Ethel had always been the most inconspicuous guest at Marions birthday fête. The two girls had been classmates at the local sixthform college in York.
Marion, with a sweeping gesture, invited anyone who might be able to attend, yet many of the girls were heading back to their rural homes for the weekend. Ethel, shy and quiet, mustered the courage to accept the invitation.
She rarely ventured out, and she too had just turned eighteen, just like Marion. Still, she did not intend to spend her own birthday surrounded by friends.
Ethel had no close companions, and her parents urged her to stay home, to keep company with her grandparents, Gran and Granddad, in their cosy cottage.
Thus it is, she thought ruefully, a birthday that feels as dull as a fiveyearolds.
Of course she loved her family, but she could not see when she would finally become an independent adult. When, she wondered, would any of the lads notice her modest beauty and gentle nature?
She dreamed of romance, yet she felt embarrassed. She was not as flamboyant as Marion, nor as striking as Charlotte, the other lively girl in their circle. The girls dyed their hair, dressed fashionably, sometimes even a touch daringly, especially for college parties, and the teachers often gave them a stern look.
Ethels wardrobe, however, was chosen by her mother, with knitted cardigans crafted by Gran. She resented that her granddaughter seldom wore them. The oldfashioned sweaters felt too heavy for a night out, so she kept them for home, and then only in winter.
On the day of Marions celebration, the college crowd gathered: twelve boys and a slew of girls. When the dinner wound down and the music began, Ethel slipped out of the flat and perched on a bench beside the entrance hall. No one even noticed her departure. She was shy of the unfamiliar lads; indeed, they hardly ever glanced her way, and that realization pained her most.
She glanced at her pocket watch.
Perhaps I should be on my way; Mother will be worrying, she mused. I promised I wouldnt be late
Suddenly a boy emerged from the stairwell, not one of Marions guests. He sat on the edge of the bench and gazed wistfully at Marions secondfloor windows, where cheerful music and laughter drifted upward.
Are you from there? he asked Ethel, pointing toward the windows. She nodded.
Hows Marion? Dancing? Having fun? he pressed, his eyes soft.
Ethel, emboldened, replied, Cant you hear? Theyre having a grand time.
Exactly why its a birthday, the boy said. I spent my own day alone, just tea and cake with my family, like a childs tea party.
Ethel raised an inquisitive brow.
Thats my story too. Are you a friend of hers? she asked, nodding toward the windows.
Sort of, he answered. Id like to be, but she never notices me. She didnt even invite me to her birthday. Weve been neighbours for years, and she sees how I treat her
He fell silent. Ethel sighed in understanding, then said, Dont fret. Im feeling the same. Whats the point? No one seems to notice us either. I slipped away and no one saw; Im practically invisible. Its as if I dont exist, and nobody cares.
Youre being hard on yourself, the boy tried to soothe her. There are probably others like usunlucky, perhaps.
No, Ethel corrected, just unnoticed, unobtrusive. That can be a sort of freedom, a quiet independence.
Do you think so? he asked, surprised by her insight. By the way, Im Paul. And you are?
Ethel, she replied.
They lingered, listening to the music and stealing occasional glances at the glowing windows, hoping Marion would appear and summon them to join the revelry. Yet nothing came.
Its been a pleasure meeting you, Ethel said politely, but I must be on my way home. I promised not to linger.
Let me walk you part of the way, at least to the bus stop, Paul offered.
Together they strolled through the park, chatting and sharing shy smiles. Paul felt a thrill at the way Ethels cheeks flushed with tiny dimples, at the way her long lashes fluttered when she turned her eyes away from his curious stare. He began to tell amusing anecdotes from his younger days, hoping to coax a bright laugh from her and keep her company a little longer.
When they reached the stop, Ethel thanked Paul and prepared to board. She pretended to miss the first bus and waited for the next. As she boarded, she waved at Paul as if they were old friends. He lingered on the platform, unable to move, captivated by the girl with expressive eyes and cheek dimples.
Paul turned and headed home, but a sudden longing made him realise he wanted to see Ethel again. He had taken neither her number nor her addresshow could he expect to meet again? The thought seemed awkward.
The next morning Paul sprang out of bed, ran to Marions flat, and burst through the door.
Marion opened, a hint of annoyance in her voice.
What now, Paul? I told you Im not going out with you again.
Im not asking you out, Paul stammered. I just need the number of your roommate. She was here yesterday; I have something to give her. She left a note on the bench. Could you tell me her phone?
Whose? Marion asked, puzzled.
Its Ethels.
Ethel? Oh, you mean Irky, Marion said, chuckling. Hold on.
A few minutes later she handed Paul a slip of paper.
Tell her I said Romeoshes a quiet one. Shell be glad to hear from you.
Paul pocketed the note like a talisman and hurried home. He spent the whole day rehearsing what to say, his nerves fluttering. By evening he dialled Ethels number.
He invited her for another walk and promised a scoop of icecream. To his delight, Ethel accepted, her voice over the line softer and sweeter than before.
They met in the park, shared icecream, and learned much about each other. Their interests aligned, their humour matched.
Now its my turn to invite you, Ethel said as they parted, a grin on her lips. Next time, not the parklets go to the cinema. Fancy that?
From that day onward Ethel and Paul were inseparable. They frequented the pictures, the museums, and within a year they were travelling together, already being spoken of as a couple.
Two years after their first meeting they wed.
Ethels mother declared it was far too soon for her daughter to marry, while Gran, ever the pragmatist, beamed, Good on you, dear. Youve found your proper match. Hell look after you like a proper lad.
Their classmates whispered, There goes the quiet one, first to tie the knot, and look how happy Paul ishes practically glowing.
Both young lovers shone, having found in each other the understanding, care, and love they had long imagined.
In later years they would smile at the memory of that bench by the stairwell, the unlikely meeting place that had set their lives together.
Leave a Reply