Another Problem…
“Jul, come on, please,” whined Sam.
“I don’t want to. I don’t know anyone there. Go alone or invite Sue, Kate,” replied Julie. “Exams are coming up, I need to study.”
“Kate’s cramming, Sue won’t go without her bloke Jim, and going alone will look like I’m chasing after Dave,” Sam argued.
“But aren’t you?” Julie shot back.
“Jul, please…” Sam pressed her hands together in mock prayer.
“Fine. But if you abandon me there, I’ll never forgive you,” Julie warned, getting up from the sofa.
The flat belonged to a final-year student whose parents had gone to work in Kenya for a year—Saturdays meant parties. Older students gathered there, along with some from other years and even a few recent graduates, swapping stories and looking down on the younger ones with the arrogance of their still-minimal experience.
Sam had stumbled into the crowd by chance, tagging along with an ex-boyfriend. They split up, but she’d set her sights on Dave. Now she begged Julie to join her, hoping to bump into him again. With exams on, the uni was the last place she’d find him.
Julie pulled on jeans and a loose white shirt, tucking one side in. It suited her—tall and slender, the effortless style worked. She smudged on eyeliner, shook out her hair, and turned to Sam, who was practically bouncing with impatience.
“What are we waiting for?” Julie asked.
“Blimey, that eyeliner suits you—proper mysterious, like,” Sam said.
“Just promise me one thing—if Dave’s not there, we leave,” Julie insisted.
“Deal,” Sam agreed too quickly to be sincere.
A young woman in jeans and a man’s shirt, cigarette dangling from her lips and wild curls unbrushed, answered the door. Squinting through smoke, she jerked her head toward the living room without a word. Music hummed under the murmur of voices inside.
“Don’t bother with shoes—no one does here,” Sam whispered as Julie reached for her trainers. She acted like a regular, though her nervousness matched Julie’s. A table held picked-over snacks, half-finished bottles of cheap vodka and wine. A lad lounged on the sofa with two girls, another pair bickered nearby, and a couple swayed by the window—if you could call it dancing in the cramped space. No one glanced their way. If they did, they dismissed the first-years instantly. What was there to talk to them about?
The girls claimed an empty sofa along the wall. The doorbell rang, and the same woman from before reappeared with two lads in tow. The room erupted in cheers, handshakes, even the dancers abandoning their spot to greet them.
“There he is!” Sam leapt up and made a beeline for the pair. Dave barely acknowledged her, answering with a bored shrug, but the other bloke—older, taller, fit, with sharp grey eyes—was staring right at Julie. She ducked her gaze.
“Alright? Bored?” He dropped onto the sofa beside her. Up close, he looked even older. “Haven’t seen you before. Fancy a dance?” His hand was warm, his grip firm.
They shuffled by the window where the other couple had been. The music stayed low enough for talk. He asked her year, course, whether she lived at home or in halls. More people trickled in—Julie half-wondered if the flat had secret rooms.
Eventually, Sam reappeared, visibly upset. “I’m off,” she muttered.
“I should go too,” Julie said, reluctant.
“I’ll walk you,” he offered. “Just let me say goodbye.”
Outside, Sam fumed. “Absolute tosser,” she spat, meaning Dave.
Julie barely heard her, head still full of the stranger. He emerged moments later, catching up to them.
“Right then, names? I’m Chris.”
“Chris Southern? The football captain?” Sam gasped. “I knew I recognised you!”
“You follow football?” He seemed surprised.
“Dated a fanatic. Never missed a match.” Sam was practically vibrating. “Bloody hell, wait till I tell everyone—Chris Southern!”
She babbled the whole way home, monopolising his attention. Chris saw right through it—Dave hadn’t worked, so now she’d set her sights on him.
“Sam, where d’you live?”
“I’ll show you!” she chirped, steering the conversation. Julie walked quietly beside them.
“That’s mine, Julie’s next. Will we see you again?” Sam pressed.
“Bye,” Julie said, turning toward her building.
“Julie, wait!” Chris jogged after her. Sam’s face fell.
The evening was cool after the day’s heat. They lingered outside her door, neither wanting to leave. Chris talked about working at a local paper, dreaming of journalism, TV. “Small start, but you’ve got to begin somewhere,” he said.
“You’ll hear about me,” he boasted. “And you—teacher, yeah? Always loved kids, fancied the classroom?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Julie bristled.
“Nothing. Just asking.” He grinned. “Give us your number.”
“You haven’t got one?” She handed over her phone. He dialled his own, letting it ring in his pocket. The realisation they’d meet again sent heat rushing through her.
“Didn’t think you had it in you, mate,” Sam called that night. “Proper quiet one, then you bag Chris Southern. Spill—snogged yet?”
“Didn’t even walk me home. I’ve got revision,” Julie lied, keeping the phone exchange to herself.
He rang two days later, just as she’d given up hope. Exams were over; summer stretched ahead. He took her paddleboarding, then to a café…
They met almost daily. Julie fell hard. He had an old banger of a car—they drove to the countryside, swam in lakes.
Then came the rain. Nowhere to go, so Chris suggested his mate’s flat. Julie hesitated when he unlocked the door himself.
“Where’s this mate? You bring girls here often?” She stepped back toward the stairs, but he caught her wrist.
“Just tea, chat. Where you gonna go in this?” He explained his mate was abroad—he was house-sitting.
Julie stayed. She was in love. If something happened, so be it—it would have eventually. One thing led to another.
Soon, they met at the flat regularly. Then Chris left for a work trip—or so he said.
On a dull, grey day, Sam turned up. “Miss him? Saw you two together. Blimey, you do know he’s married, right?”
“Shut up. You’re just jealous,” Julie snapped.
“Swear down. Kid and everything.”
Julie didn’t believe her—until she pieced it together. They only met days. Never in town. Evenings he was “working.” Meanwhile, he was home with his wife.
She sent a furious text—lied, cheated, never wanted to see him again—then switched off her phone.
Then the pregnancy test. They’d been careful—except that first time.
What now? First year just finished. A baby? Her mum would kill her. She blamed Chris, herself—how could she be so stupid?
The clinic was humiliating. The doctor’s judgemental stare, the cold instructions—private pay, no NHS referral. Tests, then the table, legs in stirrups, terror swallowing her whole. She hated Chris in that moment.
What if she couldn’t have kids later? Should she tell her mum? Run? Panic clawed at her—then the nurse’s needle. Darkness.
When she woke, it was over. The ward buzzed with women chatting about their kids. Two hours later, she was dismissed.
Her mum noticed only her paleness. Then term started. Julie missed Chris—even considered forgiving him if he’d just come back.
One lecture, a lanky lad named Nick Baxter slid into the seat beside her. Short, awkward, thick glasses magnifying his eyes. Top of the class, invisible to girls—including Julie.
“You’re seeing Southern?” he whispered.
“None of your business,” she snapped.
“His wife’s nice. Kid’s barely one.”
“Why tell me this?”
“So you don’t fool yourself. He won’t leave her. You’ll want more, he’ll lie. Fights, drama—why would he want that? Fancy a coffee sometime?”
Julie recoiled. Chris versus this? Love didn’t vanish overnight—even after betrayal.
Then, one evening, Chris blocked her path outside her flat.
“Jul, talk to me. I’m sorry. Can’t live without you. I lied because I was scared to lose you. Missed you like mad—”
His desperate eyes almost broke her. She wanted to touch him, confess everything. But the hurt remained.
“Married. But it doesn’t matter. I love you—”
“It matters. You’re not free.”
“Not like you all think marriage is!” heYears later, watching her daughter play in the garden, Julie realised that love wasn’t about grand passions or dramatic endings—it was built on quiet trust, shared laughter, and the steady hand of someone who would never walk away.
