The Bonds of Brotherhood
Oliver pulled his Jaguar up outside the shopping centre, reluctant to leave the warmth of the car. The day before had brought sleet, turning to rain, and overnight the temperature had dropped, leaving the pavement slick with treacherous ice. Pedestrians wobbled and slipped as they navigated the frozen crust underfoot.
Tomorrow was his mum’s birthday, and—true to form—Oliver had left gift shopping to the last minute. Still, a big department store would surely have something suitable.
He stepped out, and the wind immediately whipped his coat open, tossing one end of his scarf over his shoulder. Clutching his collar, he locked the car and tiptoed toward the entrance—only to nearly land flat on his back. The council clearly hadn’t bothered gritting yet, and his sleek leather shoes had all the grip of banana peels.
After an undignified shuffle, he made it inside with a relieved sigh. He was halfway to the scarves and gloves section when he remembered—he’d bought his mum a silk scarf last year.
“Ollie! Blimey, is that you?” came a familiar voice near a jewellery shop.
There stood Henry, his oldest and—as it turned out—only proper mate.
“Been ages, hasn’t it? Look at you, all posh in that coat,” Henry grinned.
“Hey—yeah, just got back, actually,” Oliver said, caught off guard and feeling oddly guilty.
“Talk about coincidence—I was just thinking about you the other day. Fancy grabbing a cuppa?”
“Can’t, mate. Pressed for time—birthday shopping.”
Henry’s eyes lit up. “Ah, for Margaret’s do tomorrow, yeah?”
“You remembered?” Oliver blinked.
“Course I did. Procrastinating as usual, eh?”
Henry chuckled, holding up his own shopping bags. “Right, I’ll leave you to it. Just don’t vanish again, yeah? Here—ring me. If you don’t, I’ll hunt you down.” He handed over a business card.
While picking out earrings for his mum, Oliver kept replaying the encounter, cringing at how awkward he’d been—like he hadn’t been pleased to see Henry. Which wasn’t true at all. He just hadn’t expected it.
He fished out his card to pay—then spotted Henry’s in his pocket. *Deputy Director, Everstone Construction*. Blimey.
“Sorry,” he muttered, noticing the cashier’s polite but impatient smile. “Ran into an old mate—haven’t seen him in years, you know how it is.”
After paying, he drove home, thoughts full of Henry.
***
They’d met on their first day of primary school, both clutching identical bouquets of daisies, both wide-eyed and nervous. When they lined up to go inside, they’d instinctively grabbed each other’s hands—and ended up sharing a desk.
That’s how their friendship began. Sure, they bickered—what kids didn’t?—but Henry was always the first to make up. Even when they chose different unis after A-levels, there was no argument. They’d stay mates, no matter what.
Henry studied engineering—bloke-heavy, of course—while Oliver did modern languages, drowning in a sea of women. And not just any women—stunners, the lot of them. But only one caught his eye: Veronica, petite and quick-witted, with a laugh like sunlight.
He’d tiptoed around her for weeks before finally asking for “help with a translation.”
“Just say you fancy me,” she’d teased.
“I do. Fancy walking home with me?” The words tumbled out.
“Go on, then,” she’d said, flashing him a grin.
That evening, as they wandered through springtime London, Oliver was convinced he was the happiest man alive. He replayed every glance, every smile—though not a single word—until dawn.
Soon, he was walking her home most days. April’s chill gave way to May’s warmth, but Oliver still hadn’t dared kiss her. Exams loomed, then summer—Veronica was off to her grandparents’ in Brighton. Desperation gnawed at him.
His last shot was his birthday party—last Sunday of May. He’d introduce her to his parents, finally confess his feelings.
Veronica agreed instantly, no fuss. Emboldened, he asked her to bring a friend—that tall blonde she was always with.
“Emily?”
“Yeah. Thought I’d invite Henry—bloke’s drowning in a sausage-fest at uni. Might cheer him up.”
“What if she hates him?”
“Just needs someone to talk to. We’ll see.”
On the day, his mum buzzed around the kitchen while Oliver—useless with nerves—kept pestering her about his outfit.
“Just set the table,” she sighed. “And relax! If you like her, I’m sure I will too.”
Henry arrived first, steadying Oliver’s nerves—until the girls were late.
“What if she changed her mind?” Oliver fretted.
“Girls are always late,” his dad said wisely. “Get used to it.”
The doorbell rang. Oliver bolted.
His mum rolled her eyes. “That boy’s besotted. It’ll end in tears.”
Oliver returned with two girls. His mum and Henry both zeroed in on the tall, effortlessly glamorous blonde—the kind Henry had only seen in films.
But Oliver introduced *Veronica*—the other one. Sweet, yes, but next to Emily? Plain as toast.
Dinner was awkward. Henry cracked jokes—bad ones—and Veronica laughed at every single one, ignoring Oliver entirely. Eventually, Oliver dragged Henry outside.
“What the hell are you playing at? She’s *mine*,” Oliver hissed.
“Not my fault she fancies me!”
“So you’re milking it?”
“Mate, I’m not interested. Emily’s more my type. Christ, your uni’s stacked—should’ve joined you.”
“Not funny.”
“Relax, Romeo. Let’s go back before they think we’ve eloped.”
Back inside, Veronica pulled Henry up to dance. He shot Oliver an apologetic look—*what could I do?*
Oliver asked Emily instead, eyes glued to the other pair. Suddenly, Emily flinched.
“Ugh, something’s in my eye. Where’s your loo?”
He led her there. She grabbed his wrist.
“Can you check?”
Nothing there. When they returned, the others had vanished.
“Where’d they go?”
“Probably walked her home. He fancied her.”
“What?!”
Emily shrugged into her jacket. His parents reappeared.
“Leaving already?” his mum asked.
“Lovely meal,” Emily said, heading out.
“Aren’t you walking her home?” his mum scolded.
Oliver trudged after her.
Back home, he called Henry.
“Sorry, mate. Wasn’t my idea. She asked—was I meant to say no?”
Their first proper row. Oliver blamed Veronica too.
After exams, he spotted Henry and Veronica together on campus.
“We were just looking for you!” Henry said, ever the peacemaker. “Fancy the lido? Water’s Baltic, but we’re game.”
Oliver stayed sullen the whole way, ignoring Henry’s jokes. Eventually, Henry gave up.
At the lido, swimmers were scarce—just a few brave teens. The trio stood at the water’s edge, tension thick.
“For heaven’s sake,” Veronica snapped. “Did I *promise* you anything, Oliver? I like you both.”
Henry shrugged. Oliver squinted at the opposite bank.
“Tell you what—race to the other side. Winner gets me. Fair?”
Oliver swam well—Henry barely doggy-paddled.
“Water’s freezing,” Henry hedged.
“Chickening out?” Veronica taunted.
Henry sighed—then plunged in.
Oliver followed, gaining fast. Then—no sign of Henry. Just splashing, then silence. Veronica screamed.
Oliver turned, saw the commotion, and raced back. He and another bloke hauled Henry—limp—to shore. CPR. Coughing, Henry came round, pale as milk.
Veronica knelt beside him. “I didn’t know you couldn’t swim!”
Henry stood, grabbed his stuff, and walked off without a word.
Oliver chased him.
“You won,” Henry said at his doorstep.
“Don’t be daft. You’d have saved me too. She played us, you idiot—why’d you jump in?”
Henry gave him a strange look and vanished inside.
***
Oliver never married. No love ever hit like that. Henry did—Oliver saw the wedding car from afar. Assumed it was Veronica. He wasn’t jealous—just hurt Henry hadn’t invited him.
Years later, Oliver called.
“Blimey!” Henry answered. “Where’ve you been?”
“Work, mostly. Fancy a pint?”
“Can’t—wife’s just had a boy. Got my hands full with the toddler.”
“Congrats.As they laughed on the phone, the years of silence between them melted away like the last stubborn patch of winter ice, and Oliver knew—some friendships were worth more than any fleeting romance.
