The engine purred softly, filling the car with the scent of leather and air freshener. The grey asphalt, streaked with clean white lines, rushed beneath the wheels as the sun climbed lazily, promising a warm summer day. Emily leaned back against the headrest and closed her eyes.
“Go on, sleep. We’ve another twenty minutes,” said Robert to his wife.
“I’d rather be asleep at home, in my own bed. It is the weekend, after all. You could’ve gone alone. These are your friends, not mine,” Emily murmured without opening her eyes.
“What would I do there without you? Everyone’s bringing their wives. I thought you and Ingrid got on well. Besides, there’s no better rest than being out in nature, not stuck indoors.” Robert paused. “It’s been too long since we all met up. Remember how it used to be? Oh—George is bringing his new wife. Did I tell you? No? Well, imagine that—he finally went and got married. Let’s see who managed to tie him down.”
Emily absorbed the news, straightened in her seat, and opened her eyes.
“Have you met her already?”
“Briefly. No time for details. But I’d love a proper chat, like the old days, sitting round the fire with the guitar. Ah, those were the times,” Robert sighed.
“Now you’ll be meeting up every weekend again,” Emily muttered.
“Come off it. What’s wrong with that? We’ve been mates since uni. Known each other forever. Remember when your mum was ill? George handed over the money for her surgery without a word.”
Emily settled back into her seat.
“True. George is a good man. But Oliver and Ingrid—”
“What’s wrong with them?” Robert frowned.
“They don’t seem like a family—just playing at it. Distance between them. I don’t know how to put it.”
“Never noticed. Seems fine to me. You know Ingrid and George used to date? Head over heels—everyone thought they’d marry first year. Then something went wrong. Next thing, Ingrid married Oliver.”
“You never told me that,” Emily turned to him.
“Ancient history. Water under the bridge,” Robert fell silent.
The engine hummed steadily. Emily shut her eyes again, opening them only when the car jolted onto a dirt track. Tall pines stood like sentinels, blocking the sunlight.
“I’d forgotten how lovely it is here,” Emily gasped.
“Told you,” Robert said, pride lacing his voice as if he’d arranged the scenery himself.
The gate was open—they were expected. Robert parked beside two other cars by the fence. Everyone was here already. George hurried towards them, arms wide as if to embrace the car itself.
“At last! We nearly left without you,” George clapped Robert on the back. “You’re looking well. How d’you manage it?” He winked at Emily. “Why so much food? We’ve enough to last a week. Ah well, hand it over—never hurts to have extra.”
Laden with bags, the three walked towards the house. A charcoal grill stood ready in the clearing, a sack of coals beside it. Beneath the apple tree, a wooden table was set with wicker chairs.
Ingrid appeared in the doorway with a young woman, arms full of cushions and blankets.
“Robert! Emily! Hello!” Ingrid called.
The air filled with chatter and laughter, overlapping voices rising in welcome.
“Right, ladies—you sort things here. We’re off fishing,” George announced.
“Oh, really?” Ingrid drawled, unimpressed.
“We won’t be long. Just a bit of male bonding. You won’t miss us. We’ve done our part—marinated the meat, prepped the grill, brought supplies. The rest is up to you.”
“Girls, fancy a drink?” Ingrid set a bottle of red wine on the table once the men had gone.
“I’d rather have white. Red gives me a headache,” said the youngest among them—new to their circle—Alice.
“Brought some just in case. Be right back,” Ingrid said.
“You know her?” Emily asked Alice, nodding towards the house.
“Yes. She’s visited us a couple of times.”
“Really?” Emily frowned. “When did you get back to town?”
From the car conversation, she’d gathered they’d only just returned from their honeymoon.
“Two weeks ago,” Alice replied.
“Ta-da!” Ingrid reappeared, brandishing a bottle of white wine.
The women sipped their drinks and turned to planning the meal. Ingrid took charge, and Emily sensed she did so pointedly for Alice’s benefit—asserting her seniority in the group. It grated on her, but she held her tongue. Better to watch and learn what Alice was made of.
When the table was set, salads prepared, and cutlery laid out, the women relaxed, waiting for the men’s return. And what do three women talk about? Naturally, men.
“Alice, keep your wits about you. Don’t get too comfortable. Your husband’s a notorious flirt. Lost count of the women he’s paraded before us. All men cheat—just a fact,” Ingrid sighed.
“Don’t scare her,” Emily cut in.
“Does your husband cheat?” Alice asked bluntly.
“Cheeky. Wait and see for yourself,” Ingrid shot back, glancing at Emily.
Alice gave her a strange look but said nothing.
“If I found out Robert cheated, I’d probably forgive him. Don’t know,” Emily mused, steering the dangerous topic towards herself.
“Robert wouldn’t dare. Men like him don’t stray,” Ingrid remarked almost kindly.
“Well, if all men cheat, what’s the point of divorcing? Alone is worse—then you’d have to start over. And the next one, by your logic, would cheat too. Why trade one problem for another? I know Robert. We’ve smoothed out our edges. Who knows what a new man would be like?”
“Not all men cheat,” Alice said firmly.
“How would you know?” Ingrid scoffed. “You’ve hardly been married five minutes. Wait till the spark fades, the fatigue sets in, his flaws glare at you… You’ll see.”
“Only those who need to prove something cheat—using women to feel important—” Alice held her ground.
“Listen to her—hatched yesterday, teaching her elders,” Ingrid huffed, seeking Emily’s support.
“No squabbling, ladies,” Oliver’s voice cut in behind them.
All three jumped, turning to see the men returning.
“Where’s the fish?” Ingrid asked, hands on hips.
“Did we promise fish? We said we were going fishing—never mentioned bringing any back,” George grinned, and laughter broke the tension.
The mood lightened again. The men changed, then busied themselves with the grill. The women brought out salads and cold cuts.
As the sun dipped behind the pines, the group grew merry with wine and kebabs. George strummed his guitar, singing in a warm baritone—*”You’re the only one for me…”*—while the others joined in. Alice gazed adoringly at her husband, oblivious to all else.
But Emily noticed Ingrid’s lingering glances at George. *No, it’s not over for her*, she thought.
“What a grand evening. Missed this. Love you all—let’s toast to friendship!” Oliver raised his glass, but the bottles were empty.
“I’ll fetch more,” Ingrid darted towards the house.
“Don’t forget Alice’s white!” Emily called after her, then stood. “I’ll help.”
She meant to scold Ingrid privately. No need for Alice to see those longing looks. Best avoid a scene. But Emily sensed trouble simmering in Ingrid.
She crept onto the porch, unsure why she was tiptoeing. Inside, she turned right towards the kitchen—and froze in the doorway.
Ingrid was uncorking the white wine, unaware of her. Then she pulled a small vial from her pocket, unscrewed it, and shook pills into the bottle.
“What are you doing?” Emily gasped.
Ingrid jerked. Pills scattered across the table. “Poisoning Alice? Have you lost your mind?”
“Keep your voice down!” Ingrid glanced out the window. “It’s just sleeping pills.”
“Alice is the only one drinking white. You want her out cold? You still love George, don’t you? Are you two—even now?”
“Say it. Go on. He’s mine. I’ve loved him since uni.”
“Then why marry Oliver?”
“Stupid, that’s why. Wanted revenge. Got pregnant—he refused the baby. Botched abortion. I can’t have children now.”
“My God, Ingrid. I didn’t know.” Emily hugged her shoulders.
“Don’t tell anyone. Thought if she slept, I’d have one night with George—like before. Tried to move on. Can’t. It’s agony.” She shoved Emily’s hand away, scooping upThe following year, Alice gave birth to a baby girl, and as they all gathered to celebrate, Ingrid quietly pulled Emily aside and whispered that she and Oliver had started the process of adoption, finally finding their own path to happiness.
