Young Love: A Childhood Romance

“Mum, can I wear the blue shirt to nursery tomorrow?”

“The blue one? Why that one?”

“Because Katie Evans said it looks nice on meit matches my eyes!”

“Well, if Katie said so, of course you can wear it.”

Little Alfie, pleased, ran off to play with his older brother, Tom, who was already in primary school. That evening, their mum told Dad about the blue shirt and how it brought out Alfies eyes.

Dad chuckled and ruffled his sons hair. “So, mate, do you like Katie, then?”

“Yeah. Im gonna marry her.”

“Is that right? Well, youve got to finish school first, maybe even uni, then you can think about marriage.”

“Ugh, thats ages away” Alfie frowned.

“Dad, can I marry Katie tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow? Where would you live, son?”

“Here, obviously,” Alfie said, confused.

“Whose house? Hers?”

“No, Dad! Katie stays at her house, and I stay at mine.”

“Nah, mate, thats not how it works. If you marry her, youve got to live together. Youd have to work, and shed keep going to nursery, then school, then uni.”

“And me?” Alfies eyes welled up.

“Youd have to work too, son. To take care of your family.”

“Whats wrong? Why are you crying?” Mum knelt beside him.

“Mummy, I wanna marry Katie, but I dont wanna work yet. I wanna stay in nursery, then school. And Dad said” His voice wobbled.

“Well, theres no rush. You can marry her when youre older.”

“But by then, someone else might take her!”

“Who would?”

“Dunno maybe Jamie or Ollie.”

“Then shes not worth it if shed go off with someone else.”

The next morning, Alfie marched up to Katie in her red velvet dress, her long blonde hair tied with a big bow. He took her hand and said firmly, “Im gonna marry you, Evans!”

She stared at him, then turned away. “No!”

Alfie stomped his foot. “I said Im marrying you! Just not yet, alright, Katie?” He squeezed her hand. “Later, yeah?”

“Why not now?” she asked. “Jamie and Lily got married yesterday.”

“Thats pretend! Oursll be real.”

“Okay!” She nodded, and hand in hand, they ran off to play.

In school, Alfie begged the teacher to sit him next to Katie. She refused, placing Katie with another boy instead. Alfie stubbornly sat beside her anyway.

“Im marrying Evans when I grow up.”

The class erupted in laughter. “Ooooh, Alfie and Katie, sitting in a tree”

“Enough!” the teacher scolded. “Alfie, youre too young for this. Go back to your seat.”

“No! Katie, tell her!”

Katie just smiled shyly.

“Well, Miss Evans? Whats your answer?” the teacher asked.

“Its real. When were grown up. Not like Jamie and Lilytheirs was just nursery stuff.”

The teacher paused, then sighed. “Fine. Sit together.”

Katie was the queen of his heart. He carried her bag, shielded her from dogs and bullies, even hauled her to the nurse when she scraped her knee. In secondary school, he confessed properly.

And Katie?

She just smiled and walked away, chin high.

“Ill still marry you, Evans!” he shouted after her. “Hear me?”

Then Jake, the college boxer with his own car, started hanging around Katie. Alfie took bruises but never backed down. One day, three lads cornered him.

“Oi, little man,” one sneered. “Come here.”

“You want me? You come get me.”

“Cheeky, arent ya?”

“Names Alfie. And Katies mine.”

“Listen, mate. Back off. Shes with our friend now.”

Alfie turned his back. “Tell your friend if he doesnt leave my girl alone, hes done for.”

He felt their anger but walked away, ready for them to jump him.

They did. Later, outnumbered, kicks raining downuntil a scream cut through.

Katie charging with a fence plank, swinging it wildly. She clobbered them, shrieking like a banshee. Tom and his mate came running, called by Lily, Katies friend.

That night, cleaned up at the tap, green paint dabbed on cuts (courtesy of Lily), they laughed till it hurt. Alfie laughed loudest, ribs aching.

Walking Katie home, she stopped at her door. “Did it hurt?”

“Nah,” he lied.

She kissed him. The lads tactfully looked away.

“Sorry, Alfie.”

“For what? Youre my hero. Scared me half to deathswinging that plank like Bruce Lee!”

She laughed.

Then came the army send-off. Katie didnt cling or cry. She just stayed close.

“RememberIll marry you when Im back, yeah?”

“Yes.” The first time shed ever said it. “Alfie” She blushed. “Do you love me?”

“Are you daft? Ive spent my whole life saying Ill marry you. Course I do.”

Letters flew back and forth, each hiding the word “love.”

Then they stopped.

Parents waited. Katie waited. No letters. News showed boysdirty, grinning, alivefighting far away.

Then three letters arrived at once. To his parents, Katie, and Tom.

His parents and Katie got silly storiesfake penguins, wild adventures. They laughed till they cried.

That night, Tom pulled Katie aside. “Penguins dont live up north. I asked where he really is.”

Only Tom knew. Their childhood code hid the truth in one word.

A word that kept mothers awake.

Tom cried into his pillowgrown but helpless. He wrote back, joking, ending with: “Dont forgetyouve still got to marry Katie. Or shell grab that plank again.”

Silence.

Thennews footage. Boys? Or soldiers, hardened by war.

“Alfie!” Mum clutched her chest. “Thats him!”

He turned, grinning, dimples flashing.

Paramedics came. Mum fainted.

“Hes alive,” the doctor said. “Wait. Hell come home.”

Katie couldnt sleep. Dosed with calming drops, same as her mum.

Alfies dad smoked on the balcony with Tom.

“You knew?”

“Yeah.”

“Good.”

Katies dad smoked too, rubbing his old bullet wound. “Hang in there, lad,” he whispered.

“Dad he wont die, right?”

“No, son. Hes got to marry Katie.”

He came back.

Dawn. A soldier on the bench, savoring home.

Tom stepped onto the balcony, cigarette in hand.

“Smokings bad,” Alfie called up.

“Sos being annoying. Might get punched.”

“Missed you, brother.”

Katies door flew open hours later.

“EVANS! IM HERE TO MARRY YOU!”

No one scolded him. The whole street knewtheir boy was home.

“Mum, Dadcan I marry her now?” Alfie spun before the mirror.

“Get dressed, groom. Before she changes her mind.”

“Over my dead body!”

Later, their own son piped up:

“Mum, Im getting married.”

“Oh? When?”

“Tomorrow.”

“To whom, might I ask, Michael Alexander?”

“Emily Evans.”

“WHAT Evans?!”

Dad chuckled. “Spoke to Grandad yet?”

“Yeah. He said talk to you first. So tomorrow it is.”

Grandad laughed. “History repeats. Another Evans, stealing our boys hearts.”