“Shame He’s Not Mine”
“Girls, come round mine this Saturday for a proper chinwag and a cuppa,” Dana said cheerfully to her colleagues, Kira and Aileen. Both nodded eagerly, laughing.
“Brilliant. I’ll bring a decent bottle of wine,” promised Kira, who knew her way around a good Merlot.
“I’ll whip up something tasty,” added Aileen, famed among friends for her cooking.
“Dana, why yours? Why not a café?” Kira asked.
“Oh, love, we’re always in cafés. At home, we can let our hair down—no one judging if we fancy a dance,” Dana reasoned.
“Fair point,” Aileen agreed. “Home it is. Less fuss.” They giggled.
The three women, all in their early forties, had worked together for years and grown close. They also shared one unspoken bond: none were married. Dana had divorced a decade prior. Kira, never wed, had a grown daughter living independently. Aileen, the quietest, had been left by her husband when their son was three. She dated occasionally. Dana had nearly remarried, but her fiancé abruptly moved to Germany with another woman, leaving no explanation.
“Good riddance,” she’d scoffed, though it stung.
Kira—striking and vivacious—cycled through men but never settled. She lived alone near the office, the only one of the trio who drove. Aileen wasn’t conventionally pretty, but there was something about her—though Dana and Kira privately called her “a bit of a mouse.”
On Friday, as they left work, Dana reminded them: “Tomorrow’s still on, yeah?”
“Course!” Kira chirped. Aileen stayed silent.
By Saturday afternoon, Dana had tidied her flat in Chelsea, shopped at the nearby Waitrose, and laid out her favourite chocolate digestives. Kira and Aileen arrived together, parking outside. Over wine and snacks, they laughed endlessly—though Aileen barely sipped.
“What’s with you?” Kira prodded.
“Sorry, girls. I’ve got a date later… with Gareth,” Aileen admitted.
“Gareth?” The others stared.
“Yes. Problem?”
“You never mentioned him!” Dana said.
“I didn’t know where it’d go. He rang last night and asked me out.”
“Then why come? You could’ve cancelled,” Kira said.
“I told him about tonight. Wanted you to meet him… Dana, I gave him your address. He’s picking me up here.” Aileen looked sheepish.
Dana laughed. “Might as well vet this mystery man!” She nibbled a biscuit, watching Aileen curl her hair. Kira stayed unusually quiet.
“Dana, have you got hairspray?”
“In the loo.”
Privately, Dana and Kira doubted Gareth would last. Aileen’s flings always fizzled.
“How’s my hair? I’m nervous,” Aileen fretted.
“Fine,” they chorused. “Why the fuss?” Kira added. “What’s he got—a private island?”
Aileen smiled enigmatically and vanished to reapply mascara.
“How’d she bag someone?” Kira muttered. “Forty-six and acts like a nun. Bet he’s a drip.”
The doorbell rang. Dana leapt up, grinning. “Let’s see this prince.”
“Hello,” came a warm voice. Gareth stood holding three bouquets. The women gaped.
Fiftyish, tall, with salt-and-pepper hair and a disarming smile, he handed each a bunch.
“Ready?” he asked Aileen, then nodded to the others. “Pleasure.”
Dana’s jaw dropped. Kira, too, was speechless.
“Gareth,” he introduced himself. The women did likewise.
Kira nudged Dana aside. “Join us for a drink?”
“Next time,” he declined politely. Dana shot Kira a look: *Stop pawing him*.
“Fancy some juice?” Dana offered.
“Lovely.” He drank half, then set the glass down. Arm around Aileen, he said, “Glad to meet her best mates.” Then, to Aileen: “Shall we?” They left.
Dana and Kira stared at each other.
“No way *that* bloke’s into Aileen,” Kira finally said. “He’ll ditch her after one shag.”
Dana sighed. “He’s *exactly* my type. Where’d she find him?”
“Nowhere special. It’ll fizzle.”
Aileen floated into work each morning, glowing. “Gareth drove me!” she’d say, gushing about gallery dates or dinners with his friends—all “respectable, though two are married.”
Three months passed. No breakup.
One evening, Dana spotted Gareth outside Bond Street station. He waved.
“Evening. Off work? You look smashing.”
“Ta. You?”
“Same. Fancy a quick chat?” He gestured to a jeweller’s. “Mind helping me choose something?”
Under the display lights, rings glittered. Gareth paused at the emeralds.
“Like this one?”
“Gorgeous,” Dana stammered, heart racing. *Is this for me?*
“Sure? Maybe plainer?”
“No! It’s perfect.”
“Brilliant.” He beckoned the clerk. Dana lingered, giddy. *He’ll surprise me with it later.*
She kept mum at work, picturing the girls’ envy when she flashed *her* ring.
That Friday, Aileen announced: “Gareth’s taking us all to dinner. Says he’s got news.”
Dana barely functioned, convinced *she* was the news.
At the bistro, Gareth arrived—sharp-suited, flowers in hand. Three pairs of eyes locked onto him.
He smiled. “Evening.” Then, kneeling: “Aileen, love, your mates should hear this first. Marry me?”
Aileen shrieked, hugging him. “Yes!”
He slid the emerald ring onto her finger. “Dana helped pick it.”
Her grin faltered. “Oh. Lovely. Be happy.”
Inside, she seethed: *Shame he’s not mine. Dreamt up a whole fairy tale.*
