The memory of him lingers still…
Emily stepped out of the office and walked toward her car in the parking lot. A fine dusting of snow coated the bonnet and windscreen. She slid into the driver’s seat, turning on the heater first to warm the chilled interior, then flicked the wipers to clear the frost.
She pulled out and merged into the sluggish evening traffic, crawling through the city’s clogged arteries. Endless red lights and choked lanes made her regret the route. As she passed the shopping centre, she thought of ducking inside to wait out the rush, perhaps pick up a few Christmas gifts while she was at it.
But the car park was just as packed—nowhere to squeeze in. Already, she wished she’d stayed on the road, however slow. Then, in the rear-view mirror, headlights flashed—an SUV reversed, yielding its spot to her.
Inside, the shopping centre was a clamour of bodies, overheated and restless. Emily unfastened her coat, loosened her scarf, and wandered through the aisles. Festive lights and glittering baubles made her eyes ache. She dropped a handful of bright ornaments into her basket—silver reindeer, Father Christmas tea towels, champagne flutes etched with well-wishes. Small tokens for colleagues, nicer things for her mother and husband.
At the till, she realised she’d picked up far too much. No matter—it would do for something. Clutching the bulky bag, she edged toward the exit, careful not to let anyone jostle her.
“Emily!”
The voice barely registered. She kept walking.
“Smith!”
Only then did she stop, stepping aside as shoppers streamed past. A man stood there—unkempt, a tatty flat cap pulled low over his brow. His grin revealed a missing front tooth. Something in his voice tugged at her memory, but she couldn’t place him.
“Don’t recognise me? I knew you straight away. Still look a million quid,” he chuckled.
“We went to school together. Same year,” he prompted.
“James?” The name left her lips before she could stop it. She wanted to ask what had happened to him, how he’d ended up like this, but the words caught in her throat.
“That’s me,” he grinned, that gap tooth on display again. “Changed much?”
“A bit,” she admitted. “What—what happened?”
“Long story. Fancy a cuppa? There’s a café here.”
Emily hesitated. His appearance unsettled her—the scruffy clothes, the weary lines on his face. This was James, the boy she’d once fancied, the one who’d made her cry over another girl. Now she was ashamed to be seen with him.
“Sorry, I should really go—”
“Just for a bit? Been years,” he pressed.
Curiosity won. She nodded, and he brightened, guiding her through the crowd.
The café was packed. “There’s a free one,” he pointed to a dim corner.
Good. Fewer prying eyes.
A waiter approached, disdain flickering as he glanced at James. Emily ordered coffee. James rattled off a full meal—jacket potato, a steak pie. The waiter’s silent judgment prickled.
“You eat here often?” she asked.
James nodded, shame flickering. “Yeah. Good grub.” No doubt he didn’t work here in any respectable capacity.
“You ever become that doctor you wanted?”
“You remembered?” She blinked. “Yes. I’m an endocrinologist.”
He nodded, as if he’d never doubted her.
“Gifts for the family?” He nodded at her bag.
She dodged the question. “You married?”
“Was. To Yasmin. Remember her? Proper nightmare. She’s the reason I’m…” He trailed off. “Got messy. Lost everything. Dad passed after—well. Long story.”
His words tumbled out—a failed business, Yasmin’s betrayal, debts that left him with nothing. Drinking to numb it. A life unravelled.
“You could’ve sued,” Emily murmured.
“Who’d listen to me against her money?” He gave a hollow laugh. “She had blokes rough me up once. Ended up in hospital. Should’ve seen it sooner.”
The waiter returned. Emily reached for her purse, but James shook his head fiercely. “Don’t. Not that too.” He paid with crumpled notes.
“You still live round here?” he asked.
“I—I should go.” She forced a smile, brittle and false.
Regret gnawed at her as she stood. All those years ago, if she’d just told him how she felt—would it have changed anything?
James followed her out. “Don’t worry about me. I’m alright.”
“Stay here. I’ve got the car,” she said, not looking back as she walked away.
At home, her husband, David, handed her a glass of wine. “You’re late.”
“Stopped at the shopping centre.” She sank onto the sofa.
“You look peaky. Work trouble?”
She hesitated, then told him about James.
“Went soft, didn’t he? Could’ve fought back,” David said dismissively.
Emily said nothing.
Days later, she returned to the shopping centre, asking a security guard if he’d seen James.
“Gone. Month now. No one’s looking.”
She left her card. “If he comes back—tell him to call.”
The guard pocketed it without glancing.
Once, she thought she saw him on the street. Called out. A stranger turned.
She liked to think he’d turned things around. Found work. Stopped drinking. But James never called. And some stories don’t get happier endings.
