Molly, you want to get married?
And youre the one proposing? she brushed aside Mick Thomsons eager hand, and Clare, quick as a sparrow, answered his question. Mick laughed, flashing a cheeky grin, his eyes wandering over Clares curvy silhouette.
So, youre in? Mick tried to close the distance. Or shall we just tumble over the hayloft give me a hand, will you?
Clare didnt think twice. She shoved Mick straight into a patch of nettles, where he landed like a wobbling helicopter, flailing his arms comically. Laughter erupted from the village hall where the youngsters were gathered.
Hey you, plump one Mick, now dusting the soft spot on his knee, spat a curse at Clares feet, his anger plain. Think youre funny? Theyre laughing at you
Clare turned away, pursing her lips in hurt. Her friend Nora placed a hand on her shoulder.
Whats the matter, Clare? Dont you know Mick? He only wants to make a joke of you.
Clare managed a smile. She wasnt about to cry. Shed grown used to it. And she understood why Nora could soothe herno one called Nora a plumpie; she was sturdy, but next to Clare she seemed as delicate as a birch twig.
Lets go, the films about to start Nora called, and the three of them slipped into the dim light of the village hall.
Holding her dress carefully, Clare sat on the squeaky wooden benches of the 1960s community hall. Comfort was scarce, but the pleasure of the moving picture was abundant.
She sighed, watching the lithe heroines on the screen.
Her older sister Mary was built differentlytaller, leanerjust like their father, a thin man whod always been thin. Their younger brother Colin, too, was wiry. Their mother, however, was round, and it was clear that Clare had taken after her. Yet that didnt hinder their mother, Claire, who ran the household with boundless energy, never seeming to tire. Their father got along with everyone, and the family seemed a perfect pair: he, lanky and slow; she, curvy and spry. Still, people said they were two peas in a pod.
Clare sighed again, wondering if shed ever find a partner in their little village, or anywhere else.
On Sunday the girls coaxed Clare into the parish centre, just as the councils new van was pulling up. They settled on a wooden bench, the ground bumpy enough to make you bounce like a rubber ball.
They were eventually taken to the centre of town, where the council building stood in a sundrenched square, a loudspeaker spilling music across the streets. A barrel of lemonade sat nearby, and the girls raced toward it, laughing and squinting in the bright day.
Look at that plump girl Clare heard herself mutter, halfamused, halfhurt. She tried not to think it was about her, but none of her friends were like her. She turned, halfexpecting the remark to be about someone else, and saw two lads leaning against a tree in the shade. One was lost in thought; the other, with a teasing glint, stared Clare from head to toe before nudging his pensive mate.
Clare edged closer to her friends, desperate to hide from the lecherous gaze she knew too wellone that only wanted to pinch and mock.
Ladies, well still make it to the dance! announced Nina.
Its already evening when are we going home?
Well be fine! Uncle Victor promised to pick us up from the community centre. So, are we going or not?
Were going!
The dance at the district community centre wasnt like the village hall, where everyone was single and the music was usually just a lone accordion. Here, white columns rose, the crowd swelled, and a proper orchestra sometimes visited for special occasions.
Clare glanced approvingly at the hem of her blue dress, happy shed chosen it, and hurried to catch up with the others.
She knew no one would ask her to dance; that was clear. Yet the other girls twirled, smiling and carefree.
She stood by a low wall, feeling as though all eyes were on her. Why not look? Her chestnut hair was tied in two braids, her nose slightly upturned, cheeks flushed. If someone looked deeply, they might see a spark of warmth and a quiet hope for happiness.
Maybe we could dance why wait?
It was the same boy shed seen by the square earlier, the one with the teasing stareshe recognized him at once.
May I? she nodded.
He stood a head taller, silent at first, then asked, Whats your name?
Clare, but they call me Glen.
Im Stephen.
Where are you from?
Berkshire.
Oh, thats close.
Where do you live now?
Right here.
Before that?
I studied and worked in the city.
He walked her to her car, wanting to say more but holding back. She thought perhaps he was bored and had come over just to pass the time.
I saw you dancing with the plump girl said his mate Yuri, stepping up. Why do you call her that? She has a name.
Oh, Stephen, youre smitten
Smitten? Shes a nice girl he replied, halfjoking. If youre serious, you should arrange another meeting, not stay alone.
Im not alone. I have Lucy and Tom, I need to look after them. And a girl why would she want other peoples children? Shell have her own.
Stephen brushed his dark hair back, said goodbye to Yuri, and headed home.
Hed grown up here, left for university, and his mother had raised two small children as best she could. A year ago his mother passed away. Shocked, Stephen returned home, where his sister and brother greeted him: sevenyearold Tom hugged his knees, and tenyearold Lucy grabbed his hand, unwilling to let go.
Later Aunt Zoe, his mothers friend, arrived, her voice loud with pity for the orphaned boy. She dabbed a handkerchief on her eyes and said, You need to marry, Stephen. Youre now the man of the house, the provider you should marry a woman with a child, so things are equal. I know a girl a boy a little younger than Tom, perfect for you. Her name is Sarah Kettle.
Ive seen her Stephen replied but not now. Sarah isnt for me.
Well, Stephen, youve got no choice; a girl wont take you otherwise. Think about it why take on a burden when you could find a partner?
Its not a burden Aunt Zoe muttered, softening. Just lifes way.
Ill sort it out myself Stephen said.
He walked home, replaying the conversation. He wished that Clare from Berkshire would walk beside him. When she approached his car, she seemed to expect a word, a promise, perhaps an invitation but Stephen stayed silent. He didnt dare. She wasnt engaged yet; why would she want his children? For Stephen, his siblings were his family forever, and he would never abandon them.
Clare spent many days replaying the shy grey eyes of the boy shed barely known, longing to see him again. Well, she thought, staring at herself in the mirror, Im a plumpie, and Nora still calls me our little plumpie sometimes, but it still hurts.
The following Sunday the girls invited Clare to the parish centre. She declined. What would I do there? she thought, recalling Stephen. If hed called, Id have gone instantly, she mused.
Monday brought a day of hard work in the fields. Exhausted, the girls collapsed on the grass, some sitting, others lying down.
Oh, Clare, I forgot Nora ran over, crouching beside her, whispering I have to tell you something. That lad from the dance, the one who asked you to come next Sunday, the orchestras coming, and hes inviting you.
Me?
Yes, you. He asked why you didnt come, and were all going.
Then well all go.
Hed be waiting for her.
Clare felt her cheeks flush. At first she was thrilled, then she thought, Will he be like Mick, calling me to the hayloft just for a laugh?
She spent the week with those thoughts swirling.
They never went to the square, nor to the dance. After parting from the others, Clare and Stephen found a quiet bench in a shaded garden.
I wanted to see you again right away Stephen confessed, fidgeting with his cap. But I thought you might not want it maybe you already have a fiancé.
I dont have a fiancé.
I dont have a bride either he admitted, blushing. But I have children.
Clare stared, surprised at his youth and his responsibilities.
A younger sister and a brother, ten and seven. No father, and now no mother. Im their caretaker now. He looked into her eyes, as if saying, Thats who I am. Thats why I didnt ask you sooner I liked you.
I liked you too she whispered.
I decided to tell you now, before things get harder you already know everything about me.
Has anything changed? she asked. You liked me then, you like me now.
Stephen, uncertain yet eager, pulled Clare into a gentle hug. His voice trembled as he said, Clare, Lucy and Tom are good kids. Theyll grow up, have families of their own, I promisetheyre not a weight around my neck.
Stephen, what weight? Theyre yours my younger siblings.
***
In autumn the Agnew family cleared the garden together, and as evening chilled, they lit the coal stove. Clare stood by the warm hearth in her blue dress, glancing at the clock.
Claire, her mother, sighed, Well, son, our middle daughter is getting married. Hes a fine lad, even with children.
Her father, tapping his fingers on the table, looked up. With a man like that, even with kids, our Clare wont be lost. Theyll raise him and have children of their own.
Theyre coming! Claire exclaimed. All right, dear, theyre bringing the groom.
Clare leapt from the stove as if a leaf from a tree, forgetting her coat, and rushed outside, meeting her fiancé.
Lucy and Tom ran to Clare, grabbing her hands, eyes full of unspoken words. Their glance said everything. Stephen was theirs now, and so was Clare.
Let go of Clare, Stephen laughed, let me give her a hug.
All right, lovebirds! the children shouted, marching into the house together. Clare forgot the teasing names of her past, the jokes and the hurt, and she probably would never recall themunless someone called her plumpie with affection.
And so, beneath the gentle glow of the village lanterns, Clare learned that love isnt about fitting a perfect shape or being free of burdens; its about accepting the whole packagechildren, quirks, and alland finding strength in caring for one another. The true lesson she carried forward was that a heart grown generous enough to hold others never grows empty.
