We met years ago in a tearoom on a cobbled lane in York. Emily Clarke was tucked into a corner, a mug of hot tea steaming beside a plate with a freshly baked scone, while she waited for her friend. Thomas Tom Bennett wandered in, hoping for a cuppa and a quiet moment to mull over his future.
Emily was a striking young woman; Tom was a roguishly handsome fellow for whom striking up a conversation with any lady was hardly a chore. Their eyes met, and it seemed the feeling was mutual.
May I join you at your table? he asked in a tone that left little room for objection.
Certainly, though Im waiting for a friend, and you wont be sitting here long, she replied, breaking off a bite of the scone.
Time is of no consequence to me. I merely wish to introduce myself and exchange numbers. A few minutes will suffice, Tom said brightly.
Who says Ill hand you my number? she retorted, eyes twinkling.
Because you like sweets, and only good people indulge in them. Were a perfect match, as I, too, have a soft spot for sweets, he replied.
So you consider yourself a good soul? she laughed.
Absolutelycant you see? Im a kind and decent chap, Tom proclaimed, taking a sip of his tea.
Its the first time Ive encountered someone so selfconfident, Emily remarked.
And its the first time Ive seen a beauty such as yourself, Tom said, extending his hand.
Emily, she said, offering her palm. He took it, gave it a gentle squeeze, and kissed her with such fervour that Emily felt a sudden heat.
Dont you think youre being a bit forward with a complete stranger? she asked, a hint of amusement in her voice.
Me? Im as shy as a mouse. Besides, Im speaking to the loveliest woman in the room, Tom replied, flashing a grin.
Emily lifted her left hand to reveal a modest gold band. Im married, Tom.
Does that stop anyone? he shrugged. Today married, tomorrow freemarriage these days is as fragile as a china cup.
By my upbringing, marriage is forever. So, dear sir, I think its time we part ways, Emily said gently.
What are you saying? I feel theres no ill will on either side. Lets at least swap numbersno strings attached. If we ever wish to talk again, well need them, Tom insisted.
Youre quite the confident one. Why should I trust you with my number? she asked.
Im not confident, just naïve. If were fond of each other, why not meet again? he chanted, his smile disarming.
Very well, dictate it to me, Emily said, reciting her digits.
Ill call you now; youll have my number too. Keep it safe; youll need it, Tom replied.
Of course, Ill keep it, Emily promised, then added, Youd better find another seat. I see my friend arriving, and I have no appetite for idle gossip.
No worries, Ill disappear. But well meet again, I assure you, Tom said, gathering his mug and slipping into the far corner of the tearoom.
A week later Tom rang Emily. She, having expected his call, agreed to meet again at the same tearoom.
Emily, Tom began, Id like to get to know you better.
Tom, she sipped her tea, Im married. I work as a nurse at St. Marys Hospital, and while I could meet you, my husbandJames Whitakerkeeps a close watch. He served overseas and now runs an underground fighting club for youths. Hes strong, fierce, and Id never betray him. Besides, I abhor infidelity; its downright dangerous.
Emily, Tom said firmly, I like you, and I cant just walk away. Im a software developer, not a brute, and Im not frightened of your husband. Id love to be friends and perhaps more.
Tom earned a modest living writing code for a small firm in Leeds, making enough to indulge in occasional romances. He was a confirmed bachelor, never missing a chance to flirt. Emily caught his eye, and he was determined to win her over.
They met again, and the encounter set the tone for what followed. Emily told James she was working a night shift, then spent the night at Toms modest flat. Neither noticed how swiftly affection grew, and soon they met whenever they could, often in Toms cramped flat.
One evening Emily called: James is away on a competition for a week, so Ill be expecting you at my flat tonight.
Is it safe? Tom asked. Perhaps we should meet at my place as usual.
No, I want you here. Ill cook a romantic dinner; I cant keep meeting in your bachelor cave, she replied.
Alright, Ill be there, Tom promised.
At the appointed hour Tom arrived bearing a bouquet, a bottle of champagne, a fine red wine, a cake, and a box of chocolates. Emilys dinner was delightful; the champagne and wine loosened their tongues, and after the meal they retired to the bedroom, the night promising as much romance as the candlelit supper.
At two oclock a harsh knock sounded on the door. They sprang from the bed, bewildered. Emily peered through the peephole.
Its James, Tomthis is the end! Hide somewhere! she whispered.
Where? Tom asked, panic rising.
I dont know, think fast! Emily stammered.
Whos there? she called, halfasleep.
Emily, open up! Cant you recognise me? shouted a boozy voice from the hallway. It was James, swaying and slurring.
I left my keys at the office, thats why Im banging. Open up, quick! he demanded.
What do we do? Emily, trembling, looked at Tom.
Open the door, we have no choice, James replied, his face pale as a sheet.
Tom shoved his belongings under the bed and, still in his underpants, fled to the bathroom.
Where have you been drinking so much? Emily called from the hallway. Why didnt you leave?
We broke down on the road, our mates rode back in cars. We stopped for a quick drink at a pub and got stuck, James slurred.
Just a quick drink, you cant even stand! Emily shouted.
Dont worry, love, Ive got everything under control. I just need the loo, he muttered.
Use it tomorrow, go back to bed now, Emily said sternly. Back to the bedroom, sleep!
Emily, I need the loo now! James pleaded.
The drunken man sang loudly, his deep bass echoing: No, no, I want it now, no, no, I want it now! He laughed like a child at his own joke.
He headed for the toilet. The combined bathroom and lavatory baffled Tomwho had never seen such a layout. The toilet was absurdly close to the bath, a design Tom could not fathom.
Emily froze, unable to utter a word. Fear seized her; she imagined the worst and closed her eyes, bracing for the nightmare she thought was imminent. Yet no sound rose from the bathroom. How could James not see Tom? Where could he be hidden in that tiny room?
Inside the bathroom, half the walls were tiled up to a sturdy ledge. Tom scrambled onto the ledge, then sprawled himself in a corner, hugging the walls for support. The drunk James, fixated on the toilet, failed to notice him.
Emily, bewildered, stood at the bathroom door, trembling like a leaf. When Tom saw Jamess hulking form and clenched fists, he realised that if his pursuer spotted him, it would be his last romantic encounteror perhaps his last day alive. He held his breath, remaining as still as a statue.
James lingered on the toilet, singing his chaotic lullaby, oblivious to the cramped corner where Tom lay. A faint smell of stale ale and disinfectant wafted upward, tickling Toms nose. He tried to pull a hand away from the wall to wipe his nose, but his grip slipped, and he began to lose balance. Falling would mean landing in the arms of a jealous husband with the strength of a titan.
He forced a mighty sneeze, the echo rebounding off the tiled walls like thunder. James, startled, looked up and seemed to glimpse a strange figureperhaps a painted crucifix on the wallbefore his eyes glazed over. In a dazed panic, he slumped from the toilet, hitting the floor with a thud.
Tom seized the moment, leapt from the ledge, and bolted through the hallway. Emily, pale as plaster, could not comprehend the commotion. Tom gathered his few belongings, sprinted down the stairs of the twelvestorey block, his feet bare, his coat flapping. No lift could have matched the speed of his flight; fear was a swifter carriage.
A few minutes later James, the heady fog lifting, raised his eyes again, seeing only the empty corridor. Drink less, Emily chided him later, recalling the absurd night.
Thus the tale of Tom, Emily, and the jealous husband lives on, a reminder of how love, folly, and a night of too much spirit can twist into a story told over countless cups of tea.
