James pulled his Jaguar up beside the shopping centre, reluctant to leave the warmth of the car. Yesterday’s sleet had turned to rain, and overnight, a bitter wind had frozen it all into a treacherous, uneven crust of ice. Pedestrians were slipping and sliding as they hurried along.
His mum’s birthday was tomorrow, and James had left gift shopping to the last minute. No matter—the big department store would have something perfect.
He stepped out, and a gust of wind immediately flipped open his coat, sending one end of his scarf flying. Gripping his coat, he locked the car and took a step toward the building—only to nearly lose his footing. The ice hadn’t been gritted yet, and his smart leather shoes had no tread.
Somehow, he made it inside, exhaling in relief. He headed for the scarves section, then remembered—he’d given his mum a lovely one last year.
“Jim! Blimey, is that you?” A familiar voice called out from near the jeweller’s.
Standing there was Harry, his oldest, truest mate—and, as it turned out, his only one.
“Bloody hell, look at you! Been ages, hasn’t it? You’re all posh now—what, shopping in Harrods these days?”
“Hey. Just got back, actually,” James said, a little sheepish.
“Perfect timing. Listen, let’s grab a cuppa, yeah?” Harry clapped him on the shoulder.
“Can’t—here for a birthday present,” James muttered.
“Wait… Emily’s birthday’s tomorrow, innit?”
“You *remember*?” James brightened.
“Course I do. Right, go on then—don’t let me stop you. But I’m holding you to a proper catch-up soon. Here—” Harry shoved a business card into James’s hand. “Call me, or I’ll hunt you down, swear on me mum.”
As James picked out earrings for his mum, his mind kept drifting back to Harry. He’d been so awkward, like he hadn’t even been happy to see him. But he *was*—just shocked, that’s all.
He reached for his wallet—then froze. Harry’s business card was tucked inside. *Deputy Director, Holt Construction*. Blimey.
“Sorry,” James muttered, realising the cashier was waiting. “Ran into an old mate back there. Been years, you know how it is.”
He paid, left, and drove home, lost in memories…
***
They’d stood side by side on their first day of school, both clutching identical bouquets of daffodils, both wide-eyed with excitement. When they lined up to go inside, they’d grabbed each other’s hands without a word. Sat at the same desk.
That’s how their friendship began. They bickered—what lads didn’t?—but Harry always apologised first.
Even when they chose different unis, they didn’t argue. They’d always stay mates, no matter what.
Harry went to Imperial for engineering; James to King’s College for languages. Weekends were for pints and endless chatter.
Engineering was a bloke’s world—hardly any girls. But languages? A sea of them. James only had eyes for one—petite, fiery Charlotte, with her endless laugh and wild curls.
He took ages to pluck up the courage to talk to her. One day, he finally asked for help with a translation.
“Just say you fancy me,” she teased.
“I do. Can I walk you home?” The words tumbled out.
“Go on, then.”
Walking through London that spring, James was the happiest man alive. That night, he replayed every smile, every glance. Could barely sleep.
He walked her home nearly every day. April’s chill gave way to May’s warmth, but he still hadn’t kissed her. Exams were coming—then she’d be off to Spain with her parents, then her gran’s in Edinburgh. The thought twisted his stomach.
His last chance? His birthday—end of May. He’d invite her over, introduce her to his parents, finally tell her he loved her.
She said yes straight away. Bold now, he asked her to bring her flatmate, Sophie.
“Sophie? Why?”
“So Harry won’t be bored. Engineering’s a desert for girls—nothing like you lot.”
She laughed. “Fine. But what if he hates her?”
“Won’t matter. Just no third-wheeling.”
Morning of, his mum fussed in the kitchen. James tried to help but kept getting underfoot. “Which shirt, Mum? Tie or no tie?”
“Stop panicking. Lay the table.” She swatted him playfully. “I’ll like her if you do.”
Harry arrived, calming James a bit—until the girls were late.
“What if she changed her mind?” James fretted.
“Ladies are always late. Get used to it,” his dad said.
Then—the doorbell. James sprinted for it.
His parents and Harry all noticed Sophie first—tall, blonde, stunning. But James introduced *Charlotte*—sweet, ordinary Charlotte—as his girl.
Dinner was awkward. Harry cracked jokes; Charlotte laughed at every one, forgetting James entirely. Finally, he dragged Harry outside.
“What the hell, mate? She’s *mine*.”
“Not my fault she fancies me.”
“So you’re *encouraging* her?”
“Alright, chill. I’m not interested. Sophie, though—*she’s* fit.”
“Not funny.”
“Dead serious. But fine—I’ll back off. Let’s go in before they think we’ve scarpered.”
Back inside, Charlotte pulled Harry up to dance. He shot James an *I’m sorry* look but went along.
James danced with Sophie—until she stopped, clutching her eye.
“Something’s in my eye—where’s the loo?”
He led her, but she grabbed his wrist before he could leave. “Can you check?”
No speck. When they returned—the others were gone.
“Where’d they go?” James demanded.
“Think Harry walked her home. Fancy that,” Sophie said lightly, grabbing her coat.
His parents returned just as she left.
“You’re *not* walking her?” his mum scolded.
He did, fuming. Later, he called Harry.
“Sorry, mate. Shouldn’t’ve vanished with Sophie. But Charlotte *asked* me to walk her—what was I s’posed to do?”
Their first real fight.
After exams, he bumped into Harry *and* Charlotte.
“We were looking for you!” Harry grinned. “Fancy the lido? Water’s freezing, but we’re opening swim season.”
James scowled the whole way. The lido was packed—kids splashing, though only the brave were diving in.
Staring at the water, tension thick, Charlotte finally snapped.
“God, you two! James, I never promised you anything. I like you *both*.”
Harry shrugged. James squinted across the pool.
“Race you to the other side,” Charlotte declared. “Whoever wins, dates me. Fair?”
James swam well—had lessons as a kid. Harry? Hopeless.
“It’s freezing. Cramp’ll kill me,” Harry muttered, eyeing the distance.
“Chickening out?” Charlotte taunted.
“He knows I’ll win,” James said coldly.
“Bet?” Harry plunged in.
James waited, then swam—smooth, strong. He overtook Harry easily… until shouting made him turn.
Harry wasn’t there. Just chaos on the shore—Charlotte screaming, lads diving in.
James swam back. Saw Harry’s head bob up, then vanish. *He’s drowning.*
He and another bloke hauled Harry out. James did CPR until Harry coughed up water.
Charlotte dropped to her knees. “I didn’t know you couldn’t swim!”
Harry stood, trembling, wrapped in a towel someone handed him. Without a word, he grabbed his things and walked off.
James chased him.
“You won,” Harry said at his door, still pale.
“Don’t be daft. You’d have saved me too.”
Harry gave him a strange look and disappeared inside.
***
Years passed. James never married. But Harry did.
From afar, James watched a wedding car pull away. Assumed it was Charlotte.
He called the next day.
“Harry! Congrats—heard about the baby!”
“Cheers, mate! Been too long. Fancy a pint?”
“Love one. Charlotte must be chuffed.”
“Charlotte? Nah—married Sophie. Remember her?”
James *grinned*.
Harry laughed. “Got a sister-in-law, if you’re interested.”
The ice melted. They talked for hours—about school, daffodils, everything but *her*.
Giddy, James hopped in his car. Time to buy gifts—for Harry’s newborn son.
