“Betrayal”
“Sophie-ie-ie…” wailed Louise down the phone.
“What’s all the shouting about? Just tell me what’s happened! Is it James? Lou, why won’t you speak?” Sophie yelled into the receiver.
“Uh-uh-uh… Daniel… A-a-ah…” Louise sobbed again.
“Has something happened to Daniel? Was he in an accident?” Sophie pictured Louise shaking her head, as if her friend could somehow see her through the phone.
“That’s it, I’ve had enough. I’m hanging up, you hear me? I’ll be there in ten. Wait for me,” Sophie said, listening a moment longer to her friend’s wailing before giving up and ending the call.
She threw on her coat, snatched her handbag, checked for her phone and keys, then locked the flat behind her. Louise lived just down the road, so Sophie hurried along, breaking into a jog now and then, muttering under her breath: “Why can’t she just spit it out? If this turns out to be over nothing, I swear…”
Five minutes later, she stood outside Louise’s building, jabbing at the buzzer. A crackle came through the intercom.
“Lou, open up, it’s me,” Sophie shouted.
Another distorted noise, then the click of the lock. Sophie pushed inside. The door swung shut behind her, and she was swallowed by darkness, blinded after the daylight outside. No time to wait for her eyes to adjust—she took a step toward the lift and immediately tripped, barely catching herself on the banister.
“Bloody hell, could kill yourself in here. Can’t they fit a brighter bulb?” she grumbled.
As she waited for the lift, Sophie tapped her foot impatiently, running through every awful possibility in her head. “Just let everyone be alive and well…” Outside Louise’s door, she paused, listening. No screaming or crying—that was something, at least. She took a breath and rang the bell.
Louise answered, face puffy and blotchy. Without a word, she turned and shuffled zombie-like to the kitchen. Sophie sighed, shook her head, kicked off her trainers, and followed.
Louise slumped onto a chair, head bowed, arms limp in her lap. Every bit of her screamed defeat.
“Lou, what’s happened? You scared me half to death.” Sophie put a hand on her back. “Talk to me. I was sprinting here like a madwoman.”
“Daniel left me,” Louise said, voice hollow.
“Left? For someone else?”
Louise nodded.
“How do you know? Did he tell you, or are you imagining things?” Sophie pressed.
She wasn’t surprised. Daniel was a good-looking bloke. She’d warned Louise more than once that women would sniff around. Louise needed to stay sharp if she wanted to keep him.
“Said he’s in love with someone else, packed his things, and walked out. Soph, tell me why? I did everything—cooked, cleaned, had his kid, starved myself to stay slim after the baby, and he still left.”
“Ugh.” Sophie exhaled loudly. “Everyone’s alive, and you’re howling like it’s a funeral. He’ll have his fun and come crawling back.” She dropped into the next chair.
“You think?” Louise’s head snapped up, hope flashing in her eyes.
“How should I know? Might do. Who is she? Young? Pretty?”
“My age. Big, ginger, cross-eyed.” Louise shuddered. “Soph, what’s wrong with me? I’m ten times prettier, and he still…” She sniffed, head drooping again.
“Stop blaming yourself. It’s just biology—midlife crisis or something. He’ll snap out of it.”
Louise shook her head, shoulders trembling with fresh sobs.
“Enough crying. Pull yourself together. If he sees you like this, he’ll bolt for sure.” At that, Louise let out another wail, just like on the phone.
“Lou, tears won’t fix this. You think he’ll waltz back in and everything’ll be sunshine? Dream on.” Sophie switched tactics—no more coddling. “You’ll take him back, sure. Then what? You’ll nag him every time he’s late, drive yourself mad with jealousy. What about Oliver? Where is he?”
“At Mrs. Thompson’s.”
“Good. He doesn’t need to see you like this. He’s a little man already—doesn’t need hysterics.” Sophie sighed.
“Stop crying! You’ll end up in the loony bin. You’ve got Oliver. It’s hard, but you’ll live. And how do you know she’s cross-eyed? Seen her?”
“Saw a photo on his phone. He was in the shower, and she rang… Then I found her online. What do men even want? We think they fancy skinny models with legs up to their ears and double-D boobs? Nah. Those are all fake anyway. I barely ate after having Oliver, scared I’d balloon, and he still left. She’s three times my size, and her chest is like…!” Louise waved a hand, lost for comparison.
“Doubt it’s about looks. Something else hooked him,” Sophie mused.
“Oh, please—her soul? She’s cheap and nasty. She’ll pay for this,” Louise hissed, swiping at her cheeks.
“Lou, get a grip. You’re lovely—slim, young. Thirty-two, yeah? Christ, you’ve got your whole life.”
“I don’t want a life without him. I love him,” Louise whimpered, face crumpling. “It hurts. I can’t breathe. I’d rather die.”
“Oi, none of that! Don’t you dare. Got any booze?” Sophie stood, rummaging in the fridge. “Right, let’s have a drink. Take the edge off.” She pulled out a half-finished bottle of wine and filled two glasses to the brim, shoving one into Louise’s hand.
“Down it. Best medicine. You’ll feel better.”
Louise obediently gulped it like water and handed back the empty glass.
“We were supposed to move soon. His firm’s building flats for staff. Half for sale, half for employees. If we gave up this place, we’d get one nearly free. Now he’ll live there with her. Me and Oliver stuck here.”
“Stop crying—puffy face isn’t a good look.”
“I feel sick. Just want to disappear,” Louise mumbled, swaying on her chair.
“You daft cow. Off yourself, and then what? Think Daniel’ll care? Nah. He’ll strut about like he’s some prize, bragging how his wife couldn’t live without him. And that woman? She’ll gloat she got him without a fight. You’d be rotting underground. And Oliver? Foster care or a stepmum—neither’s better. He’d never forgive you. Ever. Get it?”
“Plus, suicides don’t get into heaven. Who knows what’s after this? Suppose there’s hell?” Sophie leaned in. “Where d’you think you’d end up?”
Louise stopped sniffling, staring. A silent beat passed between them.
“Oh, sod off,” Louise muttered, shoving her away. “I’m not topping myself. He’s not worth it.”
“Thank God, you’ve got some sense. Fancy another?” She poured the last of the wine.
“Soph… thanks for coming. You always know what to say.” Louise knocked it back. “Stay tonight? I can’t be alone.”
“Course.” Sophie eyed the empty bottle. “Want me to nip to the shop?”
“No. Just stay. I’ll put the kettle on.” Louise staggered up, swayed dangerously, and flopped back down with a laugh.
“Sit tight. I’ll do it.”
They drank tea, burning their tongues as dusk fell outside. Louise had stopped crying. Her eyes cleared.
“Need to fetch Oliver and put him to bed,” she said, trying again to stand. This time, she managed it, though she swayed as she moved to the door.
Soon she returned with Oliver in tow. He spotted the bottle and glasses, shooting Sophie a disapproving look.
“Hey, Ollie,” Sophie smiled.
“We had tea. Bedtime now—you’ll be late for nursery.” Louise nudged him toward his room.
“He’s a good kid,” Sophie said when Louise returned. “Only one I feel sorry for in this mess. You’ll manage, Lou. You’re steadier now. I should head home.”
“Don’t go. I can’t be alone. The sofa’s comfy. Please.”
Morning came with Oliver shaking them awake.
“Mum, I’m thirsty.”
Louise pried an eye open, saw daylight, and bolted up, clutching her head.
“We overslept! Soph, get up!” Louise scurried about, throwing on clothes.
“Look at me—how am I meant to go to work like this?” Sophie squinted in the bright bathroom light.
Louise turned away from the mirror, smoothed her blouse, and whispered, “Right then—one foot in front of the other.”
