**The Bouquet**
I lay on my bed, eyes half-shut. Across the room, Emily sat cross-legged, reading aloud from her textbook. My phone buzzed violently with some pop tune, and she snapped her book shut, shooting me a disapproving look.
I answered reluctantly. A second later, I was upright. Then I tossed the phone aside, jumped up, and began darting around our tiny dorm room, shoving clothes into a backpack.
“Where are you going? What happened?” Emily sounded worried.
“The neighbour just called. Mum’s had a heart attack—she’s been taken to hospital.” I zipped up the bag and headed for the door, where our coats hung and boots sprawled.
“But there’s an exam tomorrow! She’s in good hands—take it, then go.” Emily stood as I tugged on my boots.
“Listen, Em, just explain it to the dean’s office. I’ll sort it out when I’m back—I’ll resit in the holidays. My bus leaves in forty minutes.” I was already fastening my coat.
“Call me when you know how she is,” Emily said, but I was already out the door. The sharp clatter of my heels faded down the corridor.
Emily sighed and turned back, then spotted my phone charger on my bed. She grabbed it and bolted after me barefoot.
“Charlotte! Charlotte, wait!” she shouted, thundering down the stairs.
The front door slammed below. Emily leaped over the last few steps, shoved the door open, and nearly tumbled outside into the cold.
“Charlotte!”
I turned, saw the cable in her hand, and hurried back.
“Thanks.” Then I was off again.
“Harrison, what’s all this? One of you nearly took the door off, the other’s running outside barefoot—have you lost your minds?” The porter, Mrs. Wilkins, stood up from her desk.
“Sorry, Mrs. Wilkins. Charlotte’s mum’s in hospital. It’s freezing—can I go?” Emily didn’t wait for an answer before racing back upstairs.
“Oh, Lord.” Mrs. Wilkins sank into her chair, crossing herself. “God save us.”
Back in the room, Emily brushed grit off her feet, tidied my scattered things, slipped on slippers, and filled the kettle. The exam was tomorrow—tea would warm her up before diving back into revision.
Darkness had fallen when a cautious knock sounded at the door.
“Who is it?” No answer. Emily opened it to find James standing there, holding a small bouquet.
“Come in.” She waited until he stepped inside before adding, “Charlotte’s gone home.”
“But she’s got an exam tomorrow,” he said, baffled.
“I’ll explain to the dean. She’ll resit in the holidays.” Her eyes lingered on the flowers.
“These are for you.” James held them out.
“Thanks. Fancy a cuppa?” She took an empty jar from the windowsill. “I’ll fetch water—make yourself at home.”
James only removed his shoes. Two steps brought him to Charlotte’s bed. He sat, running a hand over the cheap bedspread like he was smoothing her hair.
Emily returned, arranging the flowers in the jar.
“Lovely. What are they?”
“Sweet peas,” James said. “I should go.” He stood.
“Had you and Charlotte made plans?” Emily asked quickly, not wanting him to leave.
“Yeah. I got us tickets to a gig.”
“Really? Take me instead—no point wasting them.”
James hesitated. “But your exam?”
“So what? I’ve been studying all day—I need a break.”
He deliberated. Charlotte was gone, the tickets unused. They’d only just started dating—no big commitment. Going with her roommate wasn’t betrayal, right?
“Alright,” he said.
Emily squealed, clapping. “Wait outside—I’ll get changed.”
Five minutes later, she emerged, lashes darkened, lips glossed, hair pinned up. How had she managed it so fast?
“Let’s go—we’ll be late.”
At the gig, Emily danced, arms raised, screaming along in shared euphoria. She kept glancing at James, who soon matched her energy, shouting lyrics with the crowd.
Afterwards, they walked home, dissecting the performance.
“Loved that bit,” Emily hummed a snippet.
“Yeah, and when they—” James echoed another tune, mangling the lyrics.
At the dorm, Emily tugged the locked door.
“Mrs. Wilkins is on. She’ll never open up. What now?”
James steered her around the building. Two girls were clambering through a ground-floor window. “Quick—after them.”
He boosted Emily up. Hands pulled her inside. Then a shrill whistle cut the air.
“Hurry!” Emily hissed from the window.
James hauled himself in just as the whistle faded. Laughter bubbled as they caught their breath.
“Thanks,” James said, nudging Emily toward the door.
Giggles followed them upstairs. Inside her room, they collapsed into laughter.
“I should go,” James said, once it subsided.
In the unlit room, Emily whispered fiercely, “Stay. I like you. A lot.” She pressed close, tilting her face up…
Charlotte returned to the hushed dorm at term’s end. Emily and James were still away, like most students. She arranged to sit the missed exam, presenting a hospital note. The crisis had passed, but her mum remained ill.
She scraped through the exam. Term resumed, but Emily never came back—calls went unanswered. The dean said she’d taken leave due to illness.
Soon, a new girl moved in. Lectures, James… No time to ponder Emily’s fate. Everyone forgot her. James never mentioned the gig, or what followed. It felt like a dream.
Twenty-one years later
“Mum, Dad, I’m home!” A girl—James’s double—walked in.
“How was uni?” He lowered his paper.
“Let her change first,” Charlotte called from the kitchen. “Dinner’s warming.”
At the table, their daughter said, “Met a girl today who looks just like me. Everyone noticed.”
“Funny how that happens,” Charlotte mused. “They say everyone has a double. Fancy another roast?”
“Dad, you’ve gone quiet.” Their daughter, Lucy, nudged him.
James swallowed. “You spoke to her?”
“Yep. Final-year student—Sophie Lawson.”
Charlotte frowned. “We shared a room with a Sophie… Stevens, was it? She left after first year.”
“Yeah! Sophie Stevens. Pretty, right?” Lucy beamed.
James sipped tea, choked. “How many times must I ask for cooler water?”
“Sorry.” Charlotte fetched cold water.
“Not hungry.” James left the table.
“Really that alike?” Charlotte called after him.
“Everyone says so…”
James lay on the sofa, feigning sleep. *Coincidence? No. It happened. Admit it. That’s why she left—why she never returned. Fool.*
“James, you’re going to ruin your sleep.” Charlotte touched his shoulder. “Are you ill?”
He didn’t sleep till dawn. He phoned work, claiming a toothache, then drove to the dorm.
“Does Sophie Stevens live here?” he asked the porter—a woman uncannily like Mrs. Wilkins.
“Who’s asking?”
Her double descended the stairs.
Sophie eyed him warily. “Who are you?”
“Your mother’s name was Emily?”
Her expression hardened. “September 25th… I think I know who you are. Where were you?”
Outside, he admitted, “I didn’t know about you. It was once—an accident. When do lectures end?”
“Three.”
At 3:20, she approached his car.
“Hungry? Café?”
“Here’s fine.”
He told her everything. “I’d have helped if I’d known.”
“Would you?”
“She died in childbirth. Gran said it was Rh conflict. She wouldn’t let Mum abort. Regretted it later.”
James handed her his card. “Call if you need anything.”
“Won’t your wife mind?”
“No. I’ll tell her.”
That evening, he confessed to Charlotte.
“Twenty-one years. Why now?”
“Because I saw her. If you can’t forgive me, I understand.”
“Would you have married me?”
“No. I’d have stayed with Emily.”
Charlotte’s voice shook. “Why tell me?”
“Sophie might’ve told Lucy. I wanted you to hear it from me.”
Lucy took the news calmly. “A sister? Cool. Will she live with us?”
Sophie visited weeks later. Charlotte was reserved, but Lucy dragged her off to chatter.
“Thank you,” James murmured.
“It’s hard,” Charlotte admitted. “We forgot her.”
“Could we have done anything?”
“Gone to her. Maybe she’d have lived.”
“Nobody’s to blame.”
Sophie became a regular guest. After graduating, she left—but when her gran died, JamesShe eventually moved closer to them, and though the past was never spoken of again, the bouquet of sweet peas remained pressed in the pages of an old book, a quiet reminder of what had been.
