found each other. In the quiet moments I still hear a voice whispering, Ive found you, Ive bound you. Expect no other miracles, keep what is sacred, and hold it close.
