Hey, Lucy, I slurred, knocking on her flat door at two in the morning. Sorry to turn up like this, but Ive got terrible newsmy wife was killed in a crash. My voice trembled, halfdrunk, and she let me in despite the fact wed been at odds for months.
Shed been angry with me, but the moment I staggered in, all our petty fights seemed foolish. Tell me what happened, Tom, she said, her eyes softening. Dont stay silent.
I didnt answer. I pushed her onto the couch and, without a word, slipped her a kiss. She didnt push me away; she just wanted to calm me, to make the pain less sharp. I didnt have the heart to call him a brute, a selfish bore, not now.
The night dragged on, restless and feverish. At dawn I roused Tom with a gentle shake. He stared at me, bewildered. Lucy, why am I here? Weve been fighting. He seemed to have no memory of the nights visitjust a drunken haze.
I kept the purpose of his call to myself, assuming his story was a drunken ramble. Then his phone buzzed, displaying the name Bessthe nickname hed used for his wife. He slipped the call away, guilt flashing in his eyes, as if something was finally surfacing.
Youre an idiot, I snapped. You buried her yesterday and now you act as if nothing happened? Get out! I threw him out, and that was the last time I saw him.
Id lived alone since I was twenty, my parents gone one after the other. I never rushed into marriage; suitors came and went like bees to honeystingy, generous, some already married. With Tom Id lasted longer than anyone, because Id fallen hard. I knew he had a family, but I also knew he was a born actor, able to spin three stories in a breath. He showered me with extravagant roses, lavish presents, wild nights, all while never forgetting Bess. I never minded a few other mistresseshe was a insatiable lover, a smoothtalking cad.
Meanwhile, my friends settled down, had children, while I kept seeing Tom, aware there was no future. Hed never leave his wife, so quarrels grew over nothing and everything. Finally, his last stunt put an end to our shaky affair, and I was free again, searching for some unknown happiness.
Then I met Ian on the commuter train, heading home from a shift in the city. He lived in a small village but worked in Manchester. We chatted, swapped numbers, and I liked him because he wasnt married. Our dates soon followed. If Tom was a storm, Ian was a quiet countrysidefrugal, blunt, a bit rough around the edges. I decided I could live with his flaws; after all, I was older now.
One evening Ian invited me to his family home: Mum wants to meet you. I was already pregnant, thinking about weddings and veils, but I went. The kitchen table groaned under homecooked fare. I felt queasy, my stomach turning. Ians mother, with a judging glance, told her son: Take the guest out onto the veranda, let her rest, then come back to the table. She ignored me entirely.
The next day Ian escorted me back to the train without a word, returning to his mother, who clearly hadnt taken a liking to me. I rushed the wedding plans, but before I could get home I was rushed to hospitalan inevitable miscarriage. The doctor, seeing my distress, tried to comfort me: Dont worry, love. If the babys not viable, better this way than to suffer a sick child later. I thought, Fine, Ian isnt my destiny. He and his mother will manage fine without me. I ended things with him calmly, without regret.
Among my lovers was an old schoolmate, Edward. Hed been flirting with me since we sat side by side in class. I kept him as a safety net, letting him promise his heart while I stayed silent. He eventually married a woman with a child, and ten years later he showed up, apologising profusely: Lucy, I rushed into marriage, now I want a divorce. He droned on about his unhappy marriage, his temperamental wife, the discord in his life. I listened, nodded, and once he gleefully announced, Lucy, Ive just had a second son! Congratulations! I could barely hold back tears, telling him to leave for good. I spent that night weeping into my pillow.
My best friend, Margaret, seemed to have it allhusband, daughter, comfortable home. I envied her, wondering why she got everything and I got nothing. Her husband, Peter, never appealed to me. Wed often meet for tea, gossiping about everything and nothing. One day Margaret confessed, Lucy, Im in love with a married man, Tom. He has two kids. I warned her, Forget it, Margaret. Dont ruin your family or his. Youll only end up hurting yourself. She broke down, sobbing, I cant live without Darren. Id give up everything for him. I tried to reason, but she drifted away, never calling again.
Later, Peter knocked on my door unexpectedly: Hey, Lucy. How are you? Still single? He sighed, Margaret left me. We talked all night, and eventually we slept together. I stayed with him for six months, thinking Id found happiness. But Peter never proposed; he left when a new colleague, older by seven years with a teenage daughter, entered his life. He married her, and theyve been together for twenty years now. Margaret, meanwhile, married Darren, and they say theyre deeply in love. I cant believe anyone gets away with stealing happiness without consequences; two families suffered because of that stolen joy.
I havent seen my old school friends in over twenty years. People ask how Ive fared. Ive tended to broken, bruised wings, tried to mend them, only to watch the men fly back to their wives. Time kept slipping by. As my grandmother used to say, Every girl has her season; it will fade. My season has passed. The merrygoround of life has stopped, the prince at the window never appears. I adopted a pedigree cat for company, a lone lady with no children, no husband. Thats where I am now.
