Emma knew everything. Of course she didshe wasnt twenty, not even thirty, but the world had already whispered its secrets into her ears.
She was weary of the endless solitude, of dragging that invisible cart through nightlit streets.
Lucy, she muttered to the darkness, why is it always me? Whats wrong with me? Am I a bore? Do I stink, or am I just clingy? Or perhaps I give no love, no tenderness at all.
What was wrong with her?
All around her, the strange, misshapen, plump, skinny, drinking, beautiful, notsobeautiful people lived full liveseach with a private world of their own. And she? Nothing.
Listen, Emma Lucys voice trembled, as if an old crone from a Yorkshire village were speaking of a cursed crown, a wreath of foreversingle.
Come off it, Emma brushed her off, are we supposed to be living in the Middle Ages now?
Dont you believe it? Lucy sprang from her chair. My thirdcousin once wore that very wreath; the old woman stripped it off her.
What old woman? Emma asked, flatly, just to keep the conversation moving.
Anyway, Ill ring Nora, my sistershes the one who had the crown taken off. Ill find out everything, Lucy said, scribbling on a napkin with the tip of her tongue.
A few minutes later Lucys voice floated through the receiver, disjointed and breathless. Nora, love, hows it going? Getting married again? What about Greg? Oh, hes gone. Right, Ill be there She hung up, a pause hanging like fog.
Whats happened? Emma asked.
Nothing well, actually something. I need a wedding gift againher sisters getting married for the fifth time. That old crone must have pulled the wreath off hard. Heres the address. You coming?
Emma shrugged.
She set off, but the old woman, twisting the knot of destiny, sent her back emptyhanded.
No wreath for you.
Youre kidding, Emma protested.
What? Not the right men? The first one fled with his child, promising a girl while already married. You didnt see that? He was a scoundrel, left you in the bushes. Nothing to do with you.
Which one? The second? The third? Emmas smile was a thin crescent.
The second wasnt yours either, the crone affirmed. The third either.
Third? I have no one.
It will be, the woman said, but not when you expect it. He will appear, though not wholly. A girl will come, and you must trust himhes steady, and with him youll find the happiness that was meant for a woman. Wait, dont rush.
Go now. And tell your friend she should visit a doctor, take these herbs, see a womens specialist. Tell her the old woman asked you to pass the message.
That conversation had taken place long ago.
Desperate to find her own happiness, Emma had once ridden to the crone, a hedgewitch dwelling on the edge of a mistshrouded moor. Everything the witch said came true.
She met the third man, but the witchs words slipped from her memory. He was kind, treated Emmas daughter well, yet something always made them pause, stare off into the distance, then vanish without a word.
Later Emma met Mark. At first she didnt recognise him; he was the one who had lived next door for years, the empty flat above the bakery that had never been inhabited. When Emma moved in with her daughter, the neighbourAunt Katesaid the landlord roamed the halls at odd hours, stopping by his mothers house.
One day, curiosity nudged Emma toward a partially ajar neighbours door. A man was wallpapering his living room. She slipped away, assuming the landlord had simply returned.
The doors in that building were absurdly linkedopen one and the other stayed shut until the first was closed. Emma, late for work, tried to open her own door and failed. The neighbour apologized, shut his flat, and the sound of swift, light footsteps faded.
Later, Emma blocked the neighbours exit, then they met on the courtyard stairs where the neighbour let Emma open the door first.
Mark once helped Claire lift her bicycle; Emma baked scones and handed them to him. In the park, Marks son, a boy the same age as Claires, joined them, and the children sped off on swinging rides while Emma and Mark chatted merrily.
Six months later he asked her out, introduced her to his family, and they began living together. Before that, Mark recounted his story.
Emma, Im not a twentyyearold lad or a brute. Im a mangrown, with my own opinions and temperament. I promise you if you live with me I wont cheat, Ill do the work expected of a husband, Ill earn, I dont drink or smoke, no bad habits. Ill respect you, cherish you but love? I cant promise love, Ive tried and failed.
Im no stone, he said, I do have feelings, just not the ones you expect. I was once infatuated with a girl, thought wed be warm together. It never workedshe saw me as a friend, I tried to push her from my heart for years, to no avail. Ive had women prettier and smarter, but nothing fit.
Should I have talked to her? Emma asked, voice trembling.
I tried to explain, to lay it all outlove you more than lifebut shed just listen, then say shed always been a friend, even a sister. I proved it didnt matter whether she loved me; I loved her anyway. She asked why I left Inna. I said honestlyI didnt love her.
What then? she pressed.
She was lovelypretty, smart, cheerfulwhy wouldnt you love her? I realised I couldt live with someone I didnt love, yet I forced myself to stay.
Later he married. I didnt wander like a mummy; I lived, laughed, like anyone else. But when I think of the woman I love, love feels like a curse to me, a wound that makes me feel broken, unable to give happiness to a woman.
He sighed, Im not here to babble nonsense. I just want you to decide if you can live without fierce emotions, without a passionate love. Think, dont answer now.
Emma thought, then a week later she met his large, boisterous family. They welcomed Emma and her daughter with cheerful smiles. She feared they might treat her as a standin, a charity case, but everything turned out fine.
She never regretted marrying Mark; he was reliable, and all of Emmas troubles seemed solved. She tried not to think of desire or romance, and life was good. Occasionally, a stray glance from Mark would flicker, recalling a past love, but it never disturbed their household.
Then that lingering look returned, cloudy and distant.
Was it hurtful? Emma placed her hand over her heart and thought of any woman who dreams that her man might change for her. She, too, had married not for a grand love, but grew to love the stability, the perfect husband she now had.
Mark, washing windows on a bright spring morning, sang softly. Emma watched him, the sun scorching the panes, and felt a sudden freedom within him, as if hed just run into an old lover and felt a fleeting joy, then turned homeward.
Whats up, Mark? Something happen?
Nothing, just that everything feels right, he whispered, spinning a few steps, drawing Emmas gaze.
He kissed her, finally realizing how deeply she meant to him.
Emma thought, The old crone wasnt lying. She told me to simply wait.
Good morning, dear ones! May love, if it has not yet found you, flutter into your window. And if its already there, cherish it. Sending you warm embraces, rays of kindness and positivity. Always yours.
