Phil had been smitten with Emily since they were kids in primary school, and theyd always joked about tying the knot someday.
Phils mother, Agnes Whitaker, ran the maternity ward at St.Marys Hospital and was less than thrilled with her sons choice. Shed long favoured a nurse called Claire, a wellliked girl whose family was practically a dynasty of doctors, and she hoped Phil would end up with her instead.
After school, Phil enrolled at Oxford Medical School while Emily went to Cambridge to study modern languages, hoping to become an English translator like her mother and grandmother. Their classmates thought a weekend in the countryside would be a proper sendoff, so they all headed to Phils familys cottage in the Cotswolds.
They ended up staying for almost a month, reluctant to leave the rolling hills and endless tea breaks. Eventually, term started, and they had to pull themselves together.
One crisp autumn afternoon Emily dropped a bombshell on Phil:
Im pregnant. What are you going to do about it?
Honestly? Ill whisk you straight to the registry office, Phil replied, grinning.
Im not exactly light as a feather, you know.
Come off it, love. I used to wrestle at school. Youll feel like youre being lifted by a feather, he joked, delighted.
But what about our studies?
Right, Lizzie. Looks like youll need a year off after the baby. Ill go distancelearning, like my mum did she had me at nineteen and managed everything. And after were hitched, youll move in with us. Keep your distance from my mother; shes a proper character and wont ever accept me, Emily warned.
Only for your peace of mind, love, Phil agreed.
The two of them lodged their marriage notice at the register and then went their separate ways. Emilys flat was already buzzing with guests. A friend of her fathers arrived with his wife and their son, Alfie, a lanky sixteenyearold who looked older than his years.
Back at the Whitaker house, Phil broke the news to his parents and hinted that they should start thinking about a wedding.
Agnes, disapproving as ever, decided to pay a surprise visit to Emilys parents that evening, hoping to cause a stir. She rang the doorbell repeatedly, but no one answered. Inside, a lively dinner was in progress, music playing just as the chime rang, and no one noticed the knock. Alfie was in the shower and, hearing nothing, wrapped a towel around his hips and opened the door.
Agnes, momentarily baffled, realised her phone was in her hand, hit record, and began filming the hallway, focusing on the towelclad teenager.
Are you here to see MrsBennett? Alfie asked, puzzled by the sudden filming.
Not any more, Phils mother called down the stairs in a hurry.
Later, Agnes showed Phil the clip, emphasizing how long it had taken Alfie to answer.
Did you spot Emilys hallway? Still no idea whos the father of that baby, she said.
I get it, Mum. You were right. She isnt the one for me, Phil muttered.
He fired an angry text to Emily, then switched her phone off. Emily, bewildered, tried calling back but to no avail, so she trudged over to Phils house despite the late hour.
Agnes, expecting Emily to come seeking an explanation, watched from the window as the girl approached. When Emily reached the front door, Agnes sprang forward, flung it open, and blocked her entry, stepping onto the landing.
What do you want from Phil? Hes already in bed. And you, playing both sides? Carry on seeing other blokes, you twofaced wretch, she snapped, then slammed the door as she retreated to her flat.
Emily, tears streaming, perched on the step and sobbed. After a while she went back home. In the kitchen, her mother, Margaret Bennett, was washing up, and her distraught daughter clung to her.
Emily, love, the weddings coming up. You should be happy.
Mum, theres nothing left but this baby. Phils mother made a fuss when she found out wed applied for marriage, Emily said, showing her a scathing message from Phils mother accusing her of cheating.
If Phil behaves like that, hell stay glued to his mum forever. Gods taken him away from you. Well raise the child ourselves, Margaret tried to soothe her.
The fallout left Emilys pregnancy a hard road. She was rushed to the maternity ward while her parents were at work, and, under anaesthetic, gave birth to a son. The doctors later told her the baby had been stillborn.
After the paperwork, the tiny, lifeless body was handed to the parents, who buried him quietly. Emily remained in the ward, missing the ceremony entirely.
In the wake of the tragedy, Phils parents sold their flat and moved away from the neighbourhood.
Its for the best, dear. Youve had enough drama with Phil, and he just strolls off with that smug grin, Margaret said.
I hope I can forget him sooner, Mum, Emily replied.
Eight years slipped by.
Emily now worked as a translator for a modest agency, when one morning Phil stepped into her office.
Why are you back in my life? I thought Id put you in the past, she said, barely looking up.
Im sorry, but misfortune has forced me to seek you out, he replied.
Thats peculiar, Phil. Your mums a tough nut. Go bother her. Ive no time for you. Please leave, Emily snapped, turning back to her screen.
Emily, please listen. It matters to you too. Im waiting at the café across the street after work, Phil begged.
Ill come out of curiosity, she muttered, signalling the end of the conversation.
That evening they met again, outside a little pub.
Im sorry, Emily, but my son is ill and needs a donor, Phil said.
Youve got the wrong address, Phil. Your mum has deeper pockets around here, she retorted.
Weve been waiting, no donor available. I even listed my flat for sale. Youre a motheryou stand a better chance, he pleaded.
This is a joke, Phil? Our son was stillborn. My parents buried him, she snapped.
Hes alive, now eight years old, he insisted.
What? How?
Remember when we filed the marriage notice? he reminded her.
Ill never forget your nasty text, Emily said, recalling the angry message.
Phil repeated the story his mother had told him about the night shed filmed Alfie in his towel.
Emily explained who Alfie was, and Phils face went pale. He still loved her and had never remarried. She too remained single, afraid of another heartbreak and another loss.
Phil, tell me about your son, Emily urged.
When you were in the maternity ward, my mother saw you being wheeled into the operating theatre. She guessed I might be the father, ran a quick test and it came back positive. She then decided not to hand the baby over. Im to blame for agreeing to that. My grudge against you haunted me. Seems Gods repaying me: our son, Sergey, is ill.
Lets get him tested for compatibility. If Im not a match, then he must share my blood type, Phil suggested.
Yes, Im typeO, youre typeA, Emily answered, her hands trembling as they entered the clinics ward.
Sergey, Ive finally found our mother. Weve been lost, but people helped us meet, Phil announced, while Emily stood speechless.
Mom, Ive been waiting for you. I never had any pictures of you, little Sergey said, eyes wide.
Darling, everything will be alright. Im here now and will do whatever it takes to make you healthy, Emily cried, embracing him.
Son, let mum go. She needs to speak to the doctor, the nurse advised.
Emily turned out to be a perfect match, and Sergeys treatment succeeded. Phil sold the flat hed kept all those years and cleared the clinics bill. They now share an apartment with Emilys parents in a leafy suburb of Birmingham.
Emily, forgive me. We need to marry, and you should have another child. I want our son healthy, but the doctor said siblings make better donors than parents, Phil pleaded.
Ive read that, Phil. Ill do whatevers best for our children, she replied.
They finally wed, and alongside Sergey they now raise two more childrena boy and a girlliving a life that, while a bit tangled, finally feels like a proper English happy ending.
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