After supper, Emily curled up on the sofa with a book, sinking into the heroine’s adventures. Just as she lost herself in the pages, her mother walked in, clutching a buzzing phone. Lighting up the screen was a grinning photo of her friend, Sophie White.
Emily reluctantly set the book aside and answered, shooting her mother a pointed look. Finally catching the hint, her mother stepped out—though Emily had no doubt she’d linger by the door, eavesdropping.
For five minutes, she and Sophie chatted about nothing—until Sophie announced she was throwing another birthday party, this Saturday at her countryside cottage.
“Your birthday was a month ago. Wasn’t it?” Emily frowned.
“What’s the difference? I’ll celebrate it every day if I fancy. It’s just an excuse to get everyone together.”
“Why not meet without one?”
“Where’s the fun in that? There’s got to be intrigue, anticipation. My Harry’s mate from Germany is visiting. He doesn’t know my real birthday, and he’d likely refuse a casual meet-up—but a party? That’s serious. Daisy, remember her? She nearly screamed when she heard he was coming. He’s some big shot in film—director, producer, something like that. And Daisy’s desperate to get into acting. Clung to the idea like glue, pestering me nonstop. Bloody exhausting.”
“So it’s obvious why they’re coming. Why am I needed?”
“Because it’s a party?” Sophie’s voice sharpened with irritation.
“Decoration?” Emily guessed dryly. “And why the cottage? It’s still freezing outside.”
“Don’t be daft. So he won’t bolt,” Sophie cackled, pleased with herself. “Come on, it’ll be a laugh. Barbecue, drinks, the whole lot. We’ve still got the Christmas tree up—never got round to taking it down after New Year’s. Plus, with all the snow, we’d never have made it back. Please? For me?” Sophie’s voice dipped into a pout Emily could practically see.
“Fine,” she sighed.
She agreed because Saturday was four days away—plenty of time for something to come up. A sudden cold, a cancelled train, anything to get her out of it.
The moment she hung up, her mother reappeared.
“Where’s she dragging you off to now?”
“You heard her,” Emily smirked.
Her mother didn’t bat an eyelid.
“Good. You’re always cooped up here. Nearly forty and still unmarried. I’ll never see grandchildren at this rate.”
“Mum, men aren’t daffodils—they don’t just sprout in cottages,” Emily joked. “I’m thirty-two. Eight whole years till forty. And children should come from love, not because you’re itching for grandkids—”
Her mother pursed her lips, waved a dismissive hand, and marched out—only to return seconds later, planting herself in front of Emily again.
“All you do is read. Living other people’s lives while yours passes you by. Books won’t land you a husband. Time’s slipping—”
“You heard me. I’m going. I’ll bring you back grandchildren from the party,” Emily quipped again.
Her mother shook her head, wounded.
“Sorry, Mum.” Emily leapt up and hugged her.
On Friday, Sophie called again, reminding her about the trip. Dress smart, she insisted—mustn’t embarrass themselves in front of foreign company. She and Harry would pick her up at seven sharp.
“Why so early?” Emily groaned.
“Long drive, need to heat the cottage, get everything ready… Barely enough time before evening.”
At six a.m., her alarm blared. For a dazed moment, Emily couldn’t fathom why she’d set it so early on a weekend. Then her mother bustled in, announcing breakfast was ready.
The cottage. The party. Emily groaned. So much for a quiet weekend. She dragged herself to the shower, and an hour later, trudged outside to find Harry’s car already waiting. Sliding into the back seat, she mumbled a sullen greeting.
“Cheer up. You can nap on the way,” Sophie said magnanimously.
The entire drive, Sophie chattered nonstop. How does Harry stand her? Emily wondered before dozing off.
The village was picturesque and still. Pristine snow blanketed the gardens, with only tyre tracks cutting through the roads. They wouldn’t be alone in this winter wonderland.
Inside, a towering artificial Christmas tree stood in the corner. For a fleeting second, Emily felt they’d time-travelled back to December. Harry got to work on the fireplace, the scent of logs and resin filling the air—smells of childhood.
Before the flames could properly catch, two more cars pulled up. Emily and Sophie watched from the window as familiar faces spilled out of one—including Daisy. From the other emerged a tall stranger in glasses.
“That’s the director? Doesn’t look the part,” Emily muttered.
“How many directors have you met?” Sophie shot back.
The group trudged towards the house, Daisy bouncing like an overexcited puppy, vanishing into snowdrifts and shrieking with laughter. Her cackles probably reached every cottage in the village.
“Quit gawking,” Sophie said, stepping away first.
She went to greet them, while Emily slipped into the kitchen, unpacking groceries.
“Your friend—is he really a director?” she asked Harry.
Before he could answer, a stampede of noise erupted—shouts, footsteps, and Daisy’s shrill peals overwhelming it all. She made a beeline for the tree. The director carried bags into the kitchen, shook Harry’s hand, and nodded at Emily, his gaze lingering.
“Need help?” he asked.
The kitchen quickly crammed with bodies, laughter, the crackle of the fire. The tight, lively chaos made Emily glad she’d come.
After sandwiches and tea, the men headed outside to set up the barbecue while the women chopped salads and boiled potatoes.
Toasts and birthday cheers echoed around the table, Sophie accepting gifts without a hint of shame. Then came dancing. Daisy draped herself shamelessly over the director—Paul—who drank little and remained the soberest of the lot. When Daisy slipped outside, he asked Emily to dance.
“You’re really from Germany? How long have you lived there?” she asked.
Paul tried to answer, but the music drowned him out. Emily gave up. Daisy swooped back in, swapped the song for something faster, and launched into a solo performance by the tree—nearly toppling it. A few ornaments shattered. Everyone scrambled for the pieces…
Amid the chaos, Emily snatched her coat, stuffed her feet into boots, and slipped outside. Night had fallen. Tilting her flushed face up, she blinked at the staggering spread of stars—nothing like the washed-out city sky.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” a voice said behind her.
She knew it instantly.
“Haven’t seen stars like this in years.”
“None in Germany?”
“Plenty. Just never had time to look. These feel closer. Like home.”
“You miss England?”
“At first, I wanted to come back. Then I got used to it. There are pros and cons.”
“What are you working on now? Any new films?”
“There you are.” Harry appeared in the doorway. “Come on, you’ll miss the fun.”
“We’ll be right in,” Paul said for both of them.
“Seems you’re not enjoying it much either,” he said once Harry left.
“Noise always tires me out,” Emily admitted, shivering. “Wish I could just leave.”
“Why not? I’ve got a car. Want me to take you home?”
“Where?”
“Wherever you like. Back to London?”
“My things… Sophie will be furious.”
“Call her later. Say I kidnapped you.” He grinned. “Well?”
“You’re serious?” She searched his face for a joke. “Let’s go,” she decided, marching to the gate.
Inside, the revving engine likely went unnoticed—or if heard, it was too late. No one sober enough would chase them.
Emily tipped her head back, closed her eyes, and drifted off. She woke as they entered the city.
“Sorry. Did I snore?” She patted her flattened hair, embarrassed.
“Where to?”
She gave her address, then started directing him—until he cut in, “I remember the city.”
“Whose car is this?”
“Rented. Feels odd without wheels.”
At her doorstep, Paul asked for her number.
“I’ll call tomorrow,” he said. “You’re different from your friends.”
Before she could ask what he meant, he drove off.
“What happened? You said you’d be back tomorrow!” Her mother fretted as Emily walked in.
“All fine. The cottage is tiny, no place to sleep. You know I hate staying over.”
Next morning, Sophie rang, screeching down the phone.
“Playing the wallflower, then stealing my guest of honour—”
Emily tried to say he’d taken her—but Sophie ranted nonstop before hanging up.
PaulThe next Sunday, under a sky as clear as her mother’s hopeful smile, Emily watched Paul place a ring on her finger, realizing that sometimes the best adventures begin when you least expect them.
