“You scratched my car, young man!” A slender woman in a white fur coat stood on the pavement, arms crossed.
“Maybe park properly next time,” muttered James. “Some people just buy their licenses and cause accidents. Honestly, women shouldn’t even be allowed to drive.”
“Oh, really? With snowbanks everywhere, where exactly was I supposed to park? On top of that one?” She pointed at a massive snow pile with her gloved fingers. “I’m calling the police!”
James’ anger fizzled out instantly. He’d already gotten a speeding ticket this month. Now this.
“Look, I slid into a snowbank too. It wasn’t intentional.”
“And what do you propose?” she asked icily.
“Let’s settle this here.”
“No. It’s the principle. I won’t tolerate misogyny.”
“The what?”
“Dislike of women!”
“Fine, I admit I was wrong,” James ground out. “I’ll pay for the… scratch. Plus extra for the inconvenience. How much?”
After a long back-and-forth, the woman finally relented. James suspected she was dragging it out just to squeeze more money out of him. He paid her a hefty sum just to avoid trouble.
With a heavy sigh, James checked his bank app—only three hundred quid left. Payday was a week away. He had no choice but to borrow. He called his best mate, Oliver.
“Mate, I’m skint too,” Oliver said. “Why’d you cough up so much? She’s clearly loaded. With those types, you either call the cops or sort it through insurance. Quick and easy.”
“I’m selling the car soon. If the cops log this, it’ll show as an accident. Try explaining that to buyers. Anyone you know who could lend me a bit? Just for a week. It’s Emily’s birthday—can’t show up empty-handed.”
“Right, Emily’s not the type to settle for a card,” Oliver chuckled. “But no, sorry, mate. No one’s got spare cash.”
James shoved his phone into the holder, cracked the window, and sat there, stewing. An hour had passed since the woman in white had disappeared around the corner. He’d honestly tried to be careful, but the wheel hit ice, swerving him into her car.
Then it hit him—he still had an old credit card tucked away. How had he forgotten? Suddenly energized, he drove straight to the jeweller’s for the earrings he’d eyed for Emily.
That evening, James hesitated outside Emily’s flat, clutching a small bouquet of spray roses. The jewellery box sat heavy in his pocket.
A year ago, he’d never expected Emily to reciprocate his feelings. She was out of his league—her dad co-owned a major shopping centre, her mum ran three upscale salons. Emily’s family had bought her this flat, where James now stood, too nervous to ring the bell.
“Happy birthday, love!” He handed over the gifts.
“Thank you, sweetheart!” Emily kissed his cheek. “Oh my God—these are the ones?”
“Yeah…” James flushed.
“You’re mad! They’re so expensive,” she whispered, pulling out the earrings. “But they’re gorgeous. Thank you.”
This was classic Emily. Despite her wealth, she was frugal—shopping at Tesco, cooking at home, cleaning herself except when she’d broken her leg.
Yet James still felt worlds apart. His family celebrated with chicken-foot jelly and liver cake instead of proper birthday desserts.
“Hope you don’t mind… I’ve got guests,” Emily smiled.
“Thought there’d be a crowd by now,” James laughed.
“You know I hate big parties. Come on, dinner’s ready.” She took his hand, leading him to the kitchen. “Mum, Dad, this is James.”
James froze but kept his cool, greeting them.
“You could’ve warned me,” he hissed in Emily’s ear. “I’d have prepared…”
“Relax. They surprised me—showed up two hours ago. It’s fine, they’re lovely.”
“Uh-huh,” James muttered.
Emily’s parents scrutinised him like a pair of airport scanners. It set his teeth on edge.
“Tell us about yourself,” her dad said with a stiff smile.
“Yes, we’re curious,” her mum added.
“Right… I’m a bank manager. Studied finance, did my degree part-time…”
“Any real prospects in banking?” Her mum turned to her dad, ignoring James.
“Limited, I’d say,” her dad replied, equally dismissive.
“Disagree,” James cut in. All three turned sharply. “In a year, I’ll be heading a department. In three, moving regional…”
“And that’s a *prospect*?” Her mum laughed.
“Did you buy three salons straight off?” James shot back.
Their polite smiles vanished.
“I *earned* them,” her mum said coldly. “Started in a tiny neighbourhood salon.”
“Then why knock starting as a bank manager?”
“Five minutes gone, and you’re already debating!” Emily stood arms crossed in the doorway—her new earrings glinting.
Dinner was painfully silent until her mum spoke.
“James, what’s your stance on misogyny?” she asked smugly.
“Strongly against,” he said evenly.
“Surprised you even know the word,” she snipped.
“Funny—I heard it this morning. From a lady.”
Emily frowned between them. Her mum’s eyes darted—she was on a warpath. A row was brewing…
Then Emily remembered her mum ranting about some “aggressive misogynist” earlier.
“Enough! Both of you!” Emily hissed, rounding on her mum. “You mentioned a parking-lot incident this morning—same stupid buzzword. What’s going on?”
“What’s to tell? Your boyfriend ruined my morning!” her mum huffed. “Had I known it was *your* James, I’d have given him hell!”
“James, why didn’t you say you’d met Mum?” Emily glared.
“Didn’t want to ruin your day. I *was* in the wrong—scratched her car, mouthed off. Felt awful walking in… Why stir drama on your birthday?”
“Wait—you scratched her car? *Again*?” Her dad cut in.
“Hit black ice, skidded into a snowbank…” James tried.
Show us. Did you report it?” her dad demanded.
“It’s just a tiny scratch… We settled it. Right, James?” Her mum shot him a glare.
“Sorted this morning. But if you want to see…”
Her mum fidgeted. As James grabbed his coat, she blurted:
“*Stop!*”
Everyone turned. Sheepishly, she admitted:
“There… isn’t a scratch. Well, an old one, but nothing new.”
“What?” James froze.
“You didn’t even hit me… I just—you were so rude about women drivers! Wanted to teach you a lesson. I’ll return the money, but Emily—” She whirled to her daughter. “A man who snaps at strangers *will* turn on you!”
“Emily’s got nothing to do with this! You *were* parked badly—”
“STOP. Party’s over. Everyone *out*,” Emily said flatly.
“Emily!” her mum protested.
“OUT. NOW.”
James tried apologising, but Emily pointed to the door.
Alone, she sat by the window, eating cake straight from the tub. Then her phone buzzed: *Look outside.*
Below, three figures waved manically—her parents and James. Another text: *Come out. We made up.*
Grinning, Emily shoved the tub back, grabbed her coat, and ran downstairs.
“I returned the money, swear!” her mum whispered.
“And I apologised,” James added, offering his hand. “Now we’re apologising to *you*.”
“Where are we going?” Emily pretended indifference.
“The hill!” her mum cheered.
“The *hill*?”
“Yep!”
After kicking them out, James had insisted on a café chat. He’d properly apologised, explaining he’d just been stressed about Emily’s gift.
“He knows you *so* well—his idea!” her mum laughed.
Tears welled. Emily had *always* wanted a birthday tobogganing—speeding down hills on makeshift sleds. But her parents preferred fancy dinners in rented halls. She’d *once* mentioned it to James…
Her dad pulled a rolled-up linoleum sheet from the car. “Happy birthday, love.”
