31July
Im not the sort of man who dwells on the past, but today the years I spent in the service feel like a film I cant switch off. By the time I turned thirty Id already logged a decade on the front linesfrom the streets of Belfast to the heat of the Middle East. Two serious wounds left me with scar tissue and a deep gratitude that, somehow, the Good Lord kept me alive. After the second injury I spent months in a military hospital, then was sent home to the little village of Littlebrook, where my grandparents still own the old stone cottage.
Littlebrook has changed. The oncedusty lanes now have new hedgerows, and most of my schoolfriends are married with children of their own. One evening, as I was walking past the village green, I saw her: Emily Hart. The last time Id laid eyes on her she was a shy girl of thirteen, holding a battered copy of *The Secret Garden* under her arm. Now, at twentyfive, shes a strikingly beautiful womanstill single, still without the kind of man shed settle down with. Shes never found anyone shed want to marry, and she isnt in any hurry to start a family.
Im broadshouldered, sturdy, a bit of a worrier for whats fair, and I cant let her pass by without a word.
Are you waiting for me, Emily? Still not married? I asked, a halfsmile playing on my lips as I watched her tilt her head.
She blushed, her heart beating faster. Perhaps, she whispered, and the air seemed to tighten around us.
From that moment we began seeing each other. It was late autumn; we walked together through a wooded copse, the fallen leaves crackling beneath our boots.
Mark, my father will never give his blessing, Emily said, her voice low. Ive already proposed twice, and you know how he is.
Whats he going to do? Im not frightened of your dad, I replied, trying to sound confident. If he harms me, theyll lock him up, and he wont be able to meddle any longer.
Mark, you dont understand. Hes a hard man, everything in his grip, she warned.
Arthur Whitaker, the most influential man in Littlebrook, was Emilys father. Hed begun as a modest farmer, but rumours now swirled about his shady dealings in the local market. Hes a stout man with a rotund belly, a cold, calculating stare, and a cruelty that makes people bow low and smile when they speak to him, as though he were a deity.
My father wont allow us to marry, Emily confessed later, especially since he wants me to wed the son of his old friend from the townVince, a boozy, thickskinned bloke who spends his days at the pub. Ive told him a hundred times I cant stand him.
Emily, we live in the stoneage when men still force women into loveless marriages, I muttered, amazed at how petty the opposition seemed. No one should have that power over us.
My love for Emily grew every dayher tender glance, her fiery temperall became the very things I cherished. She, too, could not picture a life without me.
Come on, I said, gripping her hand tightly and quickening my pace.
Where are you taking me? she began to guess, but she couldnt stop me.
In the courtyard of Arthurs large brick house, he was deep in conversation with his younger brother, Stephen, who lived in the adjoining outbuilding and was always ready to act on his uncles orders.
Arthur Whitaker, I announced boldly, Emily and I wish to marry. I ask for your daughters hand.
Emilys mother stood on the doorstep, hand over her mouth, eyes wide with fear as she watched her husbands harsh glare. Arthurs stare cut through me like a knife; his anger was palpable, yet I met his gaze without flinching. He clearly had never seen such audacity from a young man.
Get out of here, Arthur thundered, his voice like a gunshot. Youre nothing but a wounded fool. My daughter will never be yours. Forget the road to this house. Youre a soldier, not a suitor.
Well marry anyway, I replied, steadier than I felt.
The villagers revered me, but Arthur knew nothing of war, only that money ruled everything for him. My pride swelled, fists clenched, and Stephen stepped between us, both of us ready for a showdown.
While Stephen ushered me out of the yard, Arthur forced Emily into the house as if she were a child. He never forgave any challenge to his authority.
That night a fire broke out in Littlebrook, engulfing the garage Id just opened. The flames licked the timber, and I muttered under my breath, Damned if its not another of his doing, convinced it was sabotage.
The next evening, under a misty autumn sky, I slipped a note to Emily asking her to gather a few belongings so we could leave together. She agreed, and from her bedroom window she slid a small bag into my hands before climbing down to meet me in the garden.
By morning well be far away, I whispered, hugging her tightly. You have no idea how much I love you. She pressed herself to me, her voice trembling. Im scared, Mark.
Within ten minutes we were on the A5, the countryside flashing past. Emilys breath came in short, excited gasps; she could feel the thrill of a new life ahead. The headlights of a sleek Mercedes flickered behind us, a warning sign. We tried to overtake, but the car slowed and blocked our path.
No, not this again, Emily cried, her body shrinking with fear.
Arthur, flanked by two burly men, appeared from the road, grabbed Emily by the arm. I lunged to protect her but was struck hard, knocked to the ground, and brutally beaten without a word spoken. The men climbed back into the Mercedes, drove off, and left me lying on the roadside.
I managed to crawl back to Littlebrook, spent a week in the hospital, and the arson case was dismissed as faulty wiring. I understood the truth: it was my own hands that had set the fire. Yet the thing that tormented me most was Emilys silence. Her phone number was dead, and I received no messages.
Arthur sent Emily to the city, to stay with his sister, Vera, giving her a modest sum of £5,000 and a strict command: Dont let her leave the house, dont give her a phone. If she comes back, Ill make sure she never sees the light of day again. He pointed a threatening finger at Vera, who replied bitterly, Oh, Arthur, why do you ruin your own childs life?
Vera took Emily to a spare bedroom, knowing her niece needed to hide until Arthur calmed down. Rumours swirled that Emily was about to wed a man named Victor in the city, that she would never return to Littlebrook.
Itll be alright, Emily. In time your father will soften. Find a job and build a life, Vera advised.
Without Mark? Emily asked, eyes glistening.
Yes, without him, Vera answered.
A few weeks later, Emily realised she was pregnant. Vera tried to console her, Your father must never know. Emily wept; the thought of confronting him was unbearable. She had no phoneArthur had destroyed it. Even if Vera allowed her to use her line, who could she call?
I hate my father, Emily sobbed, Hes not a man. Vera stayed silent; his cruelty was undeniable.
Months slipped by. I could not forget Emily. I drifted, working at the garage, drinking to numb the ache, then quitting. Meanwhile, Emily gave birth to a healthy baby boy, Matty, who bore my cheekbones and dark hair. Her mother would visit occasionally, spoiling the child, while Arthur remained oblivious, never learning of his grandson.
Four years passed; Matty grew into a clever, lively lad. One spring, as blossoms filled the air, Emilys mother arrived at Veras house, trudging up the step and collapsing onto a kitchen chair.
Oh, God, she wailed.
Mother, whats happened? Emily asked.
Arthur is dying. They found cancer too late. He was always robust, never a patient. Her voice shook, bruises from a lifetime of his abuse still visible.
How will I manage alone? she whispered.
No one offered pity for Arthur; his friends murmured, He got what he deserved. He treated people like rubbish; now heavens taken him. He was buried in June. Emily didnt attend, still unable to forgive him. Only a few of his cronies came to the grave, laughing quietly at his downfall.
During that period I was away on a workplacement, shuttling between the depot and Littlebrook, living with my mother who had finally begun to recover from the strain of a tyrannical husband. She even removed Arthurs photograph from the wall so Emily wouldnt see it.
Two weeks after Emilys return, she learned I was not home, having gone on a night shift. A few days later, she walked with Matty along a hedgerow, the boy chasing butterflies, she perched on a fallen branch, a gentle breeze ruffling her hair. Memories of our youth rose like a tide, and suddenly I felt his presence beside her.
Emily, I called softly, and she leapt up. We ran toward each other, breathless.
Id changedharder, more solemn, the scars of war still whispering. Emilys beauty had deepened, a softness now in her eyes. We stood staring, words failing. I never forgot her; love lingered, though the ache had dulled.
Mark, forgive mefor my father, for everything. I never married Vince; that was a rumor you planted. I was staying with Vera in the city. My heart hammered as Matty darted through the grass, and I saw himmy son, the spitting image of a younger me.
Son, I lifted him high, laughter spilling from his throat. My own boy! I wont let you go anywhere.
Dad, he asked, will you buy me a football?
Of course, love. Well go to the shop straight away. Anything you want, darling, I replied, looking at Emily, who nodded through tears.
I am grateful, now more than ever, that fate has been kind to those who give thanks. It has finally given me a chance at the family happiness I always dreamed of.
