My mate Emily, who’s also my daughter’s godmother, has finally left her husband, Kevin, and I couldn’t be happier for her. That Kevin was a right piece of work—never earned a penny, spent his days arguing and chasing after anything in a skirt. Then, a couple of days ago, Em calls me, buzzing with excitement, bragging about how she’s off to the Lake District with some new bloke, Gary. I nearly spat out my tea when I heard. Blimey, she’s sorted herself out quick! But honestly? I’m over the moon for her—she’s earned a bit of happiness after all she’s been through.
Emily and Kevin were together nearly ten years, and the whole time I’d watch her and think, “Em, when are you gonna chuck him out?” He was one of those men who thought just being in the house was contribution enough. Work? Never heard of it. Every evening, he’d sit on the sofa like royalty, demanding dinner while slagging off her cooking. And don’t get me started on his little “adventures” on the side. More than once, Em caught him with dodgy texts on his phone or lipstick on his collar. He’d deny it, of course, turn it around on her: “You drove me to it!” I told her a hundred times, “Dump him, you’re young, pretty—you’ll find a decent bloke.” But she stuck it out, whether out of love or fear of being alone.
Then, three months ago, Emily finally snapped. She told me later how she’d found messages from some woman on Kevin’s phone and realised he’d blown their savings on his little “nights out.” That was the last straw. She packed his bags, chucked him out, and said, “Right, Kev, go find yourself another mug.” When I heard, I nearly stood up and cheered. Kevin tried crawling back, of course—showed up with flowers, rang with promises to “change.” But Emily stood her ground. “Enough,” she told me. “I won’t live with someone who doesn’t respect me.”
Next thing I know, she’s on the phone gushing about Gary. They met in a café, of all places—Em popped in for a coffee after work, and he was at the next table reading a book. Said he was dead posh, looked after himself, had a proper sense of humour. They got chatting, swapped numbers. Two weeks later, Gary suggests a trip to the Lake District—rent a cottage, go hiking, take in the scenery. “Can you believe it?” Em says. “He sorted it all himself, even hired a car! Kev would’ve just moaned about the cost.”
Listening to her, I could hardly believe it. Emily, who’d been sobbing on my kitchen table weeks before, was now laughing, making plans, and telling me how Gary was teaching her to cook proper Italian pasta. “He’s not just some fling,” she said. “He actually listens. Cares what I think.” That’s when it hit me—this wasn’t just a holiday romance. Em was properly smitten, and Gary seemed like the real deal.
Course, there’s been gossip. Our mutual mates are already whispering, “Emily’s moved on a bit quick, hasn’t she?” But I tell them, “Good on her! Life’s too short to waste on a bloke like Kevin.” Some reckon she’s rushing things with this new chap, but I see how she’s lit up. Before, she walked around like the life’d been sucked out of her—now she’s laughing, joking, even dyed her hair a bright chestnut. Says, “I want to look good for myself—and for Gary.”
When she mentioned the Lake District, I had to ask, “Em, you sure about this Gary bloke? You know him well enough?” She just laughed. “Well enough to hike up a mountain with him! He’s a software developer, works for some fancy firm, and he’s got a cat he’s mad about. Proper bloke, not like Kev.” I still worry, mind—what if he’s not what he seems? But Emily’s adamant: “If it goes pear-shaped, I know how to pack my bags now. No one’s taking the mick again.”
Her whole situation got me thinking. How many women put up with Kevins because they’re scared of change? But Emily? She flipped her life on its head. I’m even a bit jealous of her guts. She didn’t just leave her husband—she started fresh, and this new chapter looks bright. The Lake District, Gary, new plans… I can’t wait till she’s back, telling me about their walks and evenings by the fire with a pint of ale.
Yesterday, Em sent me a photo: her in a bright bobble hat, cheeks all rosy, standing in front of snow-capped fells with a good-looking bloke—must be Gary. The caption read: “Life starts now!” And you know what? I believe her. She’s earned her happy ending. As for Kevin? Let him argue with his reflection. Emily’s in a whole different orbit now—and it suits her.
