We still speak of those days as though they were a distant echo, a tale that the old village of Whitby still whispers on cold evenings. Emily Hart loved George Blake with a ferocity that made her overlook almost everything he did.
They wed when Emily was barely a girljust nineteen summers old. Since she was sixteen she had chased after George, trying to look older than she felt. At first he paid her no heed; she was just a harmless girl to him. As she grew into a striking young woman, George thought, why not take what seemed to drift so easily into his grasp?
At that point George was twentyfour, Emily eighteen. Their courtship began, odd and crooked as a country lane. George could vanish for days, ignoring his telephone, not replying to letters, as if he were wandering some endless moor. He would reappear as if nothing had happened, and Emily would wait, tears often spilling, believing his words that she was his only love. He was a freespirit, they said, never quite settled.
Emily clung to the hope that one day he would change, that his love would match the depth of her own.
Her childhood friend, Harry Clarke, had known her since the local nursery. They lived on the same lane, later attended the same school. Harry loved Emily in secret, though he knew she saw him merely as a friend. It pained him to watch her undervalue herself, not realising she deserved far better. He knew that, had she returned his affection, he would have given her the world. Yet he understood she would never do so; her heart belonged to George, as if a spell had bound her. So Harry kept his distance, lingering unnoticed.
Whenever George disappeared again or started a needless quarrel, Emily would run to Harry in tears.
Why does he treat me so? she would sob.
Perhaps you ought to stop loving him, Harry would snap, his voice edged with frustration.
I cant, you dont understand, she would reply.
Harry understood all too well. He, too, could have given up on her, but his love for her held him back, so he said nothing, merely feeling her pain.
George grew more reckless, drinking heavily and flirting openly with other girls. In a moment of desperate foolishness, Emily decided the only thing a woman could doto become pregnant, hoping a child would mend the cracks. She thought a son would make George grow up, take responsibility, love her and the baby.
At nineteen she discovered she was with child and told George, though no smile crossed his face.
We should probably get married, she murmured, embarrassed at the swollen belly.
Perhaps, he replied, brow furrowed.
Why he finally agreed to bind himself in marriage was as muddled as the clouds over the North Sea. Perhaps he thought something might work, or simply didnt see a way out.
Emily felt like the happiest bride in the parish, while Harry watched the ceremony with a heart heavy as mourning. He saw Emily radiant with hope and wanted, in a selfish flash, to keep her for himself, to lock her away until she realised he was the better man. Yet he never acted; he offered a hollow wish for her future happiness while drowning his own sorrows in brandy.
Emily and George welcomed a son, Thomas, and for a while George tried to be a proper husband and father. He stopped disappearing, spent less time in the pubs, helped with the baby, and ceased arguing with Emily.
But the peace was shortlived. When Thomas turned one, George fell back into old habits. He vanished for three days, leaving Emily frantic, calling doctors, the coroner, and every friend of Georges.
Harry was there again, staying with Thomas while Emily scoured the grimy backstreets for her husband. She even filed a police report before George finally staggered back, dishevelled and smelling of whisky.
You neednt answer to me, George snapped as he passed the kitchen. Thomas began to cry, but his father ignored the child, his head throbbing from a hangover.
From that moment George stopped pretending. He would leave, then return, and each time Emily welcomed him back, hoping he might finally change.
When Thomas was three, George left for good. At first Emily thought he had simply gone out again, but after picking Thomas up from the nursery, she found his belongings gone from the house. As she tried to make sense of the emptiness, a message flashed on her phone: Ill file for divorce myself, dont wait for me.
Emilys world shattered; she screamed, feeling life had no point. Harry rushed to her side the moment he heard, spending a whole day caring for Thomas, keeping her from doing anything rash.
When Emily steadied herself, Harry spoke.
So, Ill be your husband now, and Thomass father.
Emily looked at her old friend, shaking her head.
Im sorry, but I cant love you that way. I love you as a friend and Im grateful for all youve done, but as a man I simply cannot.
I know, Harry said quietly, but I love you more than just a friend, and I wont let you suffer any longer.
Harry could find no words to protest. Emily, broken, merely nodded, allowing him to stay close.
Harry never pressed his claim. He stayed by Emilys side, never forcing the matter, devoted himself to Thomas as if the boy were his own. Emily watched him, realising no one else could ever love her son as Harry did, nor look after her as he now did. She surrendered, not out of love, but out of hopelessness.
When Harry finally proposed, Emily accepted. The wedding felt like a sunrise after a long night. When Thomas first called him dad, Harrys eyes filled with tears.
Life settled into a happy rhythm; the little family seemed the envy of the village. Sometimes Harry fancied that Emily loved him as a husband, not merely a friend. Other times a cold dread crept inwhat if George returned? What if Emily abandoned everything for the wayward man she once married?
He lived between two flames, rejoicing in their bliss, yet waking at night from nightmares.
One summer, Thomas turned six. Emily and Harry arranged a lavish party. First, the children leapt about in a local trampoline centre, then home awaited a cake and presents. Just as Thomas blew out his candles, there was a knock at the door.
Someone else come to wish him happy birthday? Emily said, smiling.
Ill get it, Harry replied, opening the door without looking through the peephole. A cold dread crawled over his heart as he saw George standing there, clutching a strange plush rabbit.
Seeing Harry, George sneered, So youre still here? Wheres my son? Im here to wish the boy a happy birthday.
Whos there, Harry? Emily called from the kitchen, her face turning pale. Thomas froze, then looked between the two men.
Dad, whos that? he asked Harry.
Georges expression darkened. He hadnt expected this.
Dad, so Thomas stammered.
Harry, take Thomas away, Emily said, her voice dry.
Emily Harry began.
Please she whispered.
The moment felt as though the old spell had been cast again. Harry, however, knew he would never give Thomas back; the boy was his son now, not a mishap.
Harry played with Thomas in the room, surrounded by gifts. Yet his thoughts lingered on the doorway, waiting for Emily to signal that he should leave. He feared what would come next.
Emily entered, her hands trembling, a forced smile on her lips.
So, hows everything? she asked.
Were playing! Thomas shouted. Did Uncle leave?
He left. Weve blown out the candles, but we havent had the cake yet!
Yes! the birthday boy yelled, running to the kitchen, while Harry gently seized Emilys elbow, looking at her.
Whats the matter? she asked, smiling. Lets go before the cake gets smashed. Well save ourselves a trip to the dentist later.
Emily she began.
The woman embraced her husband, then kissed him.
He wont come back. Thomas doesnt need him; he has a real father now.
And you? he asked.
Me? All I need is you.
Harry smiled, then led Emily into the kitchen.
Perhaps the wild love of her youth never truly faded; perhaps a fragment of feeling lingered. Yet reckless passion had given way to hardwon wisdom, and Harrys steady love finally thawed the cold of that naive girls heart. Emily knew she was, at last, as happy as she had ever been, and the frantic romance of her past settled into a quiet, lasting peace.