Nadia stepped out of the shop and descended the cracked pavement steps when a sleek red car pulled up beside her. A woman emerged, her dress billowing like a balloon in the gusty wind, a strand of hair masking her face. She flicked it away with practised ease, smoothed the rippling fabric of her skirt, and walked past without a glance.
“Lena? Lena, is that you?” Nadia called after her.
The woman turned, scanning the street before her gaze settled on Nadia. For a moment, they simply stared at one another.
“Don’t you recognise me?” Nadia climbed back toward the shop entrance. “It’s Nadia. Nadia Whitaker.”
“Nadia. Goodness, I didn’t.” Lena’s voice was clipped, almost amused. “You’ll live.”
“You were just walking by—” Nadia tugged Lena away from the doors. “Let’s move, we’re in the way. Look at you! You haven’t changed at all.”
Lena gave a thin, indulgent smile.
“Do you live round here?” she asked.
“No, I work nearby. Just popped out on my break. And you?”
“Why are we standing about? You’ve got time, haven’t you? Let’s grab a coffee. Who knows when we’ll bump into each other again?”
They slipped into a dimly lit café next door, half-empty, the kind of place that smelled of reheated pasties and weak tea. A waitress with sharp elbows and a soul-deep exhaustion slouched over, slapping laminated menus onto the table.
“Don’t bother,” Lena said, waving them off. “Two salads, two Victoria sponges, and tea. Quickly.” Her eyes flicked back to Nadia as the waitress drifted away, hips swaying like a pendulum.
“So,” Lena settled into the plastic chair, “how’s life?”
“Fine. Was married—briefly. No kids. Looks like you’ve done well for yourself.”
“Can’t complain.” Lena laughed and flashed a glinting wedding band.
“Any children?”
The waitress returned with dainty plates, teacups, a small porcelain pot.
“Listen,” Lena said suddenly once they were alone again, “are your parents still alive?”
“Dad passed a few years ago. Mum… well, she’s hanging on, but she’s never been the same since.” Nadia traced the rim of her cup absently.
“Shame. I always liked your parents.” Lena poured the tea, the scent of mint rising between them. “Not like my mother. Never satisfied with anything, never a kind word. No wonder Dad left. I used to love being at your house. So quiet. So… safe.” Her eyes glazed over, lost somewhere in the past.
Nadia exhaled softly.
***
She and Danny had lived in the same block of flats—Nadia on the fourth floor, Danny just below. First nursery, then primary, then secondary school together. His father drank, rows echoing through the thin walls. Danny would flee upstairs to hers.
Then, in Year 10, a new girl arrived. Parents freshly divorced, moved into the next building over. Lena, all brightness and easy charm, stole Danny’s attention overnight. Nadia burned with jealousy. Where they’d once walked to school side by side, now—
“What’s wrong?” she snapped when Danny halted in the middle of the courtyard.
“Just wait a sec.”
“For what?”
The door of the neighbouring building swung open. Lena bounded toward them, laughing, her eyes locked only on Danny. He transformed around her—jokes tumbling out, shoulders loose, a version of himself Nadia didn’t recognise. She trailed behind, silent, while Lena’s laughter sliced through the air.
After school, Danny would bolt to the lockers, clutching Lena’s coat, forgetting Nadia entirely. At break, Lena chattered away as if nothing had changed.
Once, the three went to the cinema. When the lights came up, Nadia saw their fingers laced together. They didn’t even notice when she hung back. After that, she stopped joining them.
At eighteen, they scattered—Nadia to university, Danny to trade school, Lena to fashion college.
That winter, Nadia fell ill. Snow dusted the pavement, Christmas lights twinkling beyond the glass. From her window, she spotted Lena hurrying toward her building. Her heart leapt—until the footsteps stopped a floor below. Danny’s voice, muffled: “Finally…” A door clicked shut.
Heat flooded her cheeks. She slumped onto the hall bench, tears stinging. So. Lena had been visiting him while his parents were at work. The thought of what they did in there twisted something deep inside her.
Later, her mother mentioned bumping into Danny’s mum at the shops. The woman had sighed, said her husband was drinking worse than ever, and her son had moved out—shacked up with Lena in a tiny flat somewhere.
In her final year, Nadia married a fellow student. They lived with his mother. The woman meddled endlessly, dictating how a wife ought to behave. Her husband merely shrugged.
“Alex, why did you even marry me?” Nadia asked once. “No wife will ever replace your mum.”
He’d just sighed. “She only wants what’s best. You’ll get used to it.”
“I don’t want to. Go live with her, then.”
Their divorce was swift. No children, nothing to split.
She saw Danny only once after—at his father’s funeral. No chance to speak. His mother remarried soon after.
***
Now, across the café table, Lena glowed—polished, self-assured. The waitress finally brought their salads. Lena dug in eagerly. Nadia nibbled her sponge cake, the tea gone lukewarm.
“Danny,” she said abruptly. “How is he?”
Lena froze, fork halfway to her lips. “Still hung up on him, are you?” She leaned back, arms crossed.
“Don’t you remember? I envied you. You had that perfect little family. All I had was my face. Danny was easy. Hooked him in no time.” She smirked, then sighed. “But we got bored. He wanted kids, a semi-detached in Surrey. Me? I wanted life. Now I’ve got a husband with money, everything I could want.”
“And Danny?”
“Why do you care? Bought some poky studio flat. Couldn’t afford better. Last I heard, he’s alone. So go on, then. What’s he to you?”
Nadia checked her watch. “I should get back to work.”
She stood, desperate to escape Lena’s sharp gaze.
“Suit yourself,” Lena muttered into her cup.
Nadia fumbled for her purse.
“Don’t. My treat.” Lena waved her off like dismissing a clumsy servant.
Nadia turned toward the door—then stopped. Swung back.
“Forgot something?” Lena arched a brow.
“His address. Write it down.”
For a fraction of a second, Lena faltered. Then, with exaggerated slowness, she scribbled on a napkin and pushed it across the table.
“There. Good luck with that.”
At her desk, Nadia smoothed the crumpled napkin.
*And then what? Just turn up on his doorstep?* Lena’s voice seemed to whisper in her skull.
“I will,” Nadia said aloud.
“Sorry?” Her colleague glanced up.
Nadia shoved the napkin into her bag, boots crunching through fallen leaves on her way home. She paused in the courtyard, eyes drifting to Danny’s old window.
*Why am I doing this? Lena’s right—he never loved you. All these years, not a word. Stop humiliating yourself.*
She spun on her heel—and collided with him.
“Nadia? What are you doing here?”
Her pulse stuttered.
“I—I was visiting a colleague. She wasn’t in. You look terrible.”
Stubble shadowed his jaw, fever bright in his eyes. “Managed to catch something. Just nipped out for milk.” He held up the plastic bag weakly.
“You should be in bed.” She steered him toward the lifts.
His flat was sparse, bachelor-neat. She fried potatoes, warmed the milk, watched him shuffle off to sleep. When she tucked the blanket over him, his forehead was damp. Cooling.
She left without a sound.
“Late tonight,” her mother called from the sofa when she returned.
“Ran into Lena.”
“Thought you two weren’t friends anymore.”
“We had coffee.”
“How is she?”
“Married. Fancy car. Same as always.”
“And you?”
“What about me?”
“When am I getting grandchildren?”
“Not this again.” Nadia retreated to her room.
She was scrubbing her face clean the next evening when her mother rapped on the bathroom door, phone in hand.
Nadia took it, breath caught.
“You never changed your number. I just—I took a chance. Sorry I conked out. Why’d you leave?”
Goosebumps prickled her skin.
“Didn’t want you to wake. Feeling better?”
“Almost. Nadia, I—I know I messed up.She hung up the phone, pressed the crumpled napkin to her chest, and whispered, “This time, I won’t let go.”
