Lucy, youre not too old to have a baby at thirtynine, her mother chided as soon as she learned her daughter was expecting. You never even carried a child before.
Ill be fine, Mum, Lucy whispered, trying to swallow the sting.
God will see to it, her mother muttered, clasping her hands as if in prayer. She was a spry sixtytwo, her hands forever muddy from the garden she tended with a vigor that belied her years. Lucy helped on weekends, but her days were spent at the village primary school, teaching geography and serving as deputy headmaster.
One early Saturday, before the heat settled over the fields, Lucy rose before dawn to weed the allotments. The summer had arrived already sweltering and dry.
Morning, Lucy, called a voice from across the lane.
It was Anne, the new neighbour whod arrived with her husband Michael after his posting in the army. Theyd fallen in love while he was on duty, married, and shed followed him home, heavily pregnant.
Morning, Annie, Lucy answered, wiping soil from her sleeves.
Did you hear? Aunt Veras son is coming back, Anne said, eyes sparkling. Michael mentioned his old schoolmate Oliver is due to arrive. Ive never seen him before; he turned up at my house last night.
Lucy straightened, leaning against the low fence.
Oliver, you say? Whats his story?
Hes on leave, Anne replied. Michael says hes Veras only son; she does have a daughter, though.
Yes, I know OliviaOlivers older sister, Lucy added.
Hes not just on leave; hes retired now. He spent years in the Far North, first in the Highlands and then on the Isle of Skye, serving a year and a half in each place before taking his pension. Hes nearly forty and already thinking of becoming a farmer, looking after an abandoned farmstead and planning to put up greenhouses.
Is his wife coming with him? Lucy asked.
No, hes divorced, Anne said, laughing. So all the single women around here are suddenly sprucing themselves up. Soon Aunt Veras will be buzzing with activity.
Lucy inhaled deeply.
Anne, you think Im just another lonely girl, dont you? You dont know I once dreamed of marrying Oliver. I ended up with Simon instead, because circumstances forced my hand.
Lucy and Simon lived next door, while Oliver resided a few streets away. The three of them had grown up together; Oliver was a year older than Lucy but never taller than Simon, earning him the teasing nickname little Oliver from the boys. He never took offence, always defending his friends. By sixteen hed shot up, shoulders broad enough to cast a shadow over Simons.
Now look at little Oliverhes taller than Simon by a head, Anne chuckled.
Simon remained the joker of the group, his humour the glue that held them together. As they grew, the river swims and fishing trips gave way to evenings at the village hall, dancing, and cinema outings.
Lucy, once awkward, had become a stunning young woman. Other girls whispered behind her back, jealous of the two men who stood by her, wondering which one she would choose. Oliver, a true gentleman, exuded strength; Simon, a merry spirit, could make anyone laugh.
Oliver had left school early, trained as a driver, then reenlisted.
Friends, he said one night, clapping Simon and Lucy on the shoulders, Ill write to you, and you write back.
Of course, Oliver, Simon replied, grinning.
And Ill follow you into the army, Simon added.
Letters flew back and forth. When Olivers deployment ended, Lucy saw him off again, this time with Simon.
Weeks later Lucy noticed the letters from Oliver had stopped.
Aunt Vera, why hasnt Oliver written? she asked his mother.
Hes signed a new contract, staying in the service, his mother answered, sighing. He wont be back for a long while.
Lucy felt a pang of disappointment. She had quietly decided she wanted to marry Oliver, though he never knew. Simons letters, too, grew silent after a while. Simons mother later told Lucy that her son had been wounded in a hotspot overseas and was recovering in a field hospital.
Why isnt he writing? Lucy asked, tears bristling.
Hes not allowed to, his mother said. He did send a brief notejust a trivial injurybut he promised hed be home soon. Lucy wanted to visit him there.
Lucy didnt know that Simon had written to Oliver, urging him to return, and that Simon had already vowed to love Lucy forever, believing life without her was meaningless. In a letter from the hospital he confessed, Oliver, when Im out of this mess, Ill propose to Lucy on the spot. Shes the only one for me.
None of this reached Lucy. Oliver never wrote again. Finally Simon returned, his face gaunt but hopeful.
Lucy, shall we send in the matchmakers? he joked, shrugging.
She laughed weakly, Our friend is gone; when Oliver returns, maybe well wait.
Good news, Simon said. Hell be here in two days, just passing through. Hell get a chance to see his parents.
Lucy braced herself. Oliver truly arrived, and the three old friends reunited as if no time had passed.
That night Ill get to the bottom of everything, Lucy vowed.
But the evening fell flat. Conversation stumbled, jokes fell awkwardly, and Oliver remained unusually silent. When the others left, Lucy lingered, catching up with Oliver by the doorway.
Simon wants to propose to me? He dreams of marrying me, she said, eyes fixed on him.
I know he began.
What do you feel for me? she asked, voice trembling.
It doesnt matter now, Oliver replied, his tone weary. If he wants to marry you, I wont stand in his way.
So youve decided for me, and nobody asked me? Maybe I love you, not Simon, she whispered, turning and sprinting home.
She waited for him to stop her, to speak, but he had already left at dawn.
Eventually she gave her consent to Simon, and they wed. The marriage, however, brought little happiness. After a few months Lucy became pregnant, but she miscarried and never had children again.
Simon sensed her coldness, turned to drink, and the house filled with arguments. He was forbidden to take alcohol after his injury, yet he cared little. Their lives drifted apart, and Simon soon took a posting up north, where he later died in a car crash.
Lucy stood before the mirror in her cottage, the afternoon light spilling through the window, when a tall, broadshouldered man entered the front gate.
Oliver, who had served in Northumberland and later on the Isle of Skye, rarely returned to his home village. He bought his parents seaside holidays and visited them there, but his own marriage had crumbled quickly.
No one of the trio ever found a smooth life. Though Lucy once had a choice, her friends made it for her.
She adjusted her hair, stepped onto the porch, and thought, Thank goodness Mums gone to the shop; I can invite him in before the whole village starts gossiping.
Hello, she said, voice dry, what brings you here?
Oliver stood tall, healthier and more handsome than ever, his gaze steady and penetrating.
Just to talk, he replied, a hint of nervousness in his voice.
Come in, Lucy said, gesturing to the house.
He placed a neatly wrapped parcel on the table.
A gift for you.
Why now? Not when I was waiting for you
I was about to leave, but Simon stopped me. He said if you didnt marry him, hed end his life. He begged me to go away quickly. I understoodafter his wound he could do anything.
Why didnt anyone think of me?
Lucy, Im sorry. I loved you deeply, but I didnt want to hurt a friend. I still love you, Oliver said, stepping forward and pulling her into a fierce embrace.
From that night they stayed together, married, and Lucy soon found herself expecting again.
Months later a son was born, named Simon after their dear friend, a sturdy, healthy little boy, the spitting image of his father.
