Why have you come here? Her mother stood behind the cracked-open front door, clutching it like a shield. How am I to look my neighbours in the face now? Youre no daughter of mine. Only just had the gossips quieten, your father and I barely dared set foot in the shop for six months. What did you come for? Why?
Whos at the door, Margaret?
Your eldest, dear. Shes come back.
Emily?
Her father opened the solid oak door, so hard the brass hinges rattled. He stared at his daughter from head to foot, making Emily shift her weight.
Go wherever you like, but I wont have you here. Look at you! And youre expecting.
Emily said nothing. She gazed at them from beneath the heavy fringe of her hair, a glimmer of hope tight in her chest. Surely, she thought, they would have some pity and let her in. There was nowhere else to turn. Shed been made redundant once they discovered her pregnancy. There was no money for rent, and the landlady had made things clear: no money, no room. No one showed a hint of understanding. She was frightened.
She stepped off the porch, hand to her belly, head spinning.
Shell not soften, not ever, her mother muttered, swinging away as her husband shut the door fast.
Emily stooped beneath the weight of things and bit her lip so as not to cry. The child within tumbled in response to her distress. Here she was, home, and yet it wasnt home.
The snow groaned under her boots, almost commiserating. She latched the garden gate behind her, glancing once at the kitchens bright window. The curtains, of course, were drawn.
The local village shop was warm, if odd in its sameness, as though it had been sealed in time. Emily slipped inside, surveyed the shelves of tinned beans and crusty loaves. Mrs. Parker, regal behind her till, stood polishing the glass display.
Bread, please, Emily said quietly, counting her coinspale five and ten-pence pieces.
Well, look what the winds blown in!
Emily did not look up. She repeated, quietly, Just some bread, please.
Well, take it. I cant say I ought to, truly speaking, but business is business, Mrs. Parker muttered, sliding her the loaf.
Before she could say more, the bell above the door jingled and a young couple bustled in, cheeks pink from the cold.
Emily tried to wedge the enormous white loaf into her old handbag, but it puffed and billowed, overflowing the bag like some surreal cloud, determined to be devoured at once.
As Mrs. Parker side-eyed and whispered to the newcomers about her, Emily fled.
Snow was falling, soft and deliberate. The wind had settled. Emily broke a piece from the pillowy bread and closed her eyes as she tasted ita problem, at least, with a temporary solution.
Behind the shop, she leaned her back on cool brick, eating in small silent bites with her eyes shut. The scent of the bread wrapped round her, a memory of happiness, of something lost and safe.
Emily? A voice drifted over, unasked for but familiar.
She opened her eyes, frozen in surprise.
Its you, Emily managed, lowering the bread as she recognised Mrs. AllenWilliams grandmother.
What are you hiding back here for? The elderly womans gaze dropped to Emilys belly.
Ive nowhere else. My parents wouldnt let me stay.
And the fellowwasnt a goer then?
Emily just shrugged.
Come along now, Mrs. Allen said simply, and Emily followed.
They walked slowly. Mrs. Allen, leaning on her stick, trudged ahead. Emily sighed and trailed behind, her mind too tired for thought. There was nothing but sleep at the centre of her exhaustion.
She remembered that cottage at the villages edge. Once, she and William had passed it often, running to their secret field. William would wave to his grandmother over the picket fence and shout, Morning, Nana! Ill pop in after breakfast!
Emily, shy, would only nod in greeting.
Mrs. Allen had seen Emily only a handful of times, but memories stuck in the folds of old minds, especially after What Had Happened. Emily found herself wishing for the past, to shed the shame and press her lips to Williams, to tumble back into youth and carelessness.
…Why, she never did know, did her classmate Michael single her out in Year 10? He would shrug when asked: she wasnt beautiful, not outspoken, not even top of the class. But his attention insisted itself, and she had found it sweet to be noticed. Michael, pleased and eager, would carry her schoolbag, walk her home, so that friendship ripened into romance. It seemed serious. Their parents nodded along, talk of weddings in the air.
When Michael returns from his course, well discuss it, they said, but meanwhile, preparations were quietly begun.
Her meeting with William was accidentala bolt of lightning from an empty sky.
It was a muggy May. She had gone into town for college info, Michael unable to get away from his fathers chores and so missing her on the bus home. The stop was two miles from the village, the lane winding through wild grass.
She stepped into the thick, steaming air. A storm had been dogging her footsteps, unseen, until a thunderclap made her duck and cover her head. The cloud divided the fields behind her, night and day. Rain was coming, a wall drawing near. Detouring was pointlessjust grass, grass, everywhere. Big, plopping drops began to hit the road. Emily fished out a plastic carrier bag and put her sandals inside, then tried to stretch it over her hair like a makeshift bonnet.
The drops grew fatter, the sound of rain pressed at her back, gaining. She picked up speed, then began to run, but the deluge caught her in moments. Suddenly, someones hand gripped her arm.
She looked up, blinking. A car had stopped on the verge. A young man was hauling her into the passenger seat.
I kept honking, but you didnt turn round! he yelled over the noise. Cor, its lashing, isnt it? Get a fright?
Emily shrunk into herself. He peeled off his damp t-shirt, tossed it behind, then reached for a jumper from a battered bag in the back.
Take my jumperdont worry, Im from Claybrook too, remember? My dads John the blacksmithWilliam. Here, wrap up, youre shaking!
She nodded. Caught the bus back, she said, voice small.
Been to town myself, fetching parts for Dads Landy. Dont fret, youll warm up! By the way, whats your name?
Emily.
And were not moving because…?
Storms heading for the village. Wed drive right into it. Best wait it out.
She noddedwhat else could she do?
They started to talk, as if theyd known each other always. William told her of his mothers death when he was just a boy, his life with just his father and the farm. Further study had fallen through, so hed taken to working with livestock, fixing things. What more do I need? he smiled.
He dropped Emily at her gate with a wave and a grin. And she smiled back, breathless.
With Michael, shed never felt this warmth. His kisses, his hugs, meant nothing. That evening, she floated in her own head, smiling to herself.
Her mother noticed, but couldnt fathom the cause. Emily watched every passing car, hoping it was William.
Michael, oblivious, came calling that evening, but Emily met him without joy. She plucked up her courage: Michael, we ought to part as friends. Youll leave for uni, Ill go off to study, and who knowsif we cross paths again, perhaps
No! Whatre you saying? And then whos meant to wait for me? he bristled.
Does it matter, Michael?
He was furious, and for a moment, Emily was afraid of him.
Next day, Michaels parents descended on her doorstep. There was shouting, Michaels mother red-faced, blaming everyone. Emily fled through the back garden to the woods, wandering until she found herself wandering the lane back to the village.
Emily, Emily! came a voice. William stood, waving.
She paused, then, unable to bear another second of strained patience, hurried towards him.
Had a row at home, she told him. Its Michael I cant stop thinking of you, William.
I know. Ive felt the same since that rainy afternoon. I held backit was said thered be a wedding for you and Michael.
There… wont be. She faltered, but he reached out, brushing her lips with the softest touch, drawing her into an embrace.
They stood there, shuttered in a moment, certain, against hope, that things would be right.
That evening, as her mother turned off the kitchen light, Emily crept back in.
What have you done, Emily? her mother wept. Three years with Michael and you turn your back? You cant.
I love someone else, she said, voice steady.
Her father emerged. Well see about that. Youre not leaving the house til exams are done!
But they couldnt keep her caged.
Emily would steal out for brief, precious meetings with William in the copse by the river. Whispered promises behind willow and bramble.
But one day, someone spotted them together, and word reached Michael. A fight broke out. Two boys scuffling on the rivers edgewhole village watched, women muttering, men peering over the grass.
William stumbled, staggered awayhis balance lost, the emptiness of the riverbank at his heels. His father, racing across the field, barely had time to shout, kick off his boots and leap towards the river.
“Emily! Run to the river! Michael and William are fighting. Williams gone inmaybe worse! Emilys friend shouted, breathless.
She dropped the watering can and ran, heart a stone. Already, theyd called for help. Someones car whirred off down the laneWilliams father was gone with him.
Her legs buckled. She dropped to the grasseverything blacked. You ruined everything! Michaels mother screamed, looming. One gone, now my son will be taken!
No, no Emily could only whisper.
She packed what she could, coins, papers, a tiny bag. By evening, she was on the bus to the city, the village falling behind in a patchwork of hedgerows and drifting memory.
…Back in the cottage at the lanes edge, she followed Mrs. Allen inside as dusk settled in. Snow had begun to fall.
My knees know when troubles dueold bones ache before snow, Mrs. Allen grumbled, sitting to remove her boots.
Let me help, Emily murmured.
No, dear, or Id get too comfortable and never move again. How far along are you?
Due in February.
Not long now Its Williams, yes? The old woman met her eyes.
Emily did not look away. Yes. Im sure.
Good. Ill make up a bed for youtomorrow well plan.
The house was tiny, two rooms and the smell of baking lingering everywherejust as Emily recalled, William having sometimes brought her his grans pasties, still warm.
Emily rolled and tossed, until a plump ginger cat landed at her side and nestled against her bump. She tried to push him away, then gave up, falling into the muffled oddness of sleep.
She woke to the perfume of rising dough.
Would you like jam tarts or cabbage rolls? Mrs. Allen called from the kitchen.
Jam, please, Emily answered, wincing as her belly shifted.
Never did hear your full nameWilliam always just called me Gran. Call me Mary, dear.
Emily. Thank you, Mrs Mary.
Mary chuckled, stepping out. Well, youve not long now. Week, maybe.
Noits four.
Pah, you think so? That childs eager, shell come before you know it.
She? Why?
My heart tells me so, Emily.
Sure enough, a week on, the first pains came with dawn. They rushed to hospital in a flurry, and by midday, a baby girl had arrived.
Thank you, Emily, Mary smiled, holding the child.
For what? new-mother Emily could hardly ask.
For the truth. Shes Williams, seeI watched him come into this world, I remember that short middle toe on his left foot. Shes his daughter, plain as the sunrise. Hell be pleased to see her.
Him? Emilys voice faltered.
Yes, child, William. Hes alive.
Emily sat bolt upright. Hes alive? No one told me
Of course he is! Weak, but living. Mary gathered her close. “Hes at home, but you must rest for babys sake now. Later, you shall see for yourself.
And Emily wept from all those tangled, dream-washed months.
In time, Emily returned to the village with her daughter. Mary slipped out and, returning, appeared with Williams father.
Here she isCatherine, Williams own. Suits her, eh? Williams father, never one for words, looked down at his granddaughter, and something in him softened.
Shes registered as Williams? he asked.
Of course, Mary said, parting the blanket to show the little short toe.
Thank you, Emily. Thank you for this little one, he murmured. I havent told William yet. Shall we go in?
Yes, Im ready.
Mary paused at the garden gate. Emily, your parents have heard, and they want to visit, to make amends.
Later. Right now, I cant.
Williams father went inside first, peeling shoes off and gathering little Catherine in his arms, beckoning them in.
Emilys legs were treacle; each step seemed heavy and bright, unreal. There he wasWilliampale but smiling, sitting in bed by the window with the winter sun skipping over his blanket and a phone on his lap.
William, Emily breathed, reaching out.
He turned to her, and his smileoh, his smile. She melted against him and at last wept freely.
So, Daddy, meet your daughter.
Mywhat? William looked wide-eyed.
Yes, your daughter, his father grinned, Catherine. What do you think?
Williams family and Mary melted away into the kitchen. Emily sat quietly beside him, exhaling her fears.
I didnt know, Williamno one told me youd lived through it But Im here now, and Im never leaving.
“Stay. Im the happiest man in all Englandhere with my love, and our little girl…”
Snow still fell as the sky cinched tight to the land; but inside the cottage, in the hush and the baking warmth, a wisp of hope flickered, stubborn, against the cold.
