Happiness in Little Things
19th May
Tonight, the Crown and Anchor was living up to its reputation. The place hadnt lost its charm, with its old oak beams and the comforting clatter of glasses and laughter. Our old university lotgraduates of the School of Artswere reuniting after a whole decade. Ten years! The last time we congregated, we were clutching our degrees, barely holding our nerves, heads full of endless possibilities and worry about what the world held for us. Now, with nearly as much trepidation, we were preparing to see whod changed, whod stayed the same, and how lifes dice had rolled.
Some had travelled from other corners of England, a couple brought their spouses along in the hope that theyd see old friends in kind faceseven if theyd never met them before. Some, like me, came alone, but welcomed the chance to be swept up in nostalgia, the promise of old jokes and familiar company.
In one of the cosier upstairs rooms reserved for guests, Alicemy dearest friend since our freshers weekwas helping me finish getting ready. She was focusedher brow furrowed in that way she always did when she was being carefulfastening the last pearl button on my light blue chiffon dress. I watched her hands move with care, the softness of the fabric a familiar reassurance.
To be honest, Martha, Im surprised you decided to come, Alice said as she adjusted the collar. Given all those memoriesespecially Oliver and his over-the-top advances! Hell turn up, mind you; you do know that.
I turned, catching a few stray strands of chestnut hair and tucking them back, my lips naturally curving into a smile. There was a sense of anticipation in the airand yes, genuinely, I wanted to see them all, catch up, and witness the ten years theyd worn since our last meeting. Oliver? Well, time has a way of softening awkward chapters. Surely hed outgrown his puppyish ways by now.
Why not? I replied, running my hand along the chiffon like it might steady my thoughts. Im curious! I want to see how everyones changed, and James pushed me to gosaid he was interested to see the crowd I spent my wild university days with.
Alice snorted, then trotted across the room to claim the pair of pale heels with little pearls on the toes. She rotated them in her hands, contemplating whether theyd work, then tossed me a sly look.
James is a proper one. Gold dust, that man of yours.
I laughed, slipping the shoes on; that extra inch of heel gave me more poise and confidence instantly.
Hes wonderful, I answered simply, meeting Alices eyes. He loves mereally loves me. Thats something, isnt it?
She rolled her eyes playfully but linked her arm through mine. Lets go then, before we miss all the best stories.
As we made our way downstairs, warm bursts of recognition came at every turnsmiles, light hugs, and that odd mixture of nerves and joy as name after name resurfaced. I hadnt seen most of my former classmates since graduation. My imagination ran wildhad one set up an art studio? Was another living the London high life, or maybe chairing a little theatre troupe in Bath? And who, perhaps, had stayed almost the samestill the joker of the group, or the quiet dreamer in her grey jumper, notepad never far from her hands.
I spotted Sophie firstshe waved madly from near the grand mirror, her dress as bright as her laughter, eyes dancing with excitement.
Martha! Youre here! she practically sang, enveloping me in a bearlike hug. God, just look at usweve not changed a bit! Now, brace yourself, its quite a whirlwind in here tonight.
She stayed close, almost as if afraid I might disappear, then nodded towards the crowded doorway.
Look who it is
Turning, I saw Oliver. Hed arrived with the confidence of someone who believes all eyes will (and should) be on him. His navy suit hung elegantly, nearly too crisp, the cut and fabric first-class. On his wrist, a designer watch caught the light, and a tall blondeher dress dripping with sequinswalked at his side.
Oliver surveyed the room with a calculated ease, but then his gaze stoppedright on me. For just a second, time slackened. He smiled, a touch softer than I remember, and with a few strides he was before us.
Martha, he saidhis voice level, routine, but I caught something caged behind it, like he had spent the drive rehearsing what not to say. Good to see you.
Oliver, I replied. My smile was real, if a bit unsurea blend of curiosity and guardedness. Likewise. Hows life treating you?
He adjusted his lapel almost absent-mindedly, though I noticed the monogram that had cost him extra. It was a deliberate showlook at my expensive suit, look at my success.
Really well, actually, he said, as if the words needed reinforcement. Senior director at a firm, wifes a model, flat in Chelsea its come together, you know?
His wife nodded, arching her brow ever so slightly. She looked me overmeasuring, in a not entirely unkind way, as if deciding what to make of an old flame from her husbands past.
Thats brilliant, I offered, determined not to let the edge sit between us. Im pleased for you, truly.
Oliver squinted ever so slightly, studying my face for a flicker of envy.
And you? he asked, with a hint of polite condescension. Still working at the music school?
Yes, I noddedand I couldnt help the warmth that spread across my cheeks. I love it. The children are sweet, and my colleagues are wonderful. We just put on The Nutcracker last term; months of rehearsals, sewing costumes, the whole bit. These kidsthey light up on stage. Its hard work but its magic.
Oliver was quiet, as if he didnt expect such open joy.
And your husbandJames, right? His tone was unreadable, maybe a little clipped. Still a coach?
He is. He works with the kids at the sports centre now. He coaches the tiniest ones, theyre all completely in love with him. They run after him, copy his every move, and he never loses his patienceeven when theyre utter terrors.
I felt a glow of prideJames was so far from grand gestures and flashiness, yet everything he did meant so much. My words were nothing but plain truth.
I see Oliver tilted his head, eyes narrowing, as if trying to glimpse in me something previously overlooked. It cant be simple, living on a teachers wage and a coachs salary
A little knot formed in my chestnot out of offence, but an old, familiar sense of weighing up your life against somebody elses expectations. Still, I refused to let him see it, and offered my best smilethe kind that always softened people, that had helped me through a hundred difficult days.
Were happy, Oliver. James is the kindest man I knowhe helps, supports, truly loves me. You remember me going on about bluebells? I saw him try and recall. Every spring when they bloom, he finds some for me. On weekendseven knackered from coachinghe makes me breakfast. Pancakes, scrambled eggs, toast, whatever I fancy. If Im ill, he reads to me, makes endless cups of tea with honey and lemon, and never complains.
Oliver hesitated, his lips pressing thin as if he expected a different scriptsomething that would prove hed bet right all those years ago. But I had no regrets to offer.
So you dont ever wonder if you could have chosen better? he asked quietly, almost to himself.
I held his gaze and shook my head. Not once. I never have.
I didnt need to tell him about our little flat, how laughter echoed off the kitchen tiles, how everyday rituals brought warmth to the simplest life. I didnt have to explain how our love showed in gestures, small and consistent, rather than in glamorous gestures. My eyes told him what he couldnt read: a quiet happiness that doesnt require validation.
Just then, James appeared. He wore a plain shirt and his best pair of jeans, carrying nothing of status or bravado in the way he moved. Yet the moment he smiled, looping one arm comfortably about my waist, every unwelcome thought slipped away.
Evening, said James, gentle as always. Mind if I steal my wife for a bit?
Olivers jaw tightened, hands fidgeting, but he gave a clipped, Of course.
James led me away, his hand resting at my elbow. As we found our own table near the window, I felt a wave of gratitudenot just because he sensed I needed space, but because with him, everything was grounded, true.
I glanced back at Oliverstill at the edge of the gathering, isolated by his own sense of competition. He looked out over the crowd with a hollowness that, for all his apparent successes, he couldnt mask. Hed spent years chasing measurable achievements, believing happiness was found in expensive suits and brand-new cars. But now, looking at James and me, it seemed he questioned the cost of such things.
The night wore on; laughter grew louder, inhibitions fell away, and stories of early adulthood spilled across the tables. Old in-jokes, university plays, cramming for examsthese tales sparked nostalgia and pride, shiny photos thrown around to illustrate children grown and travels taken.
Oliver tried to keep up, lips smiling, eyes wandering. Even as he conversed politely, his focus kept sliding back to the corner of the room where James whispered a joke and I burst out laughing. Each time he saw me chuckle or lay a hand on Jamess arm, his grip tightened around his glass.
He wasnt angling for a dramatic confrontationinstead, he seemed almost lost. The man whod always known which box to tick or which deal to close, now exposed to a life hed dismissed as unspectacular and yet found himself quietly envying.
As the party faded, people gathered their things. James made sure my scarf was snug around my neck before we stepped outside, and I tucked my arm through his, resting my head on his shoulder as we strolled into the cool spring night.
Are you alright? James asked softly, squeezing my hand.
I nodded, my breath visible in the night air, Better than alright. The cares of the evening had slipped awaytheir power reduced to nothing between the pools of lamplight and the gentle rhythm of our walk. I’d realised (again) that other peoples expectations didnt matter. My life, tethered to James and its honest routine, was exactly as I wished.
Olivers still chasing the story he started at university. He cant believe someone could be genuinely happy without all the extras.
James paused under a streetlight, turning me towards him, his palm warm against my cheek. I love you. I really do. Lets never measure ourselves by anyone elses standards.
I hugged him, breathing in the familiar scent of home in his shirt. For those moments, there were only the two of us, our shared happiness undimmed by comparison.
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Oliver returned late to his flat. It was silent and cold, the only noise his own footsteps. His wife was already asleep; he didnt disturb her, wandered instead to his study with only the lamp for company. He poured a whisky, but didnt drink it, his eyes landing on a faded group photo.
There we all were: the School of Arts, class of 2014. I was in the centre, laughing, hair all a mess, alive to the camera. Oliver, off to the side in an expensive jacket, forcing a smile, eyes full of longing. He remembered desperately trying to impress me, the flowers, the invitationsnever quite landing.
What did I miss? he murmured to the stillness.
The answer was in the silence. Success hadnt filled the gap. Glancing at his own reflection, he finally saw itthe hollowness lurking beneath his achievements. Years of effort to prove himself, yet the thing he wanted most was the simplest, the quietestfound not in accomplishment, but in everyday love.
He placed the photo back down, glancing out into the city lights that were suddenly so far away. Happiness, he realised, was built on small, steadfast moments hed spent his whole life overlooking.
