“Tom, are you nearly ready? Emily and George will be here any minute,” said Peter impatiently, poking his head into the bedroom.
“Just a moment,” replied Lucy, not turning away from the mirror on her wardrobe door. She ran her lipstick over her lips, tossed her hair slightly to muss up the perfect style, adjusted the collar of her dress, and only then turned to her husband.
“Ready,” she smiled.
“Blimey, you look stunning,” Peter said, pulling her close.
“Careful—lipstick,” Lucy tilted her head back from his chest, glancing at him with a tender, slightly mischievous look.
“Lu—” Peter began, his voice suddenly hoarse, but the doorbell rang just then. “Right, then,” he sighed, stepping back and heading to answer it. Lucy took one last glance in the mirror, smoothed her dress, and followed.
In the hallway, George was already making a show of a large bouquet of roses, while his wife Emily stood beside him with a gift bag.
“Where’s the birthday girl? Why isn’t she greeting her guests?” George teased, rustling the bouquet’s wrapping. He spotted Lucy and took a step toward her. “There you are. Lucy, love, you look absolutely smashing. Pete, watch out—I might steal her.” He planted a loud kiss on her cheek before handing over the flowers. “I wish you—”
“Alright, alright, lose the coat, save the toasts for the table,” Peter cut in.
“Pete, grab the slippers, I’ll put these in water,” Lucy said, heading to the kitchen.
The flat quickly grew noisy and crowded. George rubbed his hands together as he eyed the spread in the middle of the room.
“Lucy, you’ve outdone yourself. I’ll drool myself to death at this rate,” he groaned dramatically.
“You’ll manage,” Lucy said, returning with the roses in a vase. She set them on the coffee table by the window.
“Clown,” Emily muttered under her breath, rolling her dark eyes.
Lucy rested a hand on her shoulder, as if to soothe her, just as the doorbell rang again.
“This is Sophie, and this is my sister Lucy,” introduced Mark, handing her a bouquet.
“Lovely to meet you,” Lucy said with a smile. Sophie barely nodded in return. “Sorry, no more slippers left.”
“No worries, Sophie can have mine,” Mark offered.
Lucy shot her brother a puzzled look—what on earth did they have in common?
“Let’s get to the table, sis,” Mark said, oblivious to her stare.
Once seated, Lucy introduced, “You all know my brother, and this is Sophie, his new girlfriend.” She nudged Mark. “Your turn now,” she whispered before taking the flowers to the kitchen. With no spare vase, she settled for a litre jug and left them on the counter.
Back in the room, the guests were already seated. Peter motioned to the head of the table for Lucy. She sat, noticing with surprise that George and Emily had taken opposite sides.
Peter poured whisky for the men and wine for the ladies. Sophie sat rigidly, aloof, barely reacting when Mark served her salad.
“Blimey, she’s icy. Mark’s had girlfriends before, but none this frozen…” Lucy’s thoughts were interrupted as Peter stood, glass in hand, and began his toast.
The room quieted. Glasses clinked, cutlery scraped plates.
Lucy surveyed the table. George ate noisily, praising the food and stealing glances at Emily, who ignored him, staring at her plate. Sophie chewed slowly, detached. Mark whispered in her ear. Peter kept the drinks flowing—his look seemed to say, “See? Everything’s fine.”
Lucy relaxed. After the meal, Peter fetched his guitar from the bedroom, tuned it, and began to sing—”You’re the One That I Want.” His voice was warm, rich, and full of feeling, clearly singing to his wife.
Lucy swayed slightly, then joined in. Their harmony was effortless. The song ended, and after a brief silence, requests poured in. Peter strummed a few chords and launched into “Wonderwall,” Lucy’s favourite.
Midway, Emily stood abruptly and slipped into the kitchen, closing the door behind her.
“Brilliant, mate. That deserves a drink,” George said when the song finished.
“I’ll get the main course,” Lucy whispered to Peter before following Emily.
Emily stood by the open window, smoking.
“What’s wrong?” Lucy asked, joining her.
Emily exhaled slowly. The cigarette trembled in her fingers, ash scattering on the sill. She brushed it away, smearing it instead.
“You used to love Pete’s singing. Why leave?”
“I still do,” Emily murmured, glancing at the door.
From the living room, the men’s voices rose boisterously in a rendition of “Sweet Caroline.” George’s voice boomed loudest.
“Could you do me a favour?” Emily asked abruptly.
“Money?”
“No, not that.” She took a long drag.
“Then what? Did you and George have a row?”
“Lu,” Emily checked the door again, then flicked her cigarette out the window. “I’ve fallen for someone. Completely lost my head.”
“Em… What about George?”
“What’s George got to do with it?” she said sharply, then quieter, “What’s George got to do with it?”
“You’ve got a family. A son.”
“George and I are done,” Emily sighed.
“Does he suspect?” Lucy studied her profile.
“Probably.”
A pause.
“There’s a new doctor at the clinic,” Emily continued. “Transferred from up north. The moment I saw him, I knew I was done for. I swap shifts just to work with him. Think less of me?”
“Just unexpected. What now?”
“I can’t breathe without him. If it weren’t for Jack… We met at Mum’s while she was away. But she’s back now—we’ve nowhere left.”
Lucy bit her lip, listening.
“You and Pete are at work all day, no kids. I’ve no one else to ask.”
“Bit cruel to rub that in, don’t you think?”
“Sorry, I wasn’t thinking.”
“You want to use our place? Is that it?”
“Yes. Just a few hours now and then. Please. Why won’t you say anything?”
Lucy clenched her jaw, remembering how George had pined for Emily when they first met, how he’d been terrified she’d refuse him.
“His own place? Wait—he’s married?”
“Does it matter? We love each other. I can’t help it. Lu, I never thought love could feel like this—like my soul’s being torn apart. When I see him, nothing else exists. I don’t even care who hears my heart pounding—”
“No,” Lucy cut in sharply. “Ask for anything else, but not the keys.”
Peter poked his head in. “What’s keeping you? We’re waiting for the roast—” But seeing Lucy’s look, he left.
“Have you lost your mind? George is a good man, a good father. And Jack? He’d never forgive—”
“He’ll understand when he’s older,” Emily said dully.
“No. I won’t betray George like that. Let’s go back.”
Lucy grabbed the oven mitts and pulled out her signature dish—roast beef with potatoes and mushrooms. Emily held the door for her.
“Finally! We were starving,” George slurred.
Lucy set the dish down, watching Emily avoid George’s gaze. Sophie remained statuesque. Mark drank quietly.
“Tea and cake?” Lucy offered brightly.
Mark said they ought to leave—Sophie avoided sweets.
“What’s gotten into everyone?” Lucy frowned.
“Honestly, sis, we should go,” Mark said.
Soon, the flat was empty.
“What was all that with Emily?” Peter asked as they cleared the table.
“They had a row. She was upset,” Lucy lied.
Later, as they settled in front of the telly, Peter nudged her.
“Tell me what really happened.”
So she did, trying to excuse Emily’s recklessness.
“Good on you for saying no,” Peter said. But then the phone rang.
George was in police custody. He’d hit Emily—she was in hospital. He’d called the ambulance himself.
Later, they learned the cab ride home had turned violent. George, half-asleep, mistook the driver for Emily’s lover. Emily intervened, hit her head on the table corner. The driver left. George called the police. But it was too late.
He got two years for manslaughter. After the funeral, they took Jack in. George’s mother was devastated.
When he got out, George was a shadow of himself. Jack, now in school, barely recognised him.
“What now?” Peter asked.
“I’ve decided,” George said. “I’m joining a monastery. It’s where I belong. Don’t try to talk me out of it.”
He visited rarely, asking only after Jack. That summer, they drove to see himThey left the monastery that day carrying a quiet hope, and as autumn leaves began to fall, Lucy discovered she was expecting at last.
