‘Will you marry me?’ she said.

It was as I had imagined her saying it many times before, ever since I had fallen in love with her. She starred in all my adolescent dreams, this slender, fair haired angel with a disposition as bubbly as her curls. I would scribble her initials in the margins of all my exercise books while I thought of her, but my most masterful dedication was a carving on the park bench where she often stopped to finish her homework. It read:

‘Chris W. Loves Emma G. Truly, madly, deeply. 1996.’

I knew she would never date me, let alone ask me to marry her, but secretly I hoped she would see the inscription someday and it would make it happen. It never did. I ended up with Barbara Woods. She wasn’t even on my list, or probably on anyone else’s list come to that, as she was a furlong behind all the others in the desirability stakes.

Years later, I walked through that same park and saw the carving had survived, but rounded off with a covering of municipal green paint, several layers thick. I sat next to it thinking back to schooldays. I was even more surprised to discover that Emma still used the park and bench. She came walking toward me. At first I didn’t recognise her. It may have been because her curly hair had grown long and lank and was partially obscured by the headscarf she was wearing. Or maybe it was that her cheeks were now plump and rosy, and her chin had doubled. But as she approached I saw it was definitely Emma. Her dumpy legs seemed to change their minds on where to go at each step as she struggled with a pushchair containing a small child, who was crying. Two other children were tugging at her skirt and she looked as though she was carrying a fourth in her belly. An uncontrollable dog was weaving them together with its lead.

She drew level with the bench, sat down next to me and smiled. It was more a smile of resignation than of recognition. I tried to speak but a lump formed in my throat and I felt a tear beginning to escape from the corner of my eye. It was the shock of seeing the way life had already taken its toll of her.

She paused only briefly before shuffling off and out of my life, once more. It was then I thought of Barbara. She had never appeared in the margins of my school books or in my carvings on park benches, but had asked me that crucial question. I said yes and somehow, ever since, she has managed to fill my life completely. Second best has made me very happy.