Emily closed the file and emailed it to her work address. On Monday, she’d open it at the office, print it, stamp it, and submit the report. Done! Freedom at last.
She worked as an accountant for a small London-based firm. The workload was heavy, but the pay was decent, and the office was just a short walk from her flat. No need to waste time cramming into packed buses during rush hour. A pleasant stroll to work, fresh air in her lungs—simple joys.
The accounting department was all women. Emily didn’t get too close to anyone. Most had families, children, while she was single. When asked to help or take on extra work, she never refused, often labouring evenings and weekends—like today.
She woke early on Saturday and went straight to her laptop, double-checking everything before sending the file. Now she could freshen up, have breakfast, and then… What next? The ringing phone interrupted her thoughts.
“Emily, hi!” chirped a cheerful female voice.
“Hello,” Emily replied cautiously. “Who is this?”
“Seriously? It’s me, Lucy!”
“Lucy?” Emily echoed, doubtful. “You’re in London?”
“Not yet, almost there,” Lucy laughed.
Emily was speechless. Of all people, she least expected to hear from her old school friend. After Lucy’s betrayal fifteen years ago, they hadn’t spoken. Now she regretted never changing her number.
“Emily, you’re the only person I know here,” Lucy cut through the silence. “Can you meet me? Please. I divorced Ben ages ago. Wanted a fresh start.” Lucy’s voice sounded distant, almost guilty.
Emily didn’t want to see her. But so much time had passed—wasn’t it water under the bridge? And she *was* curious about news from her hometown. Fine. She’d meet her, help her get settled, and that would be that.
“What time does your train arrive?” she asked flatly.
“Twenty minutes. You’ll come?” Lucy’s tone brightened.
“It’ll take me at least an hour—bus, then the Tube. Wait in the main hall. Don’t wander off.” Emily heard herself agree and couldn’t believe it.
“I’ll wait,” Lucy promised.
Emily sighed at the cold kettle, washed up, dabbed on makeup, dressed, and left. She rented a small one-bed flat in a London suburb—modest but affordable.
The station’s main hall overwhelmed her. How would she find Lucy in this crowd? Fifteen years had passed—would she even recognise her? Emily walked slowly, staying visible.
“Emily!” a voice called.
Lucy—changed but recognisable—hurried over from the shops. She’d gained weight, lightened her hair, and heavy makeup aged her, but Emily knew her instantly.
Lucy hugged her tightly.
“Finally! I’m dead on my feet.” She linked arms with Emily, dragging her toward a wheeled suitcase and an oversized handbag.
“You can’t just leave your things like that—they’ll get stolen,” Emily said, grasping for words.
“No one took them. Besides, my money and ID are safe.” Lucy glanced at her chest.
Emily shook her head, scanning the crowd. No one paid them any mind.
Lucy balanced the bag on her suitcase and stared expectantly.
“Where do you need to go?” Emily asked, exhaling.
“You’re still mad at me? Listen… Can I stay with you a few days? Just till I find a flat?” Lucy bit her lip.
*The audacity. Stole my boyfriend, now wants to freeload.* Emily hesitated. *Should’ve ignored her call.*
“Come on,” she said, heading for the exit.
Lucy chattered, but Emily tuned her out, pretending to navigate the crowd. Eventually, Lucy fell silent, huffing behind her.
“I thought you lived in central London. This doesn’t even feel like the city,” Lucy grumbled when they reached the flat. “Don’t worry, I’ll move out soon. You live alone? There are men’s slippers by the door.”
*Damn, forgot to hide those.* “I live alone. They’re for guests.”
Lucy flopped onto the sofa, stretching her legs.
“I’m in London! Can’t believe it.”
Emily made tea, sliced bread and ham for sandwiches.
“Got any wine? Let’s toast to reunion,” Lucy suggested.
Emily fetched an opened bottle and two glasses.
Lucy drank freely, oblivious as Emily barely sipped. She rambled about Ben—handsome but awful—and her second husband, a rich older man she married for money. She’d cheated with his driver, was thrown out, but at least got a payout. Now she was here, “starting over.”
“You were smart to leave right after school. Our hometown’s a dead end.”
Emily hadn’t *needed* to move to London for accounting. Ben had been her sweetheart since year nine. They’d planned to marry after college—until Lucy got him drunk at prom and lied about a pregnancy. By the time the truth came out, they’d already wed and divorced.
Emily had cried, then left. She wasn’t academic, just wanted to earn a living. When her mum said, “Don’t let Lucy back in. If Ben loved you, he wouldn’t have left. Better now than after marriage,” it helped.
Now, listening to Lucy, Emily was glad she’d never mentioned James.
They’d met six months ago on the Tube. Born and raised in London, his parents owned his flat but were picky about his girlfriends. They liked Emily—”classy, not like some transplants,” his mum said.
After Ben, Emily hadn’t let anyone close. But with James, she imagined growing old together—weekends at their cottage, kids, grandkids…
He was away on business till Tuesday. She prayed Lucy would be gone by then.
But days passed, and Lucy stayed. Not that she seemed to be looking—clubbing till dawn, stumbling home drunk. By the time Emily returned from work, Lucy was out again. They barely spoke.
“Want me to talk to her?” James once offered.
“No, I’ll handle it,” Emily said quickly, fearing their meeting.
One evening, she came home to find Lucy passed out on the sofa—in *her* dress, *her* bracelet glinting. Emily seethed. Two weeks of freeloading, now stealing her things?
“Lucy, wake up!” she snapped.
Lucy mumbled, eyes shut.
“I’ll dump water on you.”
“What’s your problem?” Lucy cracked one eye open.
“Why are you wearing my things?”
“Jealous much?” Lucy slurred.
“Take them off. You said you’d find a flat—”
“You’re kicking me out?” Lucy sat up, suddenly coherent.
“Don’t twist it. This is my space. My *life*. The flat’s too small for two.”
“Fine.” Lucy yanked the dress off, tossing it.
Emily gasped—Lucy wore *her* underwear too.
“Want these back?” Lucy smirked, reaching behind to unclasp the bra.
“Keep them,” Emily spat.
She remembered a blouse reeking of Lucy’s perfume—hadn’t imagined it.
“You need to leave. You said you had money.”
“Yeah, well, it’s gone,” Lucy snapped, tying a robe. “I’ll go tomorrow. Not at *night*.”
Emily scrubbed the filthy kitchen. The doorbell rang. James stood there.
“You weren’t supposed to come.”
“I wanted to help,” he said, eyes darting past her.
Emily turned. Lucy smirked.
“This your man? Shy, huh? I’m Lucy. Come in, handsome.”
Emily could’ve strangled her.
James introduced himself—*smiling*.
“I’ll put the kettle on,” Lucy purred, swaying to the kitchen, legs on full display.
She flirted shamelessly, “accidentally” brushing against James. Emily fought tears. *Again. All my men fall for her.*
“I’ve got an early start,” Emily said stiffly, storming out.
She hoped James would follow. He didn’t.
Inside, she boiled with rage. She’d throw them both out—never speak to him again. *Never!*
Lucy strutted in, changed into jeans and a top, dropped the bracelet on the sofa.
“James and I are going. Don’t wait up.”
“Em—” James peeked in.
Emily didn’t turn. Tears blurred her vision.
The door slammed. She sobbed, cursing herself for letting Lucy in, for losing James. She’d *loved* him—dreamed of their future. *Never trusting anyone again.*
After crying herself out, she scrubbed Lucy’s lipstick-stained mug like it carried germs.
The bell rang. James.
“Guess what you’re thinking. But you’d never have kicked her out otherwise. I know her type.”
“Where is she?”
“Where she belongs—a hotel. Played along, offered to leave, dropped her off. Told her *exactly* what I thought. WarnShe never saw Lucy again, and years later, when her daughter asked about the scarred-over wound of that old betrayal, Emily simply smiled and said, “Some people teach you who to keep out of your life—be grateful for the lesson.”
