I still look back, as if through a faded photograph, on that strange morning many years ago when my former wife and my new companion happened to cross paths.
My wife, Margaret, and I had gone our separate ways a few months earlier, and I had taken a modest rented flat in a quiet suburb of Birmingham. Though the split was uneasy, we managed to keep a civil rapport. About a month before the incident, Margaret turned up at my flat just after dawn, intent on retrieving a document she needed from our old laptop.
I was not alone. Emily, a lively young woman considerably younger than Margaret, was staying with me. We had begun seeing each other even before the divorce was finalised. As Margaret stepped through the front door, Emily slipped out of the bathroom, a single towel wrapped loosely around her slender frame. She passed Margaret and, without missing a beat, said,
Good morning, Margaret.
Margaret replied, Good morning, Emily.
Both women froze for a heartbeat, then Emily blushed and muttered, Well, I suppose that puts an end to my chance of a passing grade. The two of them burst into laughter, and I stood there feeling as foolish as a bull in a china shop, watching the scene unfold.
The very next day, Emily received the grade automatically, as if the universe had a sense of humour.
Now, when I think of that day, I cant help but fret that perhaps the two might become friends after all. Should I be worried, or will everything turn out all right?
