Alistair sat in the darkened room, listening to the sounds of the night. A car stopped outside, the door clicked softly shut, and the sharp tap of heels faded as someone entered the building below. At last, a key turned cautiously in the lock.
He held his breath, straining to catch every whisper of movement. The rustle of fabric, light footsteps creeping closer. *Afraid to wake me, didn’t even put on her slippers*, he thought wryly.
The door eased open. Caroline tiptoed into the bedroom. Streetlight spilled in just enough to reveal the untouched bed, still neatly made. She froze mid-step, sensing his stare, then turned sharply.
“You frightened me. Why aren’t you asleep?” she snapped.
“Waiting for you.” Alistair rose, crossed to the door, and flicked on the light. Caroline winced at the sudden brightness.
“Where were you?” His gaze traced the smudged makeup on her pale face.
“I forgot to tell you…” She stared at the floor.
“Don’t say you were with a friend. Tell me the truth—it’ll be easier for us both. How long have you been seeing him?”
She flinched as if struck. Then her head dipped slightly.
“Two months,” she whispered, meeting his eyes for a heartbeat. “I meant to tell you, but… I’m sorry. I’ll go now.” She strode out. The shuffle of movement came from the hall—drawers opening, things shifting.
She returned with a suitcase, dropped it onto the bed, and yanked clothes from the wardrobe. Hangers clattered, tumbling dresses and blouses onto the duvet beside the open case.
“Couldn’t you do this tomorrow, when I’m not here?” Alistair snatched a pillow and left.
He collapsed onto the sofa in the other room, still dressed, dragging a blanket over himself. Sleep was impossible. He wanted to smash everything, to strike Caroline, wipe the remnants of another man’s kisses from her face. He forced slow breaths, fighting the storm inside.
***
Years ago, he and his mates had celebrated the end of term at Brighton Beach. They’d stripped off and dashed into the waves, laughing. Later, Greg and Liam went for pints, leaving Alistair to guard their things.
Sitting on his jeans, he’d watched children splashing near the shore. Then a girl emerged from the water—tall, golden-skinned, droplets glistening on her shoulders. She took a towel from a nearby blanket and began drying her hair. He couldn’t look away. The slope of her waist, the curve of her hip—so close he ached to touch her.
She turned sharply, catching his stare. He flushed like a scolded boy. But she’d only smiled. By the time Greg and Liam returned, they were deep in conversation.
Seeing the lads, Caroline gathered her things, pulling a sundress over her head. For a moment, the fabric swallowed her. Greg nudged Alistair with a smirk; Liam flashed a thumbs-up.
Then the dress settled, and Caroline straightened the straps. With a final smile, she left.
“Go on,” Greg said, clapping Alistair’s back.
“Caroline, wait!” Alistair yanked on his jeans, ignored his friends’ shouts, and bolted after her. He came home late.
“Where were you? We nearly called the police!” His mother seized his arm the moment he stepped in.
“My phone died after exams. I’m getting married,” he blurted.
“What?”
“He’s getting married. Good timing—third year, twenty years old. By graduation, he’ll give us a grandchild,” his father said mildly.
“No, I mean—I met the girl. I’ll marry her someday.”
“You just met her today?” His mother gaped. “George, are you hearing this?”
“Tess, calm down. He’s in love. Lovers dream big. He’s alive, healthy, happy. Enough—we’ll talk tomorrow.” His father steered her away.
“Cheers, Dad,” Alistair called after him.
Two weeks later, he brought Caroline home. His mother learned she lived in student housing and declared, *She wants a London flat and residency. This isn’t love.* She waited until Caroline left to say it.
“You don’t like her?” Alistair asked, crushed.
“All that matters is you do,” his father said.
They married after New Year’s. His father handed him keys to a flat.
“Didn’t expect this. Where’s it from?”
“Mine. We’ve been renting it. Started the repairs—you finish them.” His father hugged him.
***
He dozed near dawn, waking to find Caroline with her suitcase.
“Sorry—I woke you after all,” she said, brushing past him to the hall.
The memories crashed over him. He longed to stop her—then the front door slammed. He told himself she’d return in a day or two. But she never did. Never called. Her keys lay abandoned on the console table.
With each passing day, the ache grew. He’d have forgiven her anything if she’d come back. He rang endlessly—no answer. Once, he lurked outside her university, only to see her exit arm-in-arm with another man. He ducked behind a tree, heart hammering.
The empty flat suffocated him. He drove to his parents’.
“I never liked her. Found someone richer, didn’t she?” his mother said.
“Tess, leave it. He’s hurting,” his father murmured.
At the registry office a month later, his world crumbled. On the way home, he bought a bottle of whisky, intent on drowning himself. Unexpectedly, his father arrived. They drank and talked through the night. His father confessed losing his first wife—a drunk driver killed her while she was pregnant. He’d nearly destroyed himself with grief before meeting Tess and Alistair.
Alistair never drank again.
Six months later, his mother announced a niece of her friend from Manchester was coming to stay.
“She’ll live with us until she finds work and a flat. You’ll show her London.”
“Matchmaking, are you? Invited her just for me?”
But Emily was sweet, slight, her cropped hair making her look barely eighteen. She squinted adorably, too shy to wear glasses. *This one thinks she’ll conquer London*, Alistair thought. Of course, he took her under his wing—showed her the city, prepped her for interviews, helped find an affordable flat.
“Try the pies. Emily baked them. And her stew! Homely, clever, practical—lucky man who marries her,” his mother praised.
*Why not? Caroline’s happy without me. Time to move on. She’d make a decent wife.*
“That’s it—I’m marrying her,” he joked.
“Think carefully! You rushed last time. I won’t have her hurt,” his mother fussed.
After graduation, they wed quietly. No grand wedding—a café, close family only.
Their life began. Emily was gentle, unguarded—nothing like Caroline. Maybe that was what he needed. But nights brought old sorrows creeping back.
A year passed. They were in a shopping centre, hunting an anniversary gift for his father, when Emily lingered at a toy display.
“Look how sweet these are. I had a bear like this as a child. Shall we get one?”
Alistair barely heard. Through the glass, he saw Caroline.
“Be right back,” he muttered, darting out.
He caught her at the escalator but hesitated until she descended.
“Hello. That your wife?” Caroline asked. “Pretty. You’ve changed. Happy?”
He shrugged. “You?”
“It didn’t work out. Sneaking around’s one thing—living together’s another. Your mother told me you remarried.”
“Mum? She never mentioned seeing you.”
“She never liked me. Does she like this one?” Caroline’s stare pierced him, reopening old wounds.
“Where are you living?”
“Renting. Still got my number? Call sometime.” She hurried off.
Alistair watched her go, forgetting Emily entirely—until her voice came behind him.
“That her?” Emily clutched a plush bear.
“My ex. You bought it, then?” Irritation edged his voice as he tugged her toward the exit.
“What about your dad’s gift?”
“We’ve time. Later.”
After that, Emily grew quiet. Alistair, lost in thoughts of Caroline, didn’t notice.
One evening, he locked himself in the loo and dialled. Caroline answered eagerly.
“Come over sometime. I’ve missed you. Seeing you today—I realised what a fool I was. But you still love me. If you didn’t, you wouldn’t have chased me.”
“Caroline, I’m married.”
“So? I’m not asking you to leave her. Just talk. I’ll text the address…”
For days, he resisted. Then gave in.
She greeted him flushed, in a frilly apron, the flat rich with cooking smells.
“You never cooked before,” he remarked.
“That wasHe drove home in silence, knowing he had finally chosen the right path, and as he walked through the door, Emily’s smile made everything else fade away.
