“I handed you over to her myself, with my own hands. And she didn’t hesitate to take you.”
“Lottie, hello. What did you need me for so urgently? Couldn’t you say it over the phone?” Olivia asked, slipping off her jacket as she stepped into the flat.
“Not a phone conversation. Come to the kitchen,” Lottie replied, switching off the hall light and following her friend.
“You’ve got me curious. Go on, then.” Olivia sat at the table, folding her hands like an attentive student, waiting.
Lottie placed an open bottle of red wine and two glasses on the table.
“Wow? It’s that serious? I’m all ears,” Olivia said.
Lottie poured the wine and sat across from her.
“For relaxation and understanding,” she declared theatrically, lifting her glass and taking a sip.
Olivia raised hers but didn’t drink, waiting for Lottie to begin.
“I’m a mess. I’ve fallen so hard I’ve lost my head. Living in a dream, obsessed. I rush to bed just to wake up sooner. Never thought it could happen like this. I loved Peter, but not like this. And now…” Lottie downed her wine in one go.
“You wanted me here just to tell me this?” Olivia set her glass down and stood.
“Sit.” Lottie tugged her back into the chair.
“What about Peter?” Olivia asked, slumping into her seat.
“What about him? We’ve been together seven years. Everything’s fine. Then I met Oliver, and now I’m gone.” Lottie sighed. “Judging me? Ever loved someone like this? No? Then don’t.” Her tone sharpened. “I called you to talk about Peter.”
“Maybe I’ll drink after all.” Olivia took a few sips, nodding approvingly.
“You fancied my husband, didn’t you? Think I didn’t notice how you looked at him?” Lottie tapped her nails on the table.
She’d been skirting the issue, unsure how to say it.
“Don’t be daft,” Olivia scoffed.
Lottie shrugged.
“I’m not jealous. Honestly, it’s better this way. I’ve decided to leave Peter, but I can’t bring myself to tell him. I feel sorry for him.”
“You didn’t feel sorry when you cheated, but now you do? Doesn’t add up, does it?” Olivia took another sip.
“What do you know? He’s good. I shout, snap, wear him down—he just takes it. He knows and stays quiet. He doesn’t deserve this. Understand?”
“No. Explain.”
Lottie refilled her glass.
“I could just say I don’t love him anymore, that I’m leaving. He’d let me go. But what happens to him? Men take breakups hard. His confidence will crash. He might drink, fall apart—worse. I can’t do that to him. Get it now?”
“What’s that got to do with me?”
Lottie rolled her eyes at Olivia’s denseness.
“You like him. Maybe even love him hopelessly.” Lottie studied her. Olivia looked away. “I’d rest easier knowing he was with you and not some…”
“Oh. I see now. You want me to look after Peter while you roll around with your lover? You’re mad. He’s not a toy you pass to a friend when you’re bored!” Olivia drained her glass, wincing.
“Cheers for that. Didn’t know I was better than some floozy. This is insane. Find someone else to palm your husband off on. Have you even asked him if he wants me?” Olivia twisted the empty glass in her fingers.
“That’s up to you,” Lottie leaned closer.
“You’ve lost it. You need help.” Olivia flushed with anger.
“No cure for love, sadly. And yes, I’ve lost my head,” Lottie said flatly.
“What if things don’t work out with this new bloke? Want Peter back then? ‘Thanks for keeping him warm, now hand him over’?” Olivia’s irritation grew.
“I can’t think ahead. All I know is I’d die without Oliver.” Lottie slumped back, disliking the turn of the conversation.
Olivia stayed silent. What was there to say? The wine swirled in her head. Lottie’s plan was absurd—yet, why should Peter go to someone else? She did care about him.
“Help me. Just be there for him. Distract him. Take him to bed if you want. Need me to spell it out?” Lottie’s gaze drifted past her.
“This is mad. Sitting here, drinking, and a wife offers her husband to her friend. Watched too many soaps? Reminds me of that old play—‘If I can’t have you, no one will!’ A gunshot, silence… How’d you even think of this?”
“Don’t shout.” Lottie pressed her fingers to her temples. “Just an offer. Say no, fine. Let him drink himself to ruin.” She raised her glass, eyes closing.
Olivia watched, hypnotized, as she swallowed, the vein in her collarbone pulsing.
“I just want him happy, like I am. If we can’t be happy together, at least apart. I want him safe. In your hands.” Lottie set the empty glass down.
“What’s the debate, girls? Hope it’s not about me. Tsk, drinking,” Peter’s voice sounded from the doorway.
Both turned. Peter stood there, smiling.
“Finally. Coat off, wash up, dinner’s soon. We were just discussing a film,” Lottie said casually, moving to the stove.
Peter returned from the bathroom.
“No glass for me?” he asked, taking Lottie’s seat.
“Later. Can you drive Olivia home? It’s late.” Lottie shot Olivia a meaningful look.
“I’ll call a cab,” Olivia said, missing the hint.
“No need. I’ll take you,” Peter said, eyes on the plate of roast potatoes Lottie set before him.
“Come here, need to tell you something.” Lottie beckoned Olivia into the next room.
Alone, she gripped Olivia’s arm, pulling her close, whispering fiercely:
“Now it’s up to you. When he drops you off, invite him in. Say something’s broken, ask him to check—think of something. Don’t freeze. If he strays first, my cheating won’t crush him as much.”
Olivia stared, wide-eyed.
“You want me to help you betray him? Lie? I won’t. It’s wrong.”
“Fine. Stay noble, then.” Lottie shoved her away.
***
Olivia sat in Peter’s car as it glided through empty streets.
“Sorry you had to drive me instead of relaxing,” she broke the silence.
“Don’t worry. Plenty of time for that. Why the drinking? Lottie’s been off—snapping, laughing hysterically, crying over nothing. She must’ve told you something.” He glanced at her.
“Just gossiping, girl talk.”
“Women’s gossip, my arse. You’re a bad liar. And I’m not blind or deaf.”
Olivia fidgeted.
“Listen, would it be cheeky to ask you to look at my kitchen tap? It’s dripping. Don’t want to flood the neighbors.”
“Now?” He paused. “Alright, I’ll check.”
They rode the lift up, avoiding each other’s eyes.
“Right, show me,” Peter said, kicking off his shoes.
“In here.” Olivia led him to the sink. “Dripping underneath.”
Peter nudged her aside, peering under.
“Seems dry.”
“Really? Had a dish catching it last night.” Her face burned. “Oh, Lottie…”
“Got any tools?”
Olivia returned with a small toolbox.
“My dad’s.”
“Perfect.” He rummaged through it.
Olivia retreated, cursing Lottie. Fifteen minutes later, Peter reappeared.
“Need a new tap. Gaskets are shot, and it’s ancient.”
Nothing she didn’t know. She’d ignored it for months.
“Right. I’ll buy one tomorrow, bring my tools, fit it in the evening.”
“Tea?” Olivia jumped up, relieved he hadn’t caught her lie.
“Nah, best get going.”
They stood facing each other, inches apart. *Why did she ever marry him?* Olivia thought. *I’d never cheat. My heart’s pounding…* She pressed a hand to her chest. *Doesn’t he feel anything?*
Peter noticed her nervousness, the struggle in her eyes. *She’s sweet. Funny. And the way she looks at me… Was Lottie right?*
Some force pulled them together. Their lips met—then they jerked apart, startled.
“You offered tea,” Peter croaked.
Olivia fled to the kitchenLottie watched through the rain-streaked window as Peter’s car disappeared into the night, the weight of her choices settling like stones in her chest as she realized she was truly alone now.
