Think, Mate, Think
Christopher pulled up to the petrol pump and rolled down his window.
“Premium unleaded, full tank,” he called out to the attendant before heading into the service station.
In the doorway, he nearly collided with a man who glanced briefly at him before burying his nose in his phone. “Greg?!” Christopher almost blurted out but bit his tongue just in time. Inside, he watched his former friend through the glass door, clenching his jaw as the man climbed into a sleek Mercedes. Hands slightly shaking, Christopher hurried to the till and handed over his card.
By the time he stepped back outside, the Mercedes was already merging onto the motorway. Without hesitation, Christopher jumped into his own car—a modest Honda—and set off in pursuit.
“Fancy running into him like this. Looks like he’s done alright for himself. Married well, has he? Doesn’t matter—I’ll find out where the money’s coming from,” he muttered, eyes fixed on the taillights ahead.
The Mercedes turned into an upscale housing estate. When it slowed outside one of the grand detached homes, Christopher drove past, watching in his rear-view mirror as the gates swung open. He reversed discreetly, spotting a security camera mounted above the entrance. Sinking lower in his seat, he kept his face out of view.
Through the iron railings, he saw Greg park the car near the garage. A woman stepped out onto the porch, and even from a distance, Christopher recognised her instantly.
“No bloody way,” he whispered.
She descended the steps and greeted Greg with an embrace, lingering in his arms before they disappeared inside.
“They’re married? That’s their house? Unbelievable. How did this happen? Revenge? But quiet little Emma of all people—look at her now. And Greg? Some friend. I could’ve been in his place…”
***
The nightclub was loud and stuffy, the air thick with bass and neon lights flickering over the crowd.
Christopher leaned against the bar, sipping a cocktail while half-heartedly watching the dancers. His gaze settled on a tall woman in a tight red dress. “Not bad,” he thought before turning back to his drink.
A familiar laugh made him spin around.
“This is my mate Christopher,” Greg announced, approaching with the very woman in red draped on his arm. “Chris, meet Jessica, my girlfriend.”
Christopher’s eyes raked over her. Up close, she was stunning—big, kohl-lined eyes, dimples, and glossy blonde hair cascading over her shoulders. A proper dream.
“Like what you see?” Greg smirked.
“What’re you drinking?” Christopher asked, not looking away from Jessica.
“I’m driving. You two should come to mine—it’s too loud here, and I could use a proper drink,” she said.
“Fancy it?” Greg nudged his friend.
Christopher downed the rest of his cocktail and stood.
Outside, the music faded.
“Nice ride, eh?” Greg gestured to the sleek Audi parked nearby. “Her dad gave it to her for her birthday,” he bragged, as if he’d had anything to do with it.
Christopher glanced from the car to his friend, who winked as if to say, “Mate, you won’t believe what’s next.”
“How’d he land a girl like that?” Christopher thought incredulously. Greg wasn’t exactly competition looks-wise. “Kept quiet about her too, the sly git.”
“Where’s Emma? I invited both of you,” Greg asked as they sped through the city.
“She’s not feeling great. Morning sickness.” Just mentioning Emma soured Christopher’s mood.
“Blimey! Keeping it quiet, are we? Too cheap for a wedding?” Greg snorted.
Christopher ignored him. He didn’t want to talk about Emma.
The Audi pulled up outside a high-rise. The lift, all mirrors and polished steel, whisked them to the sixteenth floor.
“This yours?” Christopher surveyed the swanky flat. “Where’d you even find her?” he muttered in Greg’s ear.
“In the street,” Greg laughed. “Nearly ran me over, believe it or not.”
Christopher kept pouring wine until Greg was thoroughly sloshed. Jessica steered him to bed, and when she returned, Christopher was studying a painting.
“That’s mine,” she said from behind him.
“Yours?” He turned, intrigued. “Could you paint me?”
“Paint, not draw,” she corrected, stepping back to scrutinise him. “You’ve got good bone structure. Ever modelled nude?”
“Right now?” He froze.
“Not here. In my studio, with proper lighting. Give me your number—I’ll call when I’m free.”
When Christopher got home, Emma was in tears on the sofa.
“You’ve been drinking,” she accused.
“Only a bit. Out with Greg.”
“Hungry?” She sniffed.
“Nah. Nearly breakfast time anyway. I’m knackered—just gonna shower and crash.” He shut the bathroom door behind him.
How had he ended up like this? He’d never planned anything serious with Emma. She was nice enough, but the pregnancy was poorly timed. Jessica, though—that was different. He needed to be rid of Emma. Fast. But how?
Under the hot water, he replayed his time with Jessica. Greg didn’t deserve her. But Emma was in the way. She was sweet, but Jessica—and her loaded father—was the golden ticket.
Raised by a single mum, Christopher had grown up skint. Wealth was the dream, and Jessica was his shortcut. He just had to handle Emma.
He climbed into bed, back to Emma, already scheming.
For two days, he waited for Jessica’s call. When it finally came, she gave him an address. “Her own studio?” he marvelled.
He arrived freshly groomed. Jessica led him into a room filled with canvases and told him to strip.
“Just like that?”
“We’ve only got two hours. Get on with it.”
He posed stiffly. Twenty minutes in, his legs burned.
“Can we take a break?”
Jessica sighed. “Fine. I’ll make coffee.”
While she was gone, he peeked at the sketch. He looked perfect. Barefoot, he crept up behind her and slid his arms around her waist. She turned, as if expecting it, and kissed him.
***
Christopher returned home smug. Too easy. Emma sat crying on the sofa.
“Now what?”
“You don’t love me anymore?”
“Here we go.” He stood.
“You’re never home!” she wailed.
“I’m working my arse off! Once the baby’s here, we’ll need money. Plus, there’s the wedding.”
“The wedding?” She brightened.
“Course. Kid needs two parents.”
She flung her arms around him, missing his grimace.
“Maybe you should visit your gran? Save on rent while I stay with Greg. I’ll ring you daily. In a few months, I’ll fetch you. Yeah?”
“Really?”
He hadn’t expected her to agree so easily. Emma missed her gran—her only family since her mum died.
The last days before she left, Christopher was all tenderness, lulling her into security. He even skipped his “sessions” with Jessica.
At the station, he waved her off with air kisses before hurrying to Jessica’s. He never called Emma. Changed his number, moved in with Jessica. Greg tried to confront him, but Christopher was bigger, stronger.
Three months later, he married Jessica. But the dream soured fast. Her father let the wedding happen—but refused him a job in the company. The money was tight, and Jessica, used to luxury, grew bitter. One night, Christopher slapped her in a jealous rage.
The next evening, her father stood in their flat. “Pack your things. Solicitors will handle the divorce. Step out of line, and you’ll regret it.”
So Christopher lost everything. But he wasn’t one to sulk. Plenty more fish in the sea—wealthy, older women without meddling families.
He scoured gossip columns, tracked them down, and “accidentally” stepped in front of their cars. A handsome young man with a few scrapes? They practically invited him home themselves.
Now he dressed sharp. One admirer even gifted him a flat—one-bed, but still.
Yet, seeing Greg and Emma together gnawed at him. His child, raised under another man’s name. Was it revenge? Or love?
He sat in his car outside their house, fuming, until his phone rang.
“Where are you, darling? I’ve missed you,” crooned a voice—his wife, old enough to be his mother. She’d bought him everything, on one condition: no cheating.
He forced a laugh. “On my way, sweetheart.”
As he drove off, he sighed. “You’ve messed this up, mate. Think. Think hard…”
