Nathan pulled his Jaguar to a halt outside the shopping centre. Stepping out of the warm interior was the last thing he wanted. The previous day’s sleet had turned to rain, and overnight, a bitter wind had frozen the slush into treacherous, uneven ice, sending pedestrians skidding.
Tomorrow was his mother’s birthday, and as usual, he’d left gift shopping to the last minute. A large department store would surely have something suitable.
The moment he stepped out, a gust of wind flung open his coat and whipped one end of his scarf over his shoulder. Clutching the flapping fabric, he locked the car and headed towards the entrance—only to slip on the ice, nearly falling. The pavements hadn’t yet been gritted, and his smart leather shoes had no grip.
Somehow, he made it inside, exhaling in relief as the warmth enveloped him. He was about to head for the scarves and shawls section when he remembered—he’d given his mother a silk scarf last year.
“Nathan! Is that you?” A cheerful voice called out near the jeweller’s window.
There stood Henry, his oldest—and, as it turned out, only—true friend.
“Blimey, it’s been ages! You look well—posh coat, too.”
“I only just got back,” Nathan replied, flustered and oddly guilty.
“Funny, I was just thinking about you. Fancy a coffee?”
“I’m here for a gift,” Nathan said.
“Wait—Margaret’s birthday’s soon, isn’t it?”
“You remembered?” Nathan brightened. “Tomorrow. Left it late, as usual…”
“Right, I’ll let you shop. But we’re meeting up soon, yeah? Here—don’t make me hunt you down.” Henry pressed a business card into his hand.
As Nathan browsed earrings for his mother, his mind kept drifting back to the unexpected reunion. He’d acted so stiff, as if he hadn’t been pleased to see Henry. But he had been—just caught off guard.
He selected a pair and reached for his wallet—only to find Henry’s card tucked beside it. “Deputy Director, New Horizon Construction.” Impressive.
“Sorry,” he muttered to the cashier, who’d been waiting patiently. “Ran into an old mate—haven’t seen him in years.”
After paying, he drove home, lost in thought about his friend…
***
They’d stood side by side on their first day of school, both clutching nearly identical bouquets of gladioli, their faces equally nervous and excited. When they’d marched inside, they’d instinctively reached for each other’s hands. They’d shared a desk that whole year.
So began their friendship. They’d quarrelled, of course—petty, childish spats—but Henry was always the first to offer a handshake.
Even when they’d chosen different universities, there’d been no argument. They’d known their paths would diverge, but staying friends was up to them. Henry went to Imperial for engineering, while Nathan studied languages at King’s College. Weekends became sacred—hours spent laughing, catching up.
Henry’s course was a sea of men; Nathan’s, a garden of women. One in particular caught his eye—a petite, lively brunette named Charlotte. She radiated joy, her laughter infectious, her curls bouncing as she walked. Nathan couldn’t look away.
It took him weeks to approach her. One day, he feigned needing help with a translation.
“Could’ve just asked me out properly,” she’d teased.
“I… I’d like to walk you home after lectures. May I?” The words tumbled out.
“Go on, then,” she’d agreed, flashing him a smile.
They’d wandered through the springtime streets, and Nathan had never been happier. That night, he replayed every glance, every smirk—though not a word of their conversation. Morning couldn’t come soon enough.
He walked her home most days. April’s chill gave way to May’s warmth, but he still hadn’t kissed her. Soon, exams would end, and she’d leave for the summer—first to her family’s holiday home, then to her grandmother’s. The thought filled him with dread.
His birthday, the last Sunday in May, was his chance. He’d invite her home, introduce her to his parents, and finally confess his feelings.
Charlotte agreed without hesitation. Emboldened, he asked her to bring her usual companion—a tall, striking blonde named Emma.
“Emma?”
“Yeah. My best mate’s at Imperial—hardly any women there. None like you, anyway.”
“What if she doesn’t fancy him?”
“He’ll survive. We’ll see.”
That morning, his mother buzzed about the kitchen. Nathan fidgeted, useless with nerves, agonising over ties, shirts, whether to wear one at all.
“Set the table,” his mother ordered. “And relax—if you like her, I’m sure I will too.”
“You’re brilliant.” He kissed her cheek. “She’ll adore you.”
Henry arrived, and Nathan calmed—until the girls were late.
“What if she changed her mind?” he fretted.
“Women are always late. Get used to it,” his father said sagely.
The doorbell rang. Nathan sprinted to answer it. His mother shook her head.
“These theatrics never end well.”
When he returned with the girls, his mother and Henry both glanced at Emma—statuesque, golden-haired, the sort Henry had only seen in films. But Nathan introduced Charlotte—a sweet, ordinary girl who paled beside her friend.
Dinner began awkwardly. His father toasted, then the parents tactfully withdrew.
Henry, ever the charmer, cracked jokes, while Nathan watched, uneasy, as Charlotte laughed too hard at every one. Finally, he dragged Henry onto the balcony.
“What are you playing at? She’s mine.”
“Not my fault she fancies me.”
“Then stop encouraging it!”
“Relax. I prefer Emma anyway. Bloody stunning. Wish I’d gone to King’s.”
“This isn’t funny.”
“Alright, alright. Wouldn’t steal your girl. Come on, Othello—they’ll think we’ve vanished.”
Back inside, Charlotte pulled Henry up to dance. He shot Nathan an apologetic shrug.
Left with Emma, Nathan danced stiffly, stealing glances at the other pair—until Emma suddenly stopped, clutching her eye.
“Something’s in it—my mascara’s running. Where’s your loo?”
He led her there, but found no speck. When they returned, the others were gone.
“Where are they?”
“Guess Henry walked her home.”
“What? Why?”
“Obvious, isn’t it? She fancied him. I’ll head off too.” Emma reached for her coat.
His parents reappeared.
“Leaving already? No cake?”
“Everything was lovely,” Emma said.
“Aren’t you walking her home?” his mother scolded.
Nathan obeyed, sulking. Later, he called Henry.
“Sorry, but you vanished with Emma. Charlotte asked me to walk her. Couldn’t say no, could I?”
Their first real fight. Nathan blamed Charlotte too.
After exams, he ran into them on campus.
“We were looking for you,” Henry said, peacemaking as ever. “Fancy the lido? Water’s freezing, but it’s tradition.”
Nathan ignored Henry’s jokes the whole way.
At the lake, the air was warm, but only reckless teens braved the water.
Charlotte rolled her eyes. “Honestly, you two. Did I promise you anything, Nathan? I like you both.”
Henry shrugged. Nathan squinted across the lake.
“Race you to the other side. Winner takes all—fair?”
Nathan swam well—he’d trained for years. Henry barely splashed.
“It’s too cold. Could get cramp,” Henry muttered, eyeing the distance.
“Chickening out?” Charlotte taunted.
Henry plunged in. Nathan followed, smirking.
Halfway, Nathan overtook him. Then Henry faltered—his arms flailed, and he vanished underwater.
Charlotte screamed. Several boys dove in.
Nathan turned, saw the commotion, and swam back. He grabbed Henry just as another lad reached them. Together, they hauled him ashore.
Nathan pumped Henry’s chest until he coughed up water, gasping. Charlotte knelt beside him.
“I’m sorry—I didn’t know you couldn’t swim well.”
Henry stood, trembling, wrapped in a borrowed towel, and walked away without a word.
Nathan grabbed his things and chased after him.
Neither remembered Charlotte.
“You won,” Henry said flatly outside his flat.
“Don’t be daft. You’d have saved me too. That girl set us up. Why’d you even go in?”
Henry gave him a strange look and disappeared inside. He ignored Nathan’s calls. Charlotte rang, complaining Henry wouldn’t answer.
Exams passed without her. Nathan realised he could live without her—but not without Henry. He stopped calling, hoping time would healBut as the years passed, an unspoken distance lingered between them, and though they occasionally exchanged polite greetings whenever their paths crossed in the city, the easy laughter of their youth had faded into mere memory.
