In her final year at university, Emily fell deeply in lovenot with just any lad, but with a handsome, well-to-do young man named Oliver, whom all the girls on campus admired. Oliver came from a wealthy family, while Emily, though pretty and bright, was from a working-class background. She knew they were worlds apart, but love cared little for such things.
“Emily, youre wasting your time with Oliver,” her dormmates warned. “Hes got his head in the clouds, looks down on most of us. Even his mates are all from his own circle.”
“So what? I know my worth too,” Emily retorted. “Im not some dullardIm clever, Ive got opinions, and Im doing brilliantly in my studies.”
“Mark our words, youll end up in tears. His parents probably think theyre royalty,” they insisted.
“Oh, dont scare me,” Emily murmured nervously. “Meeting his parents is what really frightens me, especially his mother…”
At first, she never imagined Oliver would return her feelings, but to her surprise, he dideffortlessly. He asked her to the pictures before she could even hint at her own interest.
They courted nearly all year, and as term ended, Oliver said suddenly, “Emily, were going to meet my parents on Saturday. Mums been pestering meWho is she? Whats she like?”
“Oh, Oliver! So soon? Im not ready!” she gasped.
“Dont fret. Theyre just like anyone elseDads quiet, but Mums a right chatterbox. Loves asking questions. But youll be fine,” he assured her with a grin.
Emily was certain theyd marryshe just had to win over his parents. Invited formally for Sunday lunch, she spent days studying etiquette, terrified of making a mistake.
Saturday arrived. Oliver met her, and they entered the flat together. Her stomach twisted with dread.
“Hello,” Emily managed, stepping inside to see Olivers mothera striking woman whose warm smile eased her nerves at once.
“Hello, dear. Im Margaret Winthrop. Oliver, take her through to the parlour…”
At the table sat Olivers father, Edward Winthrop, stern and silent, offering only a nod.
Emily sat straight-backed, elbows off the table, handling her cutlery deftly. She ate little, recalling etiquette booksone must always be ready to answer politely.
Yet, as luck would have it, her fork slipped, landing soundlessly on the thick Persian rug. She stiffened, eyes darting to Margaret, while Oliver laughed outright.
“Sorry,” Emily mumbled.
But Margaret only smiled. “Oliver, mind your manners. Fetch her a clean fork.”
“Right, Mum,” he said, scooping it up and disappearing.
“Emily, dear, youre wound tighter than a clock,” Margaret said kindly. “Eat properly, or Ill think you dislike my cooking.”
“Oh, Mrs. Winthrop, its lovely! Oliver said your housekeeper, Mrs. Hughes, usually cooks…”
“We do have help,” Margaret admitted. “But today, I wanted to cook myself.”
“Why?”
“Why? I had to impress my future daughter-in-law!”
Emily nearly laughed in disbelief.
“So todays a test for both of us, then!” she blurted.
“Seems so,” Margaret chuckled. “But Olivers chosen well. Isnt that right, Edward?”
“Quite so, my dear,” he agreed.
The visit went splendidly. Emily relaxed, chatting easily with Margaret. Two weeks later, she and Oliver applied for a marriage licence, and within months, they wed.
“Oliver, where shall we live?” Emily asked.
“Not sure yet. My parents have been whispering about something…”
At the reception, his parents handed them a keya wedding gift, a flat two floors below theirs.
Emily was overjoyed. Her family, visiting from Yorkshire, rejoiced. “There is a God above,” her mother said. “Youve a roof over your head, love.”
Emily hoped to graduate alongside Oliver, believing only clear skies lay ahead. But in their final year, she discovered she was expecting. Thrilled yet nervous, she told Oliver.
“Oliver, Im so happywere to have a baby! Ill still finish my degree in time…”
He scowled. “A baby? Were still students, living off my parents! I thought wed have a few years just for us.”
“You you want me to get rid of it?” she whispered, tears welling. “Never!” She fled, nearly colliding with Margaret downstairs.
“Emily, lovegood heavens, whats happened?” Margaret guided her inside.
Between sobs, Emily confessed.
Margaret handed her a glass of water. “Youre right to keep it. Men dont always know best. How far along?”
“Eight weeks.”
“Youll graduate in time. Mrs. Hughes will fix you tea. Ill have a word with Oliver.”
Later, Oliver shuffled in, contrite. “I was wrong, Emily. Forgive me.”
She nodded, gratefulbut her thanks were for Margarets firm smile.
They reconciled. Both graduated; two weeks later, their son was born. Margaret and Edward doted on the boy, though Oliver remained distant.
He found work; Emily stayed home. But soon, Oliver returned late, reeking of drinkthen perfume.
“Oliver, are you cheating?” she demanded.
He faltered, muttered, then left.
That evening, she confided in Margaret.
“Dont act rashly, love. Perhaps its a passing folly…”
“No. He doesnt deny it. Ill take Jamie and go to Mums.”
“Nonsense! Youll stay here. Let Oliver live alone. Our grandson shant be dragged to some cramped village house. Mrs. Hughes will help when you return to work.”
Emily swallowed hard.
“Focus on work,” Margaret urged. “Keep your mind sharp. Youll find your way.”
“Thank you. No matter what, Ill be happy. Ive decided.”
“Good girl. Youve spirit. Youll manage.”
Five years later, Emily married a colleague, Robert. They live happily with their children. Margaret and Edward adore their grandchildren, summering with them in the countryside. Little Grace adores Granny Margaretand Emily, at last, is content.
