Nadia stepped out of the shop and was descending the steps when a sleek red foreign car pulled up beside her. A young woman climbed out just as a gust of wind caught the hem of her dress, billowing it out like a bell while a strand of hair whipped across her face. With a practised flick of her head, she tossed the hair back, smoothed her dress, and strode past without noticing Nadia.
“Lena? Lena!” Nadia called out.
Lena turned, scanning the crowd before her gaze settled on Nadia. For a moment, they merely stared at one another.
“You really don’t recognise me?” Nadia climbed back toward the shop entrance. “It’s me, Nadia. Nadia Clarke.”
“Nadia.” Lena’s tone was measured. “Honestly, I didn’t. You’ve changed.”
“You look… well,” Nadia said, pulling her aside. “Let’s move, we’re blocking the way. You’re so different.”
Lena gave a faint, indulgent smile.
“You live nearby?” she asked.
“No, just working. Popped out on my break. And you?”
“Listen, why stand here? Got time? Let’s grab a coffee. When else will we bump into each other?”
They slipped into a mostly empty café next door, more of a greasy spoon than anything. Lena waved over a waitress—a thin girl chewing gum who slapped down laminated menus with little enthusiasm.
“Don’t bother,” Lena said, nudging them aside. “Two salads, two sponge cakes, and tea. Quickly.”
When the waitress swayed off, Lena turned back to Nadia. “So, how’s life?”
“Fine. Was married, briefly. No kids. Looks like you’ve done well for yourself,” Nadia replied.
“Can’t complain.” Lena chuckled, flashing her wedding ring.
“Children?”
The waitress returned, setting down dainty plates of cake, teacups, and a small china pot.
“Your parents… still alive?” Lena asked abruptly once they were alone again.
“Dad died a few years back. Mum… she’s still here, but not the same since.” Nadia twisted her cup on its saucer.
Lena poured the steaming tea—mint-scented.
“Shame. I always liked your parents. Unlike my mum. Never satisfied, never a kind word. No wonder Dad left. Your place was always so peaceful.” Her eyes clouded with memory.
Nadia sighed.
* * *
They’d lived in the same building as James—Nadia on the fourth floor, him on the third. Same nursery, same school. James’ father drank, and when the shouting started, he’d bolt to Nadia’s flat.
In Year 10, a new girl arrived—Lena. Parents divorced, moved nearby. Bright, striking Lena caught James’ eye instantly. Nadia burned with jealousy. No more walks home together—just James waiting outside, eyes fixed on Lena’s door.
“You forgot something?” Nadia snapped when he halted mid-step.
“Just hold on.”
“For what?”
Then Lena dashed out, beaming, her laughter loud as James turned into someone else—joking, animated—while Nadia trailed silently behind.
Soon, James waited at Lena’s locker after school, her coat in hand, forgetting Nadia entirely.
Once, they went to the cinema together. When the lights came up, she saw their fingers entwined. They walked ahead, didn’t notice when she fell behind. She stopped going with them after that.
After school, Nadia studied economics at uni; James went to trade school for engineering; Lena, fashion college.
That winter, Nadia fell ill. Snow fell outside as she stared from the window—then spotted Lena hurrying toward her building. Heart leaping, she flung the door open, waiting… only for footsteps to stop one floor below. James’ voice drifted up: “Finally…” A door slammed.
Nadia sank onto the hall bench and cried. Lena had been sneaking over while his parents were out. The thought of them together crushed her.
Later, her mum mentioned bumping into James’ mother—how his drinking had worsened, how James had moved out, renting a flat with Lena.
In her final year, Nadia married a classmate—Alex. Living with his mother, suffocated by her constant meddling.
“Lex, why marry me?” Nadia once asked. “No wife could replace your mum.”
Alex shrugged. “Mum means well. You’ll adjust.”
“I won’t.” She packed her things.
Another shrug as he turned back to his PC. The divorce was swift—no kids, no shared assets.
She saw James only once after, at his father’s funeral. No chance to talk. His mother remarried soon after.
* * *
Now Lena sat across from her in that dingy café, radiant as ever. The salads arrived; Lena dug in. Nadia nibbled her cake, sipped lukewarm tea.
“And James?”
Lena froze, fork midway. “Still hung up on him?” She leaned back. “You know, I envied you. Your family, your parents. All I had was looks. James was easy—so eager to please. But we weren’t suited. He wanted kids, a quiet life. I wanted more.”
“And now?”
“Now I have a rich husband, everything I wanted.”
“And James?”
“Why d’you care?” Lena scoffed. “Lives in a little flat. Barely scrapes by. Last I heard, alone. So, go on, what’s left for you in him?”
Nadia checked her watch. “I need to get back.”
She stood abruptly, fumbling for her purse.
“Don’t,” Lena waved her off. “My treat.”
Nadia turned to leave—then paused.
“Forgot something?” Lena smirked.
“His address. Write it down.”
Lena hesitated, then scribbled on a napkin. “Here. Good luck.”
At work, Nadia unfolded the napkin. *And then what? March right over?* Lena’s mocking voice echoed in her head.
“Yes,” she muttered.
“Say something?” a colleague asked.
Nadia stuffed the napkin away.
Walking home, leaves crunched underfoot. She glanced instinctively at James’ old window. Memories flooded back—school, his father’s rages, his refuge in her flat. Why had it all vanished?
She spun on her heel, headed for the bus stop.
The building was easy to find. She hesitated outside. *Why are you here? He never loved you. Never called. Stop fooling yourself.*
She turned to leave—and collided with James.
“Nadia? What are you—?”
Her pulse leapt.
“I— A colleague. She wasn’t in. You look terrible.”
He rubbed his stubbled chin. “Caught a bug. Just fetching milk.”
“You should be in bed.” She steered him inside.
His flat was sparse, unlived-in. She fried potatoes, boiled milk, tucked him in, and washed up. When she peeked in later, he was asleep, fever broken.
She watched him, aching with tenderness.
Leaving quietly, she headed home.
“Mum, it’s late,” Nadia said, sinking onto the sofa.
“Where were you?”
“Ran into Lena.”
“And?”
“Married. Fancy car. Same as ever.”
“And you?”
Nadia stiffened.
“When do I get grandchildren?”
“Not this again.” She retreated to her room.
Reading was impossible—James filled her thoughts.
Later, brushing her teeth, her mum passed her the ringing phone.
“You kept your number,” James rasped. “Why’d you leave?”
Nadia shut the bathroom door.
“You needed rest. Feeling better?”
“Loads. Nadia… I know I let you down. But… come tomorrow? Or—where d’you work? I’ll meet you.”
“Do you *want* me to come?”
“God, yes.”
“I will,” she whispered.
How many years had she waited?
The next morning, she dressed carefully—smart dress, light makeup.
“Where’re you off to?” her mum called.
“Work do.”
“Late again?”
Nadia wiped off the makeup, changed into jeans and a jumper.
“Don’t ask,” she said, hurrying out.
Her heart soared. She’d see him again.
At last.
