The Poison of Envy
Will, Im scared Emily clutched her napkin, her voice having a tell-tale quiver on that last word. She glanced up at himher eyes were wide, filled with that honest sort of fear you only see in children and, apparently, 25-year-old designers terrified of WhatsApp.
She fumbled her phone out of her handbag, unlocked it with shaky hands, and handed it over. Will scrolled through the messages: Thanks for a lovely evening, Miss you already, When shall we meet again? See you soon, Ill be waiting at our spot after work. His eyebrow shot up, and a deep crease settled between his eyebrows.
When did these arrive? Wills voice was disarmingly calm, smooth as a BBC presenter describing an on-coming hurricane.
The last one came five minutes ago. Just as we placed our order, Emilys shoulders sagged, and she swallowed hard. Its happened several timesalways when Im with you. Like someone is watching. All the time. Knowing where I am, what Im doing.
Will leant back, ran a hand over his tidy jaw, his gaze suddenly sharp, as though he were calculating the probability of a pigeon’s successful theft of a Greggs pasty. Show me all the messages. And the dates.
Emily scrolled through, her hands quaking like shed consumed her own bodyweight in espresso. Will examined the screen, making mental notes with the air of a man used to facing off with the most elusive of HR departments. Some texts read: Cant stop thinking about you, Remember our last chat? Eager for more, You know where to find me, if you change your mind. With each new message, it felt as if some invisible hand was reaching out of the shadows, intent on pulling their relationship to bits.
Weird, he declared, his words suddenly carrying the weight of Cutty Sarks anchor. Its meticulous. Like someones trying to make it look like youre cheating on me and is scheduling these for maximum effect. A bit too planned if you ask me.
Emily crumpled just a touch further. She was 25, working as a designer in a tiny studio, her life mostly dreams of someday building something realnot for status or pounds, but for warmth, mutual understanding, the whole Jane Austen nine yards. Will, a 35-year-old solicitor, seemed, at first blush, to have tumbled straight out of a late-90s rom-com: trustworthy, attentive, reliablesomeone who actually listened when she spoke. Around him, she felt safe. And safe, as women everywhere know, is as rare as a fresh kettle in a student flat.
Theyd been dating for half a year. In that time, Emily had come to appreciate his level-headedness, his dry wit, and his honest curiosity about her life. No rushing, no pressuringjust open interest, and clear signs he was thinking future. Emily, a cautious soul, was starting to think the word herself, even as she tried not to imagine a wedding dress every time she saw a white frock in John Lewis.
I dont understand whod do this, she whispered, voice trembling like a cup of tea in an earthquake. Ive no secret admirers. I never even gave anyone a whiff of encouragement And those linesour spot, our last conversationits all so forced. Like someones trying to invent a past we never had. Like were dolls in some creepy puppet show.
Let me handle it. Wills tone admitted no debate. I know some people. Ill get them to trace the numbers. I doubt this is just some random prankster. Far too neat.
Will spent the next few days investigating. Emily threw herself into work and coffee dates with Charlotte and Abby, clutching at every distractionanything for a laugh, a crumb of normality, anything to drown out that slithering anxiety. But it never disappeared. It clung to her chest, a cold, scaly constriction. Every time her phone buzzed, her heart leapt like an over-caffeinated frog. Each time it was nothing, she took a short breath of relief, which lasted all of two minutes before the dread returned with interest.
On day five, Will called one evening. Em, I know who it is, he said. His voice was serious now, the warmth replaced with courtroom firmness. They were sent from three different, unregistered numbers. But we found who bought them. It was Claire.
Emilys phone nearly fell from her hand. Claireher university friend. Twenty-eight, recently divorced, two children. Their friendship was the type that had weathered hangovers, deadlines, and horrendous dating experiments. Recently, though, things had become uneasy. Claire vented about loneliness, the never-ending dullness of family life, men who ran a mile the moment she mentioned a child, and a budget that ran out before the month did.
Claire? Emilys voice cracked open, a mixture of hurt and disbelief. Why? How?
You probably already know, Will said, trying for gentle, but not quite making it. Envy, Em. Youre free. Youre doing well. Youve found someone. She feels left behind. She probably thought youd start making excuses, Id get jealous, everything would explode. Classic divide and conquer.
A fortnight ago, Emily, Will and Claire had all been at a party thrown by mutual friends. The room was crowded, music politely upbeat, most of the conversation drifting inaneWhich Waitrose do you use, Still working from home then? Strawberries and Cava, obviously.
Emily appeared dazzling in her new sea-green dress, a flattering fit that made her look, well, like she belonged in a lifestyle section. Will remained charmingly devoted, never far from her sideoffering a refill, a canapé, gently introducing her into conversations. Claire had quietly hovered nearby in a plain beige sweater, nervously tugging at the sleeve.
You two look like something out of Tatler, she said, smile overly taut, arms crossed. Perfect coupleall glam and glossy.
Thanks! Emily beamed, genuinely pleased. I wasnt sure the dress would work.
Wouldnt know, Claire replied, eyes dropping to her jumper. No time for dresses these days. Everything goes on the kids
Claire, thats not Emily started, reaching out to squeeze her arm. You look great. Youve always had brilliant styleyou stand out, you know.
Yes, well, some people get it all and some of us have to choose between a new dress or school shoes. Or a Saturday haircut and swimming lessons for Ollie.
There was a tiny wobble in her voice. She turned away, feigning interest in a cheap watercolour by the door. Will changed the subjectsomething about a new bistro in Islington, inviting everyone for a group outing. Emily nodded, trying to keep things upbeat. Still, she noticed Claire lingering near the window, watching from a distance with a hungry, hurting sort of envy when Will pulled Emily off for a dance.
Another scene: sitting over coffee in a snug local café while autumn rain traced lines down the window. Emily enthused about a recent weekend with Willlong woodland walks, wild sausages roasted over a makeshift fire, counting constellations as the embers glowed.
Sounds idyllic, Claire muttered, stirring her coffee so violently a spill was imminent. Romantic getaways, countryside, Mr. Perfect
It was lovely, Emily smiled, hands warming on her cappuccino mug. Were planning a winter trip too, maybe some sledging. Wills offered to teach meturns out hes a pro skier. Fancy joining?
Skiing? Claires eyebrow practically leapt off her forehead. If I can ever find the time. My days are full: nursery, GP appointments, spelling homework, then its Lucys after-school club, dinner, marking spellings Some get romance, some get real life.
There wasnt a hint of anger in her tone, just acute weariness. Charlotte, tactful as ever, tried to step in:
Claire, dont be daft. Emilys just sharing good news, thats all. Its okay to be happyit doesnt mean youre showing off.
Im not blaming her. Claires mug landed a little too hard on its saucer, coffee threatening to escape. Just saying: some lives are all party; others are Groundhog Day. You can dash off whenever you like, Em. Id need a weeks notice, a spreadsheet, a windfall. And even then, something would go wrong.
Emily felt something churn insideguilt, perhaps, but also helplessness. She wanted to say something comforting, but the right words just would not come. Instead, she rested her hand on Claires and offered, Lets sort a family day out soon. Sausages in the park with the kids. Itll be fun.
Claires eyes glistened; she blinked it away, gently withdrawing her hand. Thanks, but Ill pass. Theyd just get tired and moany. You enjoy your freedom while you can.
Emily hadnt thought too much of it at the timejust chalked it up to a bad day, the sort of mood that Friday afternoons can bring. Now, replaying it, it was obvious. The resentment had been brewing for yearsnot nastiness, but an ache. She remembered Claires sidelong glances at mentions of dates, the thinness to the laughter, the sudden silences. The warning signs had been thereEmily simply hadnt seen them.
What now? she asked, her voice a mixture of anxiety and resolve.
We go to hers. Now. Lets clear the airfinally. Wills tone brooked no argument.
They drove to Claires terraced house, all pebbledash and wheelie bins. Claire opened the door, saw both of them, and went as pale as a Waitrose chicken breast. Her hands balled up, knuckles white.
You? Whats happened? Her voice wobbled, hovering between confusion and panic.
Dont play dumb, Wills voice was abruptly frosty. We know you sent those messages. We have proof.
Claires eye twitched; she leaned against the wall, as if she needed the support.
Fine! Yes, it was me! the words tumbled out, half-resentment, half-sorrow. What, you think I should just stand by and watch you get everything while Im stuck here with two kids and no decent bloke? You always land on your feet, Em! Beautiful, free, no baggage. Im the spare part!
Her tears werent hidden nowgrief, anger, all jumbled up together.
You honestly have no idea what its like to feel invisible, Claire choked. Every time you banged on about Will, I hated how jealous I was. You dont get it. I just wanted to rattle your perfect life. Just a bit! So youd understand how it feels when luck skips your house entirely!
Emilys heart folded in on itself. She stared at the woman whod once sobbed on her shoulder about overdue rent and lost love. She barely recognised her. Not an enemy but a strangerwrung out, frantic, brittle with envy.
So thats it? You tried to ruin my life because youre unhappy? Her words were soft, weighted with sadness, not accusation. You wanted Will to think I was cheating?
What else could I do? Claire gave a short, miserable laugh. Youve always been the golden girl. Popular, bright, sorted. Im the one they forget at the pub. Even the blokes give upkids, dramas, Im not easy and breezy like you.
Will stepped forward, placing himself beside Emily, a wall of calm between her and the mess Claire had made.
Thats enough, he said, every syllable final as a judges gavel. Youve crossed a line, Claire. There are consequences.
For a split second, remorse flickered in Claires eyes, but she buried it behind fresh defiance. So what now? Off to the police? I hardly think theyll lose sleep over a few text messages.
We dont need the police, Will replied quietly. Just your word that youll stop. No more games. Not one more message.
Claires gaze flicked to Emily. For a heartbeat, there was raw, lost anguish. She straightened, brittle as dry toast. As if you didnt know I was jealous, her voice cracked, half-sneer, half-confession. Even at my birthday last yearit was all about you, your promotion. I stood there with the cake, no one even noticed me. Not once.
Emily remembered, suddenly, the awkwardness, the loneliness at the edge of that gathering. Shed been basking in attention, loving the moment, blind to Claires isolation. She understood now.
I never meant to overshadow you, she offered, genuine and shaken. I was just happy. I always thought of you as my equal, my mate. I had no idea you saw me as competition.
How could I not? Claires voice trembled, fingers in her hair as if she might pull her frustration out by the roots. Youve got it all. Me? Ive got childcare bills, a leaky roof, and a ex-husband who left me for a gym instructor. Of course I was jealous. All I wanted was for you to feel the cracks in your brilliant life. To see what its like on the other side. To not be the one left behind.
Will listened without interruption. Then, quietly, he said, Claire, envys a prison you keep yourself in. But youve just tried to drag someone else in with you and thats not on.
The words landed like a bucket of cold water. Claire sagged, speechless, lips wobbling. She wiped her cheeks, trying for composure and failing.
Im sorry, she whispered hoarsely. I didnt think itd go this far. Its just it built up over the years. The divorce, the grind, the sameness. I couldnt cope.
Emilys chest acheda confusing patchwork of anger, pity, loss. Claire looked wrecked, more lost child than schemer. In her mind, Emily replayed that recent coffee-shop plea.
Sometimes it feels like youre in a different world, Claire had said, trailing a spoon through cold cappuccino. Everything comes easily. Jobs, men, hobbies. Im stuck. Day in, day out: school run, Tesco, bedtime reading. Every day, the same. Even Sundays.
Emily remembered squeezing her shoulder, promising to help with her CV and maybe new job leadsbut shed missed something. That day, Claire didnt need job adviceshe needed someone to see her.
Claire Emilys voice was thick with pain and regret. If Id known we could have talked. Found a new way through. But after what youve done I cant just forget it. Trying to break us upthere are no easy fixes. It hurts.
I know, Claire whispered, tears just not stopping. I dont expect you to forgive me. I just want you to know, I lost my way. Thought if your happiness cracked, mine might returneven a little. Pathetic, isnt it?
Will placed a reassuring hand on Emilys arm. Enoughs enough, Claire. Em, your call.
Emily hesitated, searching her friends swollen face. I accept you acted out of pain, not spite. But I cant be your friend, not until you can be happy for me, not until you stop living in my shadow. I want a friend, not a ghost lingering while I try to celebrate life.
Claire nodded, defeated. Thank you for listening. Sorry for not just saying how I felt.
Emily and Will turned for the door. Evening had fallen and Londons streetlights flickered to life, pooling golden ovals on pavements still slick from recent rain. Emily inhaled the crisp, leaf-scented air, trying to let it all go.
I feel empty, she confessed as Will wrapped her in a gentle arm. Its over, but Ive lost something important.
Thats normal, he murmured, giving her a tight squeeze. Betrayal always wounds. But now you know, and we move on. Side by side. Youre not alone.
Together, then, she said, a wobbly but hopeful smile forming, her tears beginning to dry at last.
They walked into the night, step by step, Emily feeling a little lighter with each one. Hard work lay aheadon herself, on her friendships. But with Will beside her, really seeing her, she knew one thing: sometimes, just knowing youre not alone is the best beginning you can hope for.
