One day, a woman named Harriet went to visit her old friend. This friend, Jane, had recently remarried. Her first marriage had been an absolute shambles. Her ex-husband drank like a fish, was impossible to live with, and eventually ran off with someone else. A truly dismal tale. And Harriet had done what any decent friend would doshe was there for Jane through thick and thin, offering support, encouragement, solace. Thats what friendships all about, isnt it?
Well, ten years passed, and Jane met someone newa rather admirable chap. Educated, in a respectable job, the polar opposite of Husband Number One. Harriet couldnt have been more pleased for her friend. So, off she trotted to see Janes new flat, the one she and her husband had just bought. She arrived, bearing a cake and a bag brimming with thoughtfully chosen gifts.
The flat was lovelyHarriet said so too, many times over. The three of them sat around the table, sipping tea and tucking into the cake. Janes new husbandlets call him Charleshad a razor-sharp wit. He was extremely well-read, and you could tell he knew it. Charles cracked joke after joke, mostly at Harriets expense. He gently mocked her narrow view of the world, and all the useless trivia clogging up her head (his words, not hers). He even teased her about never having read Murakami or Pelevinnot that Harriet had ever heard of them. Science, Charles declared, had thoroughly debunked all the superstitions and nonsense Harriet apparently believed in.
He didnt stop thereher hairstyle, her figure, her wardrobe, all got a mention. Straight out of the 90s, Charles said with a chuckle. Properly witty, this one. Harriet found herself rather frozen, wondering what on earth one says to this kind of intellectual juggernaut. Jane just giggled along, gazing at her husband with clear admiration for his wit.
Then Charles turned on Harriets cat. Shed tried to change the subject by telling the story of how shed rescued a kitten (hoping to give Charless literary jibes a rest). But noCharles launched into a rant about how cats are crawling with diseases and that anyone who adopts strays is clearly unstable and hiding deep-seated narcissistic issues.
Jane, of course, found it hilarious, especially as Charles rolled out the usual clichés about mad old women with too many cats.
It was at this point that Harriet began to cry. Silly, really. Childish. Unexpected. She apologised, muttered something about a headache, said her goodbyes and left.
Her head did actually hurt, as if someone had been banging on it with a frying pan. She felt embarrassed about the whole tearful outburstwhy was she making such a scene? Harriet walked home, no longer weeping but shivering violently despite it being summertime. Some English summers are like thatdamp and chilly when you least expect it. She felt awkward about her tears, ashamed of her inability to keep up the witty banter, and berated herself for never having read Murakami or for blabbing about some daft dream shed had.
But the real shame, if you asked her later, should have belonged to Jane. Its a terrible thing to invite someone into your home and then let them be ridiculed. Or to speak fondly about your friend, or your favourite book, or your faith, and then stand by as someone else openly sneers at them while you do nothing. Or to post a photo or quote from a beloved author online, only to let others pour venom on it. Its all just a shade of the same thing: quiet betrayal.
Betrayal happens when you hand over your own, your people, to others for humiliation. Or worse. Thats what it means.
But Harriet, not being much of a reader or an intellectual, didnt think of it in such grand terms. She just hurried home to her cat. The cat, who had never picked up a novel and didnt care about witticisms, simply curled up next to her on the sofa and purred softly.
Harriet stopped visiting Jane after that. Not that there was anywhere to visit for longJane and her clever new husband were soon fighting over the flat in court. Charles, it turned out, was every bit as energetic and as clever as advertised. Perhaps a bit too much so.
But thats always how it goes, isnt it? The one for whom you betrayed another will end up turning on you too. Its a simple chain reaction. All it would have taken was a gentle word to rein in the jokes at someone elses expense, to not let your friend be mocked in your own home. Maybe then her husband might have respected her enough not to conduct himself as he did.
But a betrayer rarely earns respectand so is readily betrayed in return.
