Ive known William Hart ever since we were kids in a little school on the outskirts of Manchester, and from the first day he confessed that he was headoverheels for Charlotte Green, I could see they were planning a life together.
Williams mother, Margaret Hart, ran the maternity ward at St.Marys Hospital. She never liked the idea of her son marrying anyone but a nurse she trusted the kindhearted Catherine Bell, who was popular with both the staff and the patients and came from a long line of doctors.
After leaving school, William went off to study medicine at Leeds, while Charlotte enrolled in a language college in Brighton, hoping to become an EnglishtoFrench translator like her mother and grandmother before her. Their classmates decided to mark the occasion with a weekend in the country, so they all headed to Williams familys cottage in the Lake District.
We lingered there for almost a month, reluctant to leave the peace of the hills, but the new term was about to start and the books called us back.
One crisp October afternoon, Charlottewho now prefers the name Emmapulled William aside and said, Im pregnant. How will you react?
He grinned, What do you think? Ill whisk you straight to the registry office.
She replied, Im not exactly light as a feather, you know.
He laughed, A sprinters got nothing on me; I used to wrestle at school. Youll feel like youre being carried on a cloud.
She pressed, What about our studies?
Looks like youll need a years break after the baby arrives, William said.
Emma said shed switch to distance learning, as her mother had done when she gave birth at nineteen. After we marry, Ill move in with my folks. Ill keep my distance from your mother; Ive known for ages shell never accept meshes a force of nature.
Only for your peace of mind, love, William agreed.
They lodged their marriage notice at the council office and went their separate ways. Emmas flat was buzzing with guests; a friend of her father arrived with his wife and their son James, a lanky sixteenyearold who looked much older.
Back at his own house, William told his parents the news, urging them to start planning the wedding. Margaret, however, was not pleased. That evening she marched over to Emmas parents home, intent on stirring up trouble. She knocked loudly, but no one answered. Music drifted from the living room, and the doorbells chime went unnoticed. James, fresh from a shower, wrapped a towel round his hips and flung the door open.
Margaret stared at him, then, realising she still had her phone, hit record and began filming the hallway, the teenage boy in his towel.
Are you here to see MrsGreen? James asked, bewildered by the phones motion.
No longer, Margaret muttered, hurrying down the stairs.
Later, she showed William the clip, pointing out how long it took for James to answer the door.
Did you ever wonder who Emmas childs father is? she asked.
I get it, Mum. You were rightshe isnt the one for me.
He sent an angry text to Emma, then switched his phone off. Emma didnt understand the silence, but she trudged to his doorstep despite the late hour. Margaret, expecting her, watched from the window. When she saw Emma, she raced to the hallway, flung the door open herself, and barred her entry.
What do you want from William? Hes already in bed. And you, playing both sides? Keep yourself busy with other fellas, you twofaced witch, Margaret snapped, then stormed back to her flat and slammed the door.
Emma sank onto the stairwell, tears streaming down her face. After a while she trudged back home, where her mother Martha was washing dishes. Martha pulled her into a hug.
Emma, love, the weddings coming up. You should be smiling.
It isnt happening any more, Emma sobbed. Im carrying his child, but his mothers been spreading this story ever since we applied for the licence. She showed Martha the angry message William had sent, accusing her of cheating.
If William behaves like that, hell stay under his mothers thumb forever, Martha comforted. God has taken him from you. Well raise the child ourselves.
Emmas pregnancy turned out to be a nightmare. She was rushed to the maternity ward while her parents were at work. The doctors had to perform a Caesarean under heavy anaesthetic, and when the baby emerged the tragedy was confirmed: the infant had been stillborn. The paperwork handed the tiny body back to the grieving parents, who buried him quietly. Emma, still in the ward, missed the wedding ceremony entirely.
Shortly after, Williams parents sold their flat in Salford and moved away, thinking it best to avoid further drama.
Eight years later, Emma was working as a translator for a modest firm in Leeds when William appeared in her office.
Why are you back in my life? she asked, trying to sound cold. Ive long since moved on.
Im sorry, Emma, but a tragedy has pushed me to you, he replied.
Youve got a great mum, go to her with your problems. I dont have time for this, she snapped, turning back to her screen.
Please, Emma, listen. It matters to you too. Ill wait at the café across the street after work.
Ill only pop out of curiosity, she said, giving him a final glance before returning to her work.
That evening they met at the café.
Im sorry, Emma, but my son is ill and needs a donor, William said.
Youve got the wrong address. My mothers got more resources than you think, she retorted.
Weve been waiting, but no donor is available. Ive even listed my flat for sale. Youre a mother; you have a better chance of helping our son.
Is this a joke? Our son was stillborn. My parents buried him.
Hes alive, eight years old now.
How? she demanded.
Remember the day we filed the marriage notice?
Ill never forget the nasty text you sent.
William recounted the story Margaret had told him about seeing a woman in the corridor of the maternity ward.
Emma explained who James was, and Williams face turned ashen. He still loved her, yet hed never married. Emma, too, remained single, terrified of bearing another child after the loss shed endured.
William, tell me what your mother did, Emma urged.
When you were in the ward, my mother was there. She saw you being wheeled into surgery and guessed, halfinjest, that I might be the father. The test proved it, but she refused to hand the child over to you. Im to blame for letting that happen. My grudge against you haunted me, and I suppose fate punished usour son Thomas is ill.
Lets get him tested for compatibility. If Im not a match, he must share my blood type.
Im typeO, youre typeA, William said.
Emmas hands trembled as she entered the clinics childrens ward and saw little Thomas.
Thomas, Ive finally found your mother. Weve been lost for years, but people have helped us meet, William whispered, while Emma stood speechless.
Mom, Ive been waiting for you. I imagined you just like this, even though we never had a picture of you, Thomas said.
Son, everything will be alright. Im here and Ill do whatever it takes to make you well, Emma cried, embracing him.
The doctors confirmed Emma was a match. Thomass treatment succeeded, and he recovered. William sold his remaining property and settled the clinics bill. Now they all live together in a modest flat above Emmas parents shop in York.
Emma, forgive me. We need to marry, and you should have another child. Our sons doctor told me siblings make better donors than parents.
Ive read that, William. For the sake of our children, Ill do whatevers needed.
They wed, and alongside Thomas they are now raising two more childrena boy and a girlbuilding the family they always hoped to have.