Years ago, in a quiet corner of London, three women shared an unbreakable bond.
“Come round mine this Saturday,” Diana said cheerfully to her colleagues, Claire and Evelyn. “We’ll have a proper natter over a cuppa—or something stronger.” The other two laughed and nodded.
“I’ll bring a nice bottle of wine,” Claire promised. She knew her vintages well.
“And I’ll whip up something tasty,” Evelyn added. Her cooking was legendary among friends.
“Why your place, though?” Claire wondered. “Why not a café?”
“Honestly, we’re always in cafés,” Diana replied. “At home, we can let our hair down—no one judging if we dance like loons.”
“You’ve got a point,” Evelyn agreed. “It’ll be proper cosy.”
The three were in their early forties, unmarried, and had worked together for years. Diana had divorced a decade prior. Claire, the vivacious beauty of the trio, had never married but had a grown daughter living her own life. Evelyn, the quiet one, had been abandoned by her husband when their son was just three. She’d dated occasionally since, though never seriously.
Diana had nearly remarried once—until her fiancé vanished to Germany with another woman, leaving no explanation. “Good riddance,” she’d declared, though the sting lingered.
Claire, ever the charmer, flitted between men but never settled. She lived near the office, the only one of them who drove. Evelyn wasn’t a beauty, but there was something about her—though Diana and Claire privately called her “the little grey mouse.”
That Friday, as they left work, Diana reminded them: “Tomorrow’s still on, yeah?”
“Course!” Claire chirped. Evelyn stayed silent.
By Saturday afternoon, Diana had tidied her flat, popped to the supermarket for chocolate digestives and a few other bits, and set the table. Claire and Evelyn arrived together, laughing as they sat down. They drank wine—though Evelyn barely touched hers.
“What’s with you?” Claire prodded. “Not drinking?”
Evelyn bit her lip. “I’ve got a date tonight. With Geoffrey.”
“Geoffrey?” The other two gaped.
“We only met recently,” Evelyn admitted. “He rang last night and asked me out.”
“Why’d you come, then? You could’ve called it off,” Claire said.
“I told him about our plans… and, well, I gave him your address, Diana. He’s picking me up here.”
Diana, mid-biscuit, blinked. “Right. May as well meet this mystery man.”
Claire stayed silent as Evelyn fussed with her hair. “Do I look alright?”
“Fine,” they muttered. Claire added, “Blimey, you’d think he was Prince Charming.”
Evelyn just smiled and slipped off to reapply her lipstick.
“Honestly,” Claire whispered, “how’d she land someone? She’s forty-six and acts like a schoolgirl.”
The doorbell rang. Diana sprang up, giggling. “Let’s see this Geoffrey, then.”
A tall, silver-haired man stood there, clutching three bouquets. “Evening,” he said warmly, handing them out.
Diana nearly dropped hers.
Geoffrey—handsome, well-dressed, and effortlessly charming—smiled at Evelyn. “Ready, love?” Then, to the others: “Lovely to meet you.”
Claire shoved Diana aside. “Come in! Have a drink with us.”
“Another time,” he said politely.
Diana rolled her eyes. *Claire’s like a moth to a flame.* Aloud, she offered, “Fancy a juice?”
He took a sip, then set the glass down. With an arm around Evelyn, he said, “Pleasure meeting you both,” and they were off.
The moment the door shut, the friends stared at each other.
“No way a man like that’s serious about *her*,” Claire scoffed. “He’ll have his fun and bolt.”
Diana sighed. “He’s *exactly* my type. Where’d she even *find* him?”
“Nowhere good,” Claire sniffed. “Mark my words—it won’t last.”
But it did. Weeks passed, then months. Evelyn arrived at work glowing, chattering about galleries, dinners, and meeting Geoffrey’s friends.
One evening, Diana spotted Geoffrey outside a jeweller’s in Mayfair. He smiled. “Fancy helping me choose a ring?”
Her heart leapt. *For me?*
Under the glass, emeralds glinted. “What d’you think of this one?” he asked.
“Stunning,” she breathed, already picturing Claire’s envy.
He bought it. She floated home, imagining the proposal—only to keep silent, waiting for her surprise.
That Friday, Evelyn announced: “Geoffrey’s taking us all to dinner. He’s got news.”
Diana barely slept.
At the café, Geoffrey arrived—suit, tie, flowers. Her pulse raced. Then he dropped to one knee.
“Evelyn, love—marry me?”
Diana’s heart cracked.
“*This* ring?” Evelyn gasped.
“Your pal Diana helped pick it,” Geoffrey said, smiling at her. “Cheers for that.”
“…Course,” Diana mumbled. “Be happy.”
Inside, she wilted. *Shame he wasn’t mine.*
