“Pity It’s Not Mine”
“Girls, come over to mine this Saturday—we’ll have a proper natter and a cuppa,” chirped Diane to her coworkers, Claire and Evelyn. Both nodded eagerly, giggling.
“Brilliant! I’ll bring a nice bottle of wine,” said Claire, who fancied herself a bit of a connoisseur.
“I’ll whip up something tasty,” added Evelyn. They all knew she was a wizard in the kitchen.
“Diane, why your place? Why not just meet at a café?” Claire asked.
“Oh, come off it! We’re always in cafés. At home, we can let our hair down—no one judging if we fancy a dance or two,” Diane argued.
“You’ve got a point, love,” Evelyn agreed. “Home’s cosier.” They all laughed, settled on the plan.
The three women, all hovering around forty-something, had been thick as thieves since meeting at the office years ago. They shared another bond: none were married. Diane had divorced a decade prior. Claire, never wed, had a daughter already starting her own family. Evelyn, the quietest of the lot, had been left by her husband when their son was three.
Since then, she’d dabbled in dating. Diane had nearly remarried, but her fiancé dashed off to Germany with another woman, signing a five-year contract without so much as a by-your-leave.
“Good riddance,” she’d sniffed, though it stung—she’d expected to be the one on his arm.
Claire, a stunner with a sharp tongue, cycled through men but never settled. She lived alone near the office, the only one of them who drove.
Evelyn wasn’t a beauty, but she had… something. Though Diane and Claire privately agreed she was a bit of a wallflower.
Friday rolled round. As they clocked out, Diane reminded them: “Tomorrow’s still on, yeah?”
“Course!” Claire sang. Evelyn said nothing.
By Saturday afternoon, Diane had scrubbed her flat, laid the table, and popped to the Tesco next door for her favourite chocolate digestives and a few other treats.
Claire and Evelyn arrived together, both ferried by Claire’s car. Settled around the table, they cackled like schoolgirls, sipping wine—though Evelyn barely touched hers.
“What’s with you?” Claire eyed her. “Not drinking?”
“Sorry, girls,” Evelyn murmured. “I’ve got a date later. With Gavin.”
“Gavin?” they echoed.
“Yes. Why?”
“You never mentioned him!” Diane said.
“I didn’t know it’d go anywhere,” Evelyn admitted. “He rang last night, asked me out.”
“Why’d you come, then? Could’ve called it off,” Claire said.
“I told him about today. Wanted you to meet him… Diane, love, I gave him your address. He’s picking me up.” She shot the hostess a guilty look.
“Fine by me! Let’s suss out this mystery man,” Diane laughed, munching a biscuit, watching Evelyn curl her hair with fascination. Claire stayed unusually quiet.
“Di, got any hairspray? Forgot mine.”
“Bathroom.”
Diane and Claire were sure Evelyn’s fling wouldn’t last. She always fell hard, then soured fast—and her men were never keepers.
“Girls, how’s my hair? I’m nervous…”
“Lovely,” they said in unison. “Why the fuss?” Claire added. “What’s he look like, Prince Charming?”
Evelyn just smiled and ducked into the loo to touch up her makeup.
“How’d she even bag someone?” Claire muttered. “Forty-six and still mousy. Bet Gavin’s a dud too.”
The doorbell rang. Diane sprang up, giggling. “Let’s see!” Claire followed; Evelyn emerged, flustered.
“Hello,” came a warm voice. The man held three bouquets. The women gawped.
Fifty-ish, tall, dark-haired with silver at the temples—devastatingly handsome.
“Ready?” he asked Evelyn, then handed flowers to each. “Gavin,” he introduced himself.
Claire nudged Diane aside. “Join us?” she simpered, pointing to a chair.
“Another time,” he declined politely, still smiling. Diane thought, *God, Claire’s clinging like a limpet.* Aloud, she offered, “Fancy a juice?”
“Cheers.” He sipped half, set it down, slid an arm around Evelyn. “Pleasure meeting you,” he said, then to her: “Shall we?”
They left. Diane and Claire gaped at each other.
Claire recovered first. “No way a bloke like that’s serious about *her*. He’ll bolt after a shag—just watch.”
Diane sighed. “Christ, he’s *gorgeous*. Where’d she even *find* him? Honestly, what’s he see in our little mouse?”
“Sweet FA,” Claire snorted. “This’ll fizzle fast.”
Evelyn floated into work all week, glowing. “Morning!”
“Gavin drop you off?” Claire prodded daily.
“Yep! On his way in.” She’d gush about their café dates, exhibitions, meeting his friends.
“His mates like him?” Diane asked.
“Two so far. Nice blokes—both married, though.”
A month passed. Then two. Three. Still no sign of Gavin ditching her. Evelyn flitted about, radiant.
One evening, Diane spotted Gavin outside a jeweller’s. “Evening! Off work?” he greeted. “You look smashing.”
“Ta. You?”
“Late at the office. Actually—fancy lending an eye?” He nodded at the shop. “Third time here. Can’t decide.”
Under the glass, rings glinted. He paused at the emeralds. “Like this one?”
“Gorgeous,” she stammered, heart racing. *Is this for me?*
“Sure? Maybe plainer?”
“No, it’s perfect!”
“Brilliant.” He strode in. Diane lingered, giddy. *He’ll surprise me with it later.*
She vowed not to breathe a word. *Imagine their faces when I flaunt it! Claire green, Evelyn gutted.*
Friday, Evelyn burst in: “Gavin’s taking us all out after work! Says he’s got a surprise.”
Diane buzzed all day. *He’ll declare his love, give me the ring in front of them.*
At the café, Gavin arrived—dapper, flowers in hand. Three pairs of eyes locked onto him.
“Evening!” He beamed. “Evelyn, love…” He knelt. “Will you marry me?”
Evelyn shrieked, flung her arms around him. “Yes!”
“Like the ring?”
“I *love* it!”
“Credit to Diane—she helped pick it.” He smiled at her. “Cheers for that.”
“…Pleasure,” Diane forced out. “Be happy.”
Inside, she ached. *Pity it’s not mine. Bloody fool, spinning daydreams.*
