We first met in a small café on a misty London street. Emily was seated at a corner table, waiting for a friend. Before her lay a steaming mug of coffee and a slice of Victoria sponge. Thomas drifted in for a cup of tea and a moment to ponder the road ahead.
Emily was a striking young woman, and Thomas, a friendly fellow who never shied away from making conversation. He found her attractive, and it seemed she felt the same.
May I join you? he asked, his tone leaving little room for refusal.
Sure, she replied, but Im waiting for my friend, so you wont have to linger long.
I wont, Thomas said, I just need a few minutes to exchange numbers.
Who told you Id give you my number? Emily snapped, breaking off a bite of the cake.
Because you love sweets, and sweet things are liked by kind people, he replied. And Im a sweettooth myself.
So youre a kind soul? she laughed.
Of course. Cant you see it? Im a very decent chap, he said, taking a sip of his tea.
Never have I seen such a selfassured man, Emily remarked.
And Ive never seen a beauty like you, Thomas replied, extending his hand.
Emily, she said, offering her hand.
Thomas, he answered, taking her hand, squeezing it gently, and planting a kiss so bold it seemed to set the air aflame.
Forgive my forwardness, she said, but arent you being a bit pushy with a complete stranger?
Pushy? Im not the sort to be pushy. Besides, its you Im addressing, the most delightful lady in the room.
Emily lifted her left hand, revealing a simple gold band. Im married.
Does that stop anyone? Thomas shrugged. One day youre wed, the next youre not. Marriages these days are as fragile as glass.
You see, Emily said, my family believes marriage is forever. So, dear fellow, perhaps its time we went our separate ways.
What are you saying? Thomas pleaded. I feel theres something between us. Lets swap numbersno promises, just a chance to talk again.
Why should I give you my number? she asked.
Im not arrogant, just straightforward. If we like each other, why not meet again? he said, his smile disarming her.
Fine, dictating my number now, Emily murmured, reciting the digits.
Ill call you now, and youll keep my number as a backup, he replied. Youll need it later.
Very well, she said. Ill save it. And perhaps you should sit elsewhere; I see my friend arriving, and Id rather avoid idle gossip.
Understood, Thomas said, gathering his mug and slipping into the far corner of the café.
A week later Thomas rang Emily. Shed been awaiting his call, so she agreed to meet again in the same establishment.
Emily, Thomas began, Id like to get to know you better.
Thomas, she sipped her tea, I am married. I work as a nurse at St. Marys, and I could, in theory, see you. But my husband, James, is very jealous. He served overseas as a contractor and now runs a youthmartialarts club. Hes strong, proud, and Id never betray him. Besides, I abhor infidelity; its downright dangerous.
Emily, Thomas said earnestly, youve captured my heart. I cant just walk away. Though Im a software developer earning enough to keep the lights on, Im not afraid of your husband. I simply want to be close to you and be your friend.
Thomas earned a modest living at a modest tech firm in Camden, enough to indulge in occasional romantic flings. He was a confirmed bachelor, never passing up a pretty face, and Emily was no exception. He sensed a spark between them and was determined to fan it.
They met again, and that encounter sealed the course of their affair. Emily told James she was staying late at the hospital, then spent the night at Thomass flat. Neither noticed how quickly love had taken root; they could no longer be apart. Their rendezvous grew frequent whenever circumstances allowed.
One evening Emily called Thomas.
James is away on a competition for a week, so Ill be expecting you at my place tonight.
Is that safe? Thomas asked. Maybe we should meet at my flat, as usual.
No, Emily replied. Ill cook a romantic dinner, and well sit like proper people. Im tired of meeting in your bachelor cave.
Alright, Ill be there this evening.
When the clock struck eight, Thomas arrived at Emilys door bearing a bouquet, a bottle of champagne, a case of red wine, a cake, and a box of chocolates. She had prepared a delightful meal; the champagne and wine loosened their tongues, and after dinner they retired to the bedroom, the night promising as much romance as the candlelit supper.
At two a.m. a frantic knocking jolted them from the bed.
Its James, Thomas! Hide! Emily hissed.
Where? he whispered, panic rising.
I dont know, decide yourself! she replied, trembling.
Whos there? she asked, halfasleep.
Emily, open up, love, you dont recognise me? a slurred voice called from the hall. I left my keys at work, so Im knocking. Let me in.
What do we do? Emily asked, eyes wide.
Open the door, what else can we do? the drunken James croaked, his face as pale as a sheet.
Thomas shoved his belongings beneath the bed and, still in his underpants, darted into the bathroom.
Where have you been so drunk? James shouted from the hallway. Why didnt you leave?
The bus broke down, my mates had to find rides home, so we stopped for a quick drink at the pub and got held up, Thomas stammered.
Just a quick drink, James muttered, you can barely stand!
Dont worry, my dear, Ive got everything under control. I just need the loo.
Go to the loo tomorrow, Emily commanded, and now back to bed!
Emily, I need the loo now! James wailed, his breath reeking of ale.
His boisterous singing filled the corridor: No, no, no, I want it now, now, now!
He made a beeline for the bathroom, the very one Thomas had hidden in. The cramped layouta toilet beside the bathtubwas a design Thomas could not comprehend. Emily froze, paralyzed by fear, as the sounds from the bathroom grew louder.
Inside, Thomas clambered onto the tiled ledge, wedged himself against the wall, and pressed his back flat against the damp tiles, trying not to be seen. James, eyes fixed on the porcelain, never noticed the trembling figure behind him.
Thomas held his breath, his heart pounding. The bathrooms narrow space amplified every creak; when he finally sneezed, the sound echoed like thunder.
James, startled, looked up and seemed to glimpse a cross-shaped stain on the wall, as if a small crucifix had appeared. Shocked, he swayed, stumbled, and fell back onto the toilet, his head hitting the porcelain.
Emily, hearing the crash, ran to the door, eyes wide with terror.
Seeing James sprawled on the floor, Thomas seized the moment, scrambled out, gathered his few belongings, and bolted down the stairs barefoot, his shirt flapping. He raced past the lift banks, taking the emergency stairs with a speed no elevator could match.
Emily, still in the hallway, called after him, Drink less, James!
And so, long after that night, the tale of Thomas, Emily, and the jealous James lingered in whispered recollections, a reminder of loves reckless bravery and the absurdity of chance encounters in the smoky heart of London.
