Are you honestly planning to spend your entire Saturday, rummaging through rubbish in the garage? All day? Charlotte speared a bit of Victoria sponge with her fork and lifted an eyebrow sceptically at the tall, slightly ginger chap seated across from her.
John leant back in his battered old armchair, warming his palms on a mug of lukewarm cappuccino.
Charlotte It isnt rubbish, its the treasures of my youth. Somewhere in there, Im sure theres my old collection of Wrigleys wrappers. Do you realise what a trove that is?
Heavens above. You still have those wrappers? From which year, exactly?
Charlotte snorted with laughter, shoulders shaking as she tried to contain it. That café, with its sagging, plum-coloured couches and eternally misty windowpanes, had become their space long ago. The waitress, Sarah, never bothered to ask their order she simply brought cappuccino for John, a latte for Charlotte, and the days sweet for them to share. After fifteen years of friendship, their ritual required no rehearsal.
Alright, I confess, John saluted her with his mug, the garage can wait. So can the treasure. Arthurs invited us round for a barbecue on Sunday, anyway.
I know! He spent three hours poring over new charcoal barbecues online yesterday. Three hours, John. I thought I might actually die of boredom.
Their laughter blended with the chugging of the espresso machine and the quiet hum of conversation from neighbouring tables.
…Between them, there were never awkward silences nor unspoken things they knew each other as well as their own hands. Charlotte remembered meeting John for the first time hed been a lanky boy in year eight with perpetually untied shoelaces, the first to speak to her in a new class. John remembered how Charlotte, alone among the pupils, never mocked his heavy horn-rimmed glasses.
Arthur had accepted their friendship from the beginning, without suspicion or envy. He watched his wife and her childhood friend with the benign calm of someone certain of himself and those he loves. On their Friday evenings playing Monopoly or Uno, Arthur always laughed loudest when John suffered another defeat at Scrabble, topping up their mugs with tea as those two debated the rules of charades.
He cheats, thats why hes always winning, Charlotte had once declared, tossing a handful of playing cards towards her husband.
Thats called tactics, my darling wife, Arthur replied, collecting the scattering cards with a straight face.
John watched their easy banter, always with an affectionate smile. He liked Arthur solid, reliable, with a wry sense of humour so dry you wouldnt at first know if he was joking. Beside Arthur, Charlotte softened, grew happier, and John rejoiced for her with the easy joy only a true friend can summon.
All was in balance until Victoria appeared and upset their small, steady world…
…Arthurs sister had arrived on their doorstep a month ago, eyes red from crying and an air of desperate resolution about her. The divorce had wrung her out, leaving a hollow ache where once thered been a bit of stability.
The first evening John dropped in for their usual board games, Victoria glanced up from her phone to take his measure. Some ancient mechanism seemed to click into place inside her. Here was a man, calm, kind-eyed, with the sort of smile that made you want to smile back.
This is John, my oldest friend from school, Charlotte introduced. And this is Victoria, Arthurs sister.
Lovely to meet you, John said, hand outstretched.
Victoria held his hand a fraction longer than was strictly polite.
The pleasures mine.
From that moment on, Victorias accidental appearances became a predictable pattern. Shed appear at their usual café just when Charlotte and John were there. Shed breezily sashay into the room with a plateful of biscuits moments after John arrived. Shed squeeze in beside him for a board game, so close that their shoulders brushed.
Could you pass me that card, just there? Victoria leaned across him, her hair trailing, seemingly by accident, against his neck. Oops, sorry.
John would edge politely away, muttering his apologies. Charlotte exchanged looks with Arthur, but he merely shrugged; his sister had always been a little much.
The flirting soon became less subtle. Victoria lingered on Johns face, complimented him, found every cause for a touch. She laughed so shrilly at his jokes that it made Charlottes ears ring.
What elegant hands you have, such long fingers very distinguished, Victoria declared one evening, catching Johns hand over the box of tokens. Are you a musician?
Er a programmer, actually.
Still, very graceful.
John extricated his hand with care and pretended to focus on his cards, his ears flushed pink.
After her third invitation for a friendly coffee, John yielded. He did like Victoria she was vivacious, warm, full of life. Perhaps, he thought, if something genuine came of it, shed finally quit those hungry looks, and everything else might return to normal.
The first stretch of their romance went well enough. Victoria glowed, John relaxed, and family evenings became simply that again.
But then Victoria saw what shed rather not have noticed.
She saw how John lit up whenever Charlotte joined them. She saw the softening of his features, the warmth. The way they leapt into each others jokes, finished off each others sentences, the strange, unspoken tie between them that she could never quite reach.
Jealousy unfurled in Victorias chest, a poisonous bloom.
Why are you always with her? Victoria confronted him, arms folded across her chest, blocking the door.
Because shes my friend. Fifteen years of friendship, Victoria. Thats
But Im your girlfriend! Me! Not her!
Arguments came in waves. Victoria sobbed, accused, demanded. John explained, placated, pleaded.
You think of her more than you do me!
Nonsense, Victoria, were just old friends, that’s all.
Just friends dont look at each other like that!
Johns phone never stopped. When he was out with Charlotte, it buzzed again and again.
Where are you? When will you be home? Why arent you answering? Are you with her again?
He learnt to silence it, but then Victoria started showing up in person in the café, the park, even outside Charlottes house flushed and furious.
Please, Victoria, John massaged his temples. This isnt healthy.
What isnt healthy is you spending more time with someone elses wife than with me!
Charlotte grew weary too. Every meeting became a test: when would Victoria appear, and what drama would she choreograph this time?
Perhaps I ought to see you less often, Charlotte started, but John cut her off:
No. Absolutely not. You arent changing your life for her tantrums. None of us will.
But Victoria had already made up her mind. If she couldnt have things fair and square, shed have them otherwise.
Arthur sat in the kitchen, calmly reading, when Victoria glided in.
Arthur… I need to tell you something. I didnt want to, but you deserve to know the truth…
She doled out her story in sobs and gasps. Secret meetings. Long glances. How John held Charlottes hand when he thought no one was watching.
Arthur listened patiently, not interrupting once, his face giving nothing away.
When Charlotte and John entered the flat an hour later, the air in the lounge was thick as treacle. Arthur reclined in his favourite chair as though awaiting a West End performance.
Sit down, he said, gesturing to the sofa. My sisters just told me an intriguing tale about your secret little romance.
Charlotte froze. John clenched his jaw.
What the
She says shes witnessed some highly compromising things.
Victoria shrank into herself, unable to meet anyones gaze.
John turned on her, so abruptly she started.
Thats enough, Victoria. Ive tolerated your nonsense far too long!
His face was white with rage. The gentle, patient John was gone; in his place, a man at the end of his tether.
Were finished. Now.
You cant
Real tears sprung to Victorias eyes this time.
Its her fault! Victoria cried, pointing at Charlotte. Youre always choosing her, always!
Charlotte waited, letting Victoria have out her venom.
You know, Victoria, she said quietly, if you hadnt tried to control his every moment, if you hadnt caused a scene at every turn, none of this would have happened. You broke your own happiness trying so hard to keep it.
Victoria snatched her bag and fled, slamming the door behind her.
At that, Arthur laughed truly, with head thrown back, a deep release.
Good Lord, thank heaven for that.
He rose and pulled Charlotte close, squeezing her shoulders.
You didnt believe a word she said, did you? she murmured, nose pressed to his collar.
Not for a moment. Ive watched you two for years, Charlotte. Youre like squabbling siblings fighting over the last sweet.
John let out a long breath, and at last, the tension eased.
Sorry for dragging you all into this circus.
Dont apologise. Victorias a grown woman; her actions are her own. Now on to dinner. The lasagnes getting cold, and I dont intend to reheat it for the sake of another melodrama.
Charlotte laughed then, quietly and with relief. Her little world remained whole. Friendship had stood its trial, and her husband had once again proved his trust was unshakeable.
They moved to the kitchen, where golden lasagne crackled under the warm lights, and the world outside seemed, at last, to return to its usual calm.
