**Diary Entry**
Another problem…
“Julie, come on, please,” whined Emma.
“I don’t want to. I don’t know anyone there. Go alone or invite Sophie or Kate,” Julie replied. “Exams are coming up—I need to study.”
“Kate’s cramming, Sophie won’t go without her bloke Jake, and going alone makes it look like I’m chasing after Liam.”
“Aren’t you?” Julie asked.
“Julie, please…” Emma clasped her hands together like she was praying.
“Fine. But if you ditch me there, we’re done,” Julie warned, pushing herself off the sofa.
One of the older uni lads had parents working abroad in Africa for a year, so his flat was free. Every Saturday, he threw parties—final-year students, graduates, even a few alumni who’d already landed jobs. They swapped stories and, with the smugness of their barely-earned experience, looked down on the younger students.
Emma had ended up there by chance after briefly dating one of the older boys. When that fizzled out, she’d set her sights on Liam. Now she was begging Julie to tag along, hoping he’d show up. With exams on, there was no chance to bump into him on campus.
Julie pulled on jeans and a loose white blouse, tucking in just one side. On her slim frame, it looked effortlessly stylish. She swept on a bit of eyeliner, shook out her hair, and turned to Emma, who was practically bouncing with impatience.
“Well? Are we going or not?” Julie asked.
“God, that eyeliner suits you. Proper mysterious, like,” Emma gushed.
“One condition: if Liam’s not there, we leave,” Julie said firmly.
“Deal,” Emma agreed easily.
The door swung open to a woman in jeans and a man’s shirt, cigarette dangling from her lips, wild curly hair everywhere. She squinted through the smoke, eyeing them up before jerking her head towards the living room. Music and chatter drifted from inside.
“Don’t take your shoes off—no one does here,” Emma whispered, pretending she wasn’t just as nervous as Julie. The flat was crammed—half-finished plates of food, cheap wine and vodka bottles on the table, a bloke sandwiched between two girls on the sofa, lads arguing over some nonsense, a couple swaying awkwardly by the window. No one glanced their way. Why would they? First-years weren’t worth the time.
They perched on an empty sofa. The doorbell rang, and the curly-haired woman let in two lads, who got cheers and handshakes all round. Even the dancers stopped to greet them.
“There he is!” Emma bolted up and made a beeline for Liam, who barely spared her a glance. The other bloke—taller, fitter, with sharp grey eyes—stared straight at Julie. She looked away, face burning.
“Hey. Bored?” He dropped beside her. Up close, he looked even older. “Haven’t seen you before. Fancy a dance?” He held out his hand—broad, warm, firm.
They shuffled by the window where the other couple had been. The music was low enough to talk over. He asked what she studied, where she lived—with her parents or in halls. More people trickled in; the flat felt like it had secret rooms appearing out of nowhere.
Then Emma stomped over, clearly gutted. “I’m going.”
“Me too,” Julie said, reluctant to leave him.
“I’ll walk you,” he offered. “Just let me say bye.”
Outside, Emma seethed. “Prick,” she muttered, meaning Liam.
Julie barely heard her, thoughts tangled up in the stranger. He emerged moments later.
“Alright, ladies, let’s do this properly. Chris,” he said, sticking out his hand.
“Chris Harrow? Team captain?” Emma gasped. “No wonder you looked familiar!”
“You follow football?” He raised an eyebrow.
“Dated a superfan. Never missed a match.” Emma squealed. “Bloody hell, Chris Harrow!”
She launched into frantic chatter, trying to reel him in—if Liam was a no-go, she’d grab the next best thing. Chris clocked it instantly.
“Emma, where d’you live?”
“I’ll show you!” she babbled the whole way.
Julie walked quietly beside them.
“That’s mine, next one’s Julie’s,” Emma said. “We’ll see you again, yeah?”
“Bye,” Julie said, heading for her door.
“Julie, wait!” Chris jogged after her.
Emma glowered. Not part of her plan.
The evening air was cool after the day’s heat. They lingered by her building, neither wanting to leave. Chris talked about working at a local paper, dreaming of journalism, telly someday.
“I’ll make it big,” he said, cocky. “You gonna be a teacher, then? Always loved kids?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Julie snapped.
“Just asking,” he backtracked. “Gimme your number.”
“You don’t have one?” She handed over her phone. He dialled his own—ringing in his pocket. Her stomach flipped. They’d see each other again.
“Didn’t peg you for it, Jules. Quiet one, bagging Chris Harrow,” Emma called that night. “Spill. Snogged?”
“Went straight home. Last exam tomorrow.” Julie didn’t mention the numbers.
He rang two days later, just as she’d given up hope. Summer term was done—time to enjoy themselves. He took her paddle-boating, then for coffee…
They met almost daily. Julie fell hard. He had an old banger of a car; they drove out, swam in lakes…
One rainy day, he suggested his mate’s flat. She tensed when he unlocked the door himself.
“Where’s your mate? You bring girls here often?” She stepped back.
“He’s in Spain. I’m housesitting.” He caught her wrist. “Just tea, yeah? Or coffee. Chat.”
She stayed. Maybe because she loved him. Maybe because she knew it’d happen eventually. The tea went cold. He was gentle, careful…
After that, they met there often. Then Chris went away for work—or so he said.
On a dull afternoon, Emma dropped by.
“Miss him? Saw you two. Blimey. You know he’s married, right?”
“Shut up. You’re jealous.” Julie flushed.
“Swear down. Kid’s barely one.”
She didn’t believe it—until the pieces fit. Only daytime meets. Always out of town. Evenings “writing.” Lies.
She fired off a furious text—lied to me, know about your wife, never want to see you again—and switched off her phone.
Then the nausea hit. They’d been careful—except that first time.
What now? First year just done. A baby? Mum’d kill her. She hated Chris, hated herself.
The clinic was humiliating. The doctor’s glare said it all. No free abortions without cause. Blood tests. Two days later, she lay on the table, legs apart, shaking. She hated Chris then.
What if she couldn’t have kids after? Should’ve told Mum. Could still leave—
A needle prick. Blackness.
She woke to women chatting about their children. Two hours later, she was home.
Mum noticed nothing. Just said she looked pale. Then term started. Julie missed Chris. She’d have forgiven him if he’d just come back.
One lecture, glasses-wearing Neil Barnes slid into the seat beside her. Short, awkward, thick lenses magnifying his eyes. Top of the class, invisible to girls—Julie included.
“You’re seeing Harrow?” he whispered.
“None of your business,” she snapped.
“His wife’s nice. Kid’s only one.”
“Why tell me this?”
“So you don’t waste time on him. You’ll want more—he’ll lie. Fight. Too much hassle for him.” He paused. “I like you. Never noticed?”
She edged away. Chris versus this drip? Love didn’t vanish overnight, even after betrayal.
One evening, Chris leaned against his car outside her flat.
“Julie, talk to me. I’m sorry. Can’t live without you. Didn’t tell you ’cause I was scared—”
His desperate eyes almost undid her.
“Yeah. Married. Means nothing. I love you—”
“Means you’re not free. I can’t trust you.”
“Everyone’s obsessed with weddings! Marriage is just stress, problems—I didn’t want that between us.”
“Your wife’s a problem? Me too?” Her chest tightened.
If he’d stopped there, she might’ve folded. But those last words soured it. She cried herself to sleep. Next day, she asked Neil to walk her home—making sure Chris saw. She kissed Neil’s cheek. Chris never came back.
Some days she nearly called him. Others, she never wanted to see him again. To forget, she letYears later, watching her daughter play in the garden with Neil laughing beside her, Julie realized the quiet love she’d built was worth far more than any fleeting passion.
