“I gave you to her with my own hands. And she didn’t hesitate to take you.”
“Laura, hello. What’s so urgent? Couldn’t you tell me over the phone?” Emily asked, slipping off her jacket as she stepped into the flat.
“Not a conversation for the phone. Come to the kitchen,” Laura said, switching off the hall light and following her friend.
“Intriguing. Out with it, then.” Emily sat at the table, folding her hands like a prim schoolgirl waiting for an explanation.
Laura placed an open bottle of red wine and two glasses on the table.
“Goodness. It’s that serious, is it? You have my full attention,” Emily said.
Laura poured the wine and sat across from her.
“To relax and understand each other,” she declared grandly, raising her glass and taking a sip.
Emily lifted hers but didn’t drink, waiting for her friend to begin.
“I’m lost. Completely besotted. Living in a dream, obsessed. I go to bed and wish the night away, longing for morning. Never thought it could happen like this. I loved Paul, yes, but not like this. And now…” Laura drained her glass in one gulp.
“I see. And this is why you called me? To share the news?” Emily set her glass down and stood.
“Sit.” Laura yanked her wrist, pulling her back into the chair.
“What about Paul?” Emily asked, collapsing onto the seat.
“What about him? We’ve been together seven years. Everything’s calm, steady. Then I met Oliver, and—that was it.” Laura sighed. “You disapprove? Have you ever loved like this? No? Then don’t judge,” she snapped suddenly. “I called you to talk about Paul.”
“Perhaps I *will* drink,” Emily muttered, taking a few swallows and nodding approvingly at the glass.
“You fancied my husband. Don’t think I didn’t notice how you looked at him.” Laura tapped her nails against the tabletop.
She’d been circling the point, unsure how to say it outright.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Emily scoffed.
Laura shrugged.
“I’m not jealous. If anything, it’s better this way. I’ve decided to leave Paul, but I can’t bring myself to tell him the truth. I pity him.”
“You didn’t pity him when you betrayed him, but now it’s hard to say? Doesn’t add up, does it?” Emily took another sip.
“What do *you* know? He’s a good man. I shout, I snap, I’ve worn him down to the bone, and he just takes it. He suspects and stays silent. He doesn’t deserve this. Understand?”
“No. Explain,” Emily pressed.
Laura refilled her glass.
“I could tell him straight: *I don’t love you anymore, I’m leaving, forgive me…* He’d let me go. But what would happen to him? Men take breakups hard. His pride would shatter. He might drink himself to ruin, or worse. I can’t do that to him. Now do you see?”
“And where do *I* come in?”
Laura rolled her eyes at her friend’s denseness.
“You like him. Maybe you’ve even loved him hopelessly all this time.” Laura studied Emily closely. The other woman looked away. “I’d rest easier knowing he was with you, not some stranger—”
“Ah. I think I understand. You want me to *comfort* Paul while you roll about with your lover? You’re mad. Is he a *thing* to you? Tired of him, so pass him to a friend?” Emily downed the rest of her wine, winced, and wiped her mouth.
“Thank you for the compliment. Didn’t know I ranked above a common tart. No, this is absurd. Find someone else to pawn your husband onto. Have you even *asked* him? Does *he* want me?” Emily twisted the empty glass between her fingers.
“That depends on you.” Laura leaned across the table.
“No, you’ve truly lost your mind. You need help.” Emily flushed with indignation.
“No cure for love, sadly. And yes, I *have* lost my head,” Laura said airily.
“And if this grand romance of yours falls apart? What then? Will you come crawling back? *Oh, thank you for minding my husband, now return him?*” Emily’s voice sharpened.
“I can’t think ahead. All I know is I’ll die without him,” Laura muttered, slumping back in her chair.
Emily said nothing. What *was* there to say? The wine hummed in her veins. The sheer audacity of Laura’s plan baffled her—yet a traitorous thought whispered: *Why shouldn’t Paul be mine?*
“Help me. Just stay close to him. Distract him. Take him to bed if you like. Need instructions?” Laura’s gaze drifted past her, vacant.
“Madness. Here we sit, drinking, and a wife offers her husband to her friend. Watched too many telly dramas? Sounds like *The Doll’s House*. Remember how *that* ends? A gunshot, a body onstage—how could you even *think* this?”
“Don’t shout.” Laura pressed fingers to her temples. “Just a suggestion. Refuse if you like. Let him drink himself into the gutter.” She lifted her glass, eyelids fluttering shut.
Emily watched, mesmerized, as Laura swallowed, the pulse in her throat jumping.
“I just want him happy, like I am. If we can’t be happy together, at least let us be happy apart. I want him safe. In *your* hands,” Laura said, setting down the empty glass.
“What are you two arguing about? Not me, I hope. Tut-tut, drinking?” Paul’s voice cut in.
They turned as one. He stood in the kitchen doorway, smiling.
“Finally. Get changed, wash up, dinner’s ready. We were just discussing a film,” Laura said breezily, rising to light the stove.
Paul returned minutes later.
“No glass for me?” He took Laura’s seat.
“Later. Could you drive Emily home? It’s late.” Laura shot Emily a loaded look.
“I’ll call a cab,” Emily said, missing the cue.
“Don’t bother. I’ll take you,” Paul said, eyes on the plate of roast beef and potatoes Laura set before him.
“Come, I need to tell you something.” Laura jerked her chin toward the hall.
Alone, she gripped Emily’s arm, pulled her close, and hissed in her ear:
“Now it’s up to you. When he drives you home, don’t hesitate. Invite him in. Say something’s broken, ask him to fix it—*think of something*. Then don’t hold back. If *he* strays first, my betrayal won’t crush him.”
Emily gaped.
“You want me to *help* you cheat? Lie to Paul? I won’t.”
“Fine. Stay virtuous.” Laura shoved her away.
***
The car rolled through empty streets.
“Sorry you had to chauffeur me instead of relaxing,” Emily said, breaking the silence.
“Don’t fret. I’ll rest later. Why the drinking, though? Laura’s been secretive lately. Snapping one minute, giggling hysterically the next. She must’ve told you *something*.” Paul glanced at her.
“Just girl talk,” Emily lied.
“Women’s gossip.” He smirked. “You’re a terrible liar. And I’m neither blind nor deaf.”
Emily fidgeted.
“Listen, would it be awfully forward to ask you to check my kitchen tap? It’s dripping. I’d hate to flood the flat below.”
“Now?” He paused. “Alright, then.”
At her door, they avoided each other’s eyes in the lift.
“Show me,” Paul said, toeing off his shoes.
Emily led him to the sink. “It leaks underneath.”
Paul crouched. “Bone-dry.”
“Really? Last night I had to put a bowl under it.” Heat prickled her neck. *Bloody Laura.*
“Got any tools?”
She returned with a toolbox. “My father’s.”
Paul rummaged. Fifteen minutes later, he declared the tap beyond repair.
“I’ll buy a new one tomorrow and fit it after work.”
“Tea?” Emily blurted, relieved he hadn’t caught her out.
“Best not.”
They stood inches apart. *Why did she ever marry him?* Emily thought wildly. *I’d never betray him.* Her hand fluttered to her chest as if to quiet her pounding heart.
Paul noticed her trembling, the struggle in her eyes. *She’s pretty. Funny. Nervous. Was Laura right—does she fancy me?*
Some unseen force tipped them forward. Their lips met—then they sprang apart as if scalded.
“You… mentioned tea,” Paul croaked.
Emily fled to the kitchen. The kettle hissed. Cups clattered. She felt his gaze like a physical touch. Remembering theThe next morning, as sunlight dusted the quiet streets, Paul tucked a strand of hair behind Emily’s ear and whispered *forever*, sealing a promise that Laura’s shadow could no longer touch.
