Emma and I had always been close, ever since we chased butterflies in the garden at primary school, and life’s winding road only brought us nearer. She moved to London to attend university, settled there, found a job at a publishing house, and rented a small flat overlooking the Thames. Despite the miles between us, the strings of our friendship never frayed. Emma would come home for holidays, and we spent long hours chatting over the phone, sometimes about nothing at all.
At twenty, I married and soon had a daughter, Lucy. Last year, my husband and I decided to move to London, too, and by some odd twist, we rented a flat in the very same neighbourhood Emma lived in. The world seemed to blur around me like fog rolling across the heath.
Emma, now twenty-seven, had remained single all these years. It was puzzling, as she was beautiful and clever, the sort of woman youd expect to see in magazines or in lively conversations at dinner parties. But recently, she announcedrather dreamilythat shed begun seeing someone. My heart hammered with excitement as I begged her to introduce us. All she gave me was a sly smile and whispered, Not yet. The hour hasnt come.
About a month later, the encounter happened as if unfolding in a waking dream. William had moved in with her, and Emma invited my husband and me round for tea, the invitation itself almost floating out of her mouth. The first time I glimpsed William, it was as though time twisted backwards and forwards at oncehe looked well past thirty, face marked by a life that wandered through too many pubs and too few mornings. His hair was wild, his clothes wrinkled and mismatched, giving the impression of someone whod slept on benches more nights than his own bed. My husband and I exchanged glances as sharp as cold steel.
We soon learned that William was out of work and hadnt made it past his GCSEs. My thoughts swirled like London foghow could Emma, radiant Emma, choose him? It made no sense, no matter how many cups of tea I drank to steady my nerves.
Trying to broach the subject felt like walking through a field of nettles. I spoke, my voice quivering with concern, only for Emma to shout, her words echoing strangely. She demanded I keep out of her life, her eyes flashing. More than thatshe revealed she hoped to have a child with William. The very idea swept through me with icy dread. It was as if a surreal force had taken over, and the prospect of her having his child unsettled me to my bones. I simply couldnt comprehend her decision; it was like gazing at the moon and expecting it to turn into the sun, twisting dream logic through the ordinary light of day.
