Dear Diary,
Last night I heard a frantic knock at the front door of my flat in Camden. It was Mark Hargreaves, halfstaggering, his voice slurred as he tried to explain that his wife had been killed in a car crash just hours before. Can I come in? he pleaded. I had been at odds with him for a month, barely speaking since our bitter fallout, yet I let him in. All our quarrels seemed trivial beside his grief.
Mark, tell me what happened, I urged, feeling a strange guilt gnawing at me. After all, Mark and I had been more than friendsour affair had been the secret that now threatened to surface with his wife’s sudden death.
Without a word he dragged me to the couch. I didnt resist; I wanted to soothe him, to offer a gentle touch that might ease his anguish. I kept my thoughts about his selfishness, his bragging, his ego to myselfthere was no time for that now.
The night was a blur of sleepless, drunken sobs. By dawn I managed to rouse Mark, only to find him blank as a slate.
Emily, why am I here? We were at odds, he muttered, genuinely bewildered.
I didnt remind him of his purpose. I could only imagine his rambling was the product of a drunken mind. Then his phone buzzed, displaying the name Berrythe nickname hed used for his late wife. He glanced at it, his expression shifting to something like shame.
Are you an idiot? I snapped. You buried her yesterday. How could you joke about it? Get out! I shoved him toward the street and never saw him again.
Ive lived alone since I was twenty, parents passing away one after the other. I never rushed into marriage; suitors were always at my doorstep, swarming like bees to honey. Some were stingy, some generous, some already married. Among them, Mark was the longestlasting. I fell hard for him, even after learning he had a family. He turned out to be a born actorlying, inventing stories was as easy as breathing. Yet he showered me with lavish roses, extravagant presents, wild nights, all while never forgetting his Berry. I never minded if he had other lovers; his appetite for affection seemed endless. In short, he was a smoothtalking cad.
While my friends settled down, had children, I kept seeing Mark, aware there was no future. He would never leave his family, so our arguments grew more frequent and bitter. Finally, his last reckless act put an irrevocable end to our precarious affair. I was free again, searching for a new kind of happiness.
Thats when I met James Morton. He was a country lad from a small village near York, commuting to work in Leeds. We bumped into each other on the commuter trainshe was heading to her aunts house, he to his job. He sat close, we exchanged numbers, and I liked him instantly. At least he wasnt married. We started dating.
If Mark was fire, James was earth. He was frugal, blunt, a little rough around the edges. I accepted his flaws; after all, I was getting older. He invited me to his family home for dinner.
Mother wants to see you, he said.
I was already three months pregnant. I thought about wedding plans, smoothing my veil. The farmhouse table overflowed with hearty English fare, but I felt nauseous, a wave of sickness washing over me. My future motherinlaw, eyeing me with a critical stare, ordered James to take me to the verandah and set me on a bench, then return to the table.
The next day James escorted me back to the train station in silence, then vanished to his mothers house, evidently displeased with me. I rushed to arrange a wedding, but fate had other plans. Before I could get home, I was rushed to the hospital and suffered a miscarriage. The doctor, a kind woman in a white coat, tried to comfort me.
Dont worry, love, she said. If the baby is not viable, its better this way than to endure a lifetime of suffering.
I thought, perhaps James just isnt meant for me. Hell be fine with his mother. I ended the affair with him calmly, without regret.
Later, an old schoolmate, Tom Whitaker, resurfaced. Hed always been a bit of a flirt, keeping me as a backup option. He proposed, but I stayed silent. He eventually married a woman with a child, and years later, after ten more years, he turned up apologising, saying he wanted a divorce. He poured out his grievances about his wifes temper, about mismatched personalities, about lifes discord. I listened, nodded, gave him the warmth of my embrace. One day he burst in, grinning like a buttered crumpet in the sun.
Tom, Ive just had my second son! Celebrate! he announced.
Congratulations! Say hello to your wife! Now leave, Tom, forever! I could barely hold back tears. I wept into my pillow that night, the pillow soaking up my bitter sorrow.
Back at school, my best friend was Megan Clarke. Her life seemed pictureperfecthusband, daughter, comfortable home. I envied her. One evening she confided,
Emily, Ive fallen for someone. Hes married, has two kids. I dont know what to do.
I warned her, Dont ruin anyones life, yours or his. Youre already happy, you dont need a married lover. She sobbed, I cant live without Dave, Ill leave everything for him! I tried to stop her, but she walked away and never called again.
A few weeks later, Dave Collins, Megans estranged husband, knocked on my door.
Hi, Emily. How are you? Still single? he asked.
Its not a race, I replied, what brings you here?
Megan left me, he sighed.
I felt sorry for him and we talked through the night. By morning we were in each others arms. We lived together for six months, and for a time I thought I had finally found contentment. Yet Dave never asked me to marry him. He left just as suddenly as hed appeared, marrying a colleague who was seven years older and had a teenage daughter. Theyve been together for twenty years now.
Megan eventually married Daves brother, David, and they speak of a grand love. I, however, have not seen my old friends in over twenty years.
You may wonder how Ive fared. Ive mended broken wings, tended to wounded hearts, and watched men drift back to their wives. Time has marched on relentlessly. As my grandmother used to say,
Every girl has her season; when it passes, the flowers fade.
My season has come to an end. The carousel of my life has stopped spinning, the princes no longer appear at my window. I adopted a pedigree cat for companionship, a solitary bachelor with no children. Life didnt turn out as Id imagined.
Lesson learned: chasing fleeting passions only leaves you emptyhanded when the seasons change; true steadiness comes from accepting what you have and letting go of the endless chase.
