Amelia closed the file and sent it to her work email. On Monday at the office, she’d open it, print it, stamp it, and submit the report. Done! Freedom at last.
She worked as an accountant for a small firm in London. The workload was heavy, but the pay was decent, and the office was just a short walk from home—no need to waste hours crammed into buses during rush hour. A brisk stroll to work, a breath of fresh air.
The accounting department was all women. She wasn’t particularly close to any of them. Most had families, children, while Amelia was alone. If they asked for help, to take on extra work, she never refused, often labouring through evenings and weekends—just as she had today.
She’d woken early that Saturday and gone straight to her laptop, double-checking everything before sending the file. Now she could freshen up, grab breakfast, and then… Just as she was deciding what to do next, her phone rang.
“Amelia, hi!” came a cheerful female voice.
“Hello?” Amelia answered cautiously. “Who is this?”
“Oh, come on! It’s me, Maggie!”
“Maggie?” Amelia’s voice was sceptical. “You’re in London?”
“Not yet, nearly there,” the other woman laughed.
Amelia didn’t know what to say. Of all people, her old school friend was the last she’d expected to hear from. After the betrayal fifteen years ago, they hadn’t spoken. She regretted not changing her number.
“Amelia, you’re the only person I know in London,” Maggie broke the silence, her voice muted and guilty. “Can you meet me? Please. I’ve been divorced from Charlie for a while now. Thought I’d start fresh.”
Amelia didn’t want to see her. But so much time had passed—what did it matter now? And she was curious about news from their hometown. Fine. She’d meet her, help her get settled, then send her on her way.
“When does your train arrive?” she asked without enthusiasm.
“Twenty minutes. You’ll come?” Maggie’s voice brightened.
“It’ll take me at least an hour—bus, then the Tube. Will you wait? Stay in the main hall, don’t wander off.” Amelia couldn’t believe she was agreeing to this.
“I’ll wait,” Maggie promised.
With a sigh, Amelia glanced at the cold kettle, hurriedly washed up, dabbed on some makeup, dressed, and left. She rented a small one-bed flat in one of London’s quieter suburbs. Enough for one, and cheap.
Stepping into the station’s grand hall, Amelia hesitated. How would she find Maggie in this crowd? It had been fifteen years—would she even recognise her? She walked slowly, keeping to the centre where she could be seen.
“Amelia!” a voice called.
From the kiosks, a familiar but altered Maggie rushed toward her. She’d filled out, her hair was now blonde, her heavy makeup ageing her, but Amelia knew her at once.
Maggie flung her arms around Amelia.
“Finally! I’m dead on my feet.” She linked arms with Amelia, dragging her toward her luggage—a wheeled suitcase and an overstuffed bag.
“You can’t just leave your things lying around,” Amelia said, grasping for conversation.
“They’re fine. No valuables, just clothes. Money and documents are safe.” Maggie’s gaze flicked to her ample chest.
Amelia waved her off and looked around. No one paid them any mind.
Maggie balanced the bag on the suitcase and shot Amelia a questioning look.
“Where do you need to go?” Amelia sighed.
“You’re still mad at me? Look, I wanted to ask—could I stay with you a few days while I find a flat?” Maggie bit her lip.
*The audacity. Stole my boyfriend, now wants to move in. Should’ve ignored the call…* Amelia thought belatedly.
“Fine,” she said, heading for the exit.
Maggie chattered as they walked, but Amelia pretended to focus on navigating the crowd. Maggie fell silent, huffing behind her, struggling to keep up.
“Thought you’d live somewhere nicer. Doesn’t even feel like London,” Maggie grumbled when they reached the tiny flat. “Don’t worry, I’ll find a place soon. So, you live alone? There’s men’s slippers in the hall.”
*Should’ve hidden those.* Aloud, Amelia said, “I live alone. They’re for guests.”
Maggie flopped onto the sofa, stretching out her legs.
“Can’t believe I’m in London!”
Amelia made tea, sliced bread and ham for sandwiches.
“Got any wine? Let’s toast to old times,” Maggie suggested.
Amelia fetched a half-finished bottle, poured two glasses. Maggie drank eagerly, barely noticing Amelia barely sipped hers, and spilled her life story—how she and Charlie divorced soon after marrying. Handsome but rotten-tempered. Her second husband was older, but she married him for money, cheated with his driver, and was thrown out in disgrace. The divorce drained her, but she had savings. Now she’d come to London for a fresh start.
“You were smart to leave right after school. Nothing but boredom back home,” Maggie rambled.
Amelia hadn’t needed to come to London for her accounting course. She and Charlie had been together since secondary school. The night before graduation, they’d planned to marry after she finished college. Then Maggie got him drunk, slept with him, lied about being pregnant. Charlie married her. When the truth came out, Maggie was divorced.
Amelia had cried, then left town. She wasn’t ambitious—just needed to earn a living, not rely on her parents.
*”Don’t let Maggie back into your life,”* her mum had said. *”If Charlie forgot you so easily, he never loved you. Better now than after marriage.”*
Sitting there, listening to Maggie, Amelia remembered those words. Thank goodness she hadn’t mentioned Ian.
They’d met six months ago on the Tube. A born-and-bred Londoner, his parents had bought him a flat but were picky about his girlfriends. They liked Amelia—*”A respectable girl, not like those other outsiders,”* his mother said.
After Charlie, Amelia hadn’t fallen for anyone—until Ian. She’d imagined growing old with him, weekends in the countryside, children, grandchildren…
Now he was away on business until Tuesday. She just hoped Maggie would be gone by then.
But days passed, and Maggie stayed. She hardly seemed to be looking for a flat—too busy clubbing, stumbling home drunk at dawn, asleep when Amelia left for work. They barely spoke.
“D’you want me to talk to her?” Ian offered once.
“No, I’ll handle it,” Amelia said quickly, dreading their meeting.
One evening, she came home to find Maggie sprawled on the sofa in her dress, wearing her bracelet. Amelia’s temper flared. Two weeks of freeloading, now stealing her things?
“Maggie, wake up!” she shouted. Maggie muttered but didn’t stir. “Get up, or I’ll dump water on you!”
“What’s the yelling for?” Maggie cracked one eye open.
“Why are you wearing my dress? My bracelet?”
“You mind?” Maggie slurred.
“They’re *mine*. This isn’t working. You said you’d find a flat—”
“You’re kicking me out?” Maggie sat up, suddenly coherent.
“Don’t take it wrong, but I need my space. This flat’s too small for two. Take off the dress, the bracelet.”
“Fine.” Maggie yanked off the dress, tossing it to Amelia. Amelia gasped—Maggie was wearing her underwear too.
“Want this off as well?” Maggie reached for her bra clasp.
“Keep it,” Amelia snapped.
She remembered a blouse that had smelled of Maggie’s perfume. At the time, she’d thought she imagined it.
“You need to leave. You said you had money. What’s the hold-up?”
“Had money. Don’t now,” Maggie snapped, tying a robe shut. “I’ll be gone tomorrow. Too late tonight, yeah?”
Amelia stormed to the kitchen, scrubbing dishes angrily.
A knock at the door. Ian stood there.
“What are you doing here? We agreed—”
“I wanted to help,” he said, his gaze sliding past her.
Amelia turned. Maggie stood there, smirking.
“So this is your bloke? Quiet little Amelia knows how to pick ’em. I’m Maggie. Come in, handsome.”
Amelia could’ve strangled her.
Ian introduced himself, smiling. Amelia stared in disbelief.
“I’ll put the kettle on,” Maggie purred, swaying toward the kitchen, flaunting her legs.
She played hostess, brushing past Ian, “accidentally” bumping him. Amelia fought tears. *All my men fall for her. Every time.*
“You two have tea. I’ve an early start,” Amelia said stiffly, walking out.
She hoped Ian would follow. He didn’t. RageAmelia never saw Maggie again, but the lesson stayed with her—some friendships, once broken, should never be mended.
