**Brothers in Arms**
Oliver pulled his Range Rover to a stop outside the shopping centre. Stepping out of the warm car was the last thing he wanted. Yesterday’s sleet had turned to rain, and overnight, the cold wind had frozen the pavement into a treacherous sheet of ice. Pedestrians slipped and slid, struggling to keep their footing.
His mother’s birthday was tomorrow, and as usual, Oliver had left the gift shopping to the last minute. A large department store would have something suitable, he was sure.
The moment he stepped out of the car, a gust of wind yanked open his coat and flung one end of his scarf over his shoulder. Clutching the edges of his coat, he locked the car and turned toward the building—only to slip on the ice, nearly falling. The pavements hadn’t been gritted yet, and his polished leather shoes had no grip.
He made it inside with some difficulty and exhaled in relief. He headed toward the scarves and shawls section before remembering—he’d given his mother a silk scarf last year.
*”Olly! Hey!”*
He turned toward the cheerful voice coming from the jewellery shop window. Standing there was Harry, his oldest—and now, it seemed, only—best friend.
*”I thought it was you! How long’s it been? You look great—that coat’s proper posh!”*
*”Hey. Just got back, actually,”* Oliver said, feeling oddly guilty for how long it had been.
*”I was just thinking about you the other day. Fancy grabbing a coffee?”*
*”I’m here for a gift,”* Oliver replied.
*”Wait—is it Margaret’s birthday soon?”*
*”You remember?”* Oliver brightened. *”Tomorrow. Left it late, as usual.”*
*”Right, go on, I won’t keep you.”* Harry held up a few shopping bags. *”But we’re catching up soon, yeah? Here—take this. Don’t make me hunt you down.”* He handed Oliver a business card.
As Oliver picked out a pair of earrings for his mum, his mind kept drifting back to Harry. He’d been useless just now—acted like he wasn’t even pleased to see him. But he *was* pleased, just caught off guard.
He fumbled for his wallet at the till and was surprised to find Harry’s card still in his pocket. *”Deputy Director, New Horizons Construction.”* Impressive.
*”Oh, sorry,”* he muttered, noticing the cashier waiting. *”Ran into an old mate—been ages since we last saw each other.”*
He paid, then drove home, lost in thought about Harry…
***
They’d met on their first day of primary school, standing side by side at the assembly, clutching identical bouquets of gladioli. Both had the same nervous, excited grins. When they filed inside, they’d reached for each other’s hands without a word. They’d shared a desk ever since.
That was the start of their friendship. They argued sometimes—inevitable—but always made up quickly. Even when they chose different unis after school, they didn’t fight about it. They knew life would take them separate ways, but no one could stop them staying friends. That was up to them.
Harry went to Imperial for engineering, while Oliver studied modern languages at King’s. They didn’t see each other daily anymore, but weekends were sacred—hours spent talking over pints, never running out of things to say.
Harry’s course was ninety percent blokes. Oliver’s? The opposite—a sea of brilliant, beautiful women. And among them, only one caught his eye: short, sharp, and always laughing. Sophie.
It took weeks for Oliver to work up the nerve to speak to her. One day, he finally approached, pretending to need help with a translation.
*”You could’ve just asked me out,”* she’d said, grinning.
*”I—I’d like to walk you home after lectures. If that’s alright?”* The words tumbled out before he could stop them.
*”Go on, then.”*
That spring evening, walking through London, Oliver was the happiest man alive. He spent half the night replaying every smile, every glance, though the words they’d spoken escaped him. Morning couldn’t come soon enough.
He walked her home most days after that. April’s chill faded into warm May. Still, Oliver hadn’t kissed her. Soon, term would end—she’d be off to Spain with her parents, then to her gran’s in Edinburgh until September. The thought twisted his stomach.
His birthday, the last Sunday in May, was his chance. He’d invite her home, introduce her to his parents, and finally tell her how he felt.
She agreed instantly—no fuss, no games. Emboldened, he asked if she’d bring her friend Emma.
*”Oh, Emma?”*
*”Yeah. My mate Harry—we’ve been friends since we were kids. He’s at Imperial, not many girls there. None like you, anyway.”*
*”Alright. What if she doesn’t like him?”*
*”Just needs someone to talk to. We’ll see.”*
On the day, his mother bustled in the kitchen. Oliver tried to help but only got in the way, darting back and forth—*Should I wear a tie? Does this shirt look alright?*
*”Take these plates through,”* his mum said. *”And stop fretting. If you like her, I’m sure I will.”*
*”You’re the best.”* He kissed her cheek. *”She’ll love you.”*
Harry arrived next, and Oliver relaxed—until the girls were late.
*”What if she changed her mind?”* he muttered.
*”Girls are always late. Get used to it,”* his dad said.
Then the doorbell rang. Oliver sprinted to answer it. His mum just shook her head.
*”That boy’s head over heels. Never ends well.”*
Oliver returned with two girls. His mum and Harry immediately noticed the tall, striking blonde—straight out of a magazine. But Oliver introduced *Sophie*—a sweet, pretty girl, but nothing extraordinary next to Emma.
Dinner was awkward at first. Oliver’s dad made a toast, then the parents discreetly slipped away.
Harry, ever the entertainer, cracked jokes, told stories. Sophie laughed at every one—even the rubbish ones—barely glancing at Oliver. Finally, he yanked Harry onto the balcony.
*”What the hell are you doing? Sophie’s *mine*, got it?”*
*”Not my fault she fancies me.”*
*”So you’re pouring it on thick?”*
*”Alright, point taken. But I prefer Emma, honestly. Bloody stunning. Should’ve gone to King’s.”*
*”I’m serious,”* Oliver glowered.
*”Relax, she’s all yours. Not that special anyway. Let’s go back before they think we’ve scarpered.”*
Inside, Sophie grabbed Harry for a dance. He shot Oliver an apologetic look—*what could I do?*—before letting her pull him away.
Oliver asked Emma. Mid-dance, she suddenly stopped, fluttering her hands over her face.
*”Something’s in my eye! My mascara’s running—where’s your loo?”*
He guided her there. As he turned to leave, she grabbed his wrist.
*”Can you check?*” She tilted her face up.
Nothing in her eye. When they returned, the room was empty.
*”Where’d they go?”*
*”Think your mate walked my friend home.”*
*”Why?”*
*”Guess he fancied her. I should go too.”*
His parents reappeared as Emma grabbed her jacket.
*”Leaving already? What about cake?”*
*”It was lovely, thanks,”* Emma said.
*”You’re not *walking her home*?”* his mum scolded.
Oliver sighed and went. Later, he called Harry.
*”Sorry, mate. Shouldn’t have vanished with Emma. Sophie asked me to walk her. Was I supposed to say no?”*
Their first real fight. Oliver blamed Sophie too.
After exams, he ran into Harry and Sophie on campus.
*”We were just looking for you. Fancy the lido? First swim of summer?”* Harry, as always, was first to make peace.
The walk was tense. Harry joked, trying to lighten the mood, but Oliver stayed silent. Eventually, Harry gave up.
It had been warm for days. The lido was crowded with sunbathers—only the bravest teens were swimming.
The three stood at the water’s edge. Silence.
*”God, you two are ridiculous,”* Sophie snapped. *”Did I ever promise you anything, Oliver? I like you both.”*
Harry shrugged. Oliver squinted across the water.
*”Fine. First to the other side gets me. Fair?”*
Oliver was a strong swimmer—had trained competitively as aOliver grinned as he held up the tiny football kit for Harry’s newborn son, realizing that some friendships, no matter how tested, were truly unbreakable.
