**When Things Aren’t What They Seem**
The bus rattled along the rainy streets of London as Emily leaned her forehead against the cool window, watching the world blur through the droplets. “Just like my life,” she thought. “Unclear, uncertain. And bloody terrifying.” She shut her eyes, tears clinging to her lashes.
“What’s wrong with young people these days? Sitting like they own the place while the elderly have to stand!” A shrill voice cut through the hum of the bus.
Emily looked up to see a stout, scowling woman looming over her seat, eyes sharp with disapproval.
“Please, take my seat,” Emily offered, standing.
“About time! No manners unless you shake ’em out of ’em,” the woman muttered as she dropped into the seat.
Squeezing past, Emily caught mutters of agreement from nearby passengers. She bit her lip, thinking, *Maybe her life’s harder than mine. That’s why she’s so bitter.*
“You getting off here?” a voice chirped behind her.
Emily turned—Sophie. Her old schoolmate.
“Em! Blimey, it’s been ages!”
Before she could reply, the bus doors hissed open, shoving them both onto the pavement.
“God, I’ve missed you,” Sophie beamed, linking arms with her. “You’re not slipping away until I know everything.”
“Good to see you too,” Emily said flatly. “But I can’t invite you round.”
“No need. Come to Mum’s—well, my old place. I’m married now, live in Croydon. Just popping in to see her.”
“Soph, really, I can’t.” Emily stopped walking.
“Not listening. Next time’ll be another decade. Half an hour, that’s all!” Sophie pleaded.
“Fine. Half an hour.”
“Kids crawling all over at home?”
“No. Just my daughter and husband.”
“Then they’ll survive. Come on.” Sophie tugged her past her own flat, down a side lane.
“Mum, look who I found!” Sophie announced triumphantly.
Her mother gasped, delighted. Back in school, the two had been inseparable. Sophie had tried keeping in touch, but Emily had been swept up—head over heels for Jake, a boxer. Her mother had begged her not to marry him. *”What kind of life is that? Getting punched for a living? Broken nose, brain damage—think, Emily!”*
Sophie’s mum bustled with teacups.
“Mum, give us a minute?” Sophie said.
“Of course, of course.” She vanished.
“Now, spill. Knew something was off. Maybe I can help.”
Emily hadn’t planned to confide, but Sophie’s earnestness wore her down.
“You married Jake, then? Remember how smitten you were.”
“Yeah. Mum never let up. Always held you up as the sensible one. Called me a ‘romantic fool.’”
“Classic Margaret,” Sophie chuckled. “Still teaching?”
Emily nodded, managing a faint smile.
Sophie was all polished blonde and sharp wit; Emily, round-faced with messy curls and wide blue eyes—the sort who believed in grand love. Now, though, she looked weary, her brightness dimmed.
“Jake was doing well till the regional qualifiers. Took a bad hit—stroke on top of it.” Emily waved a hand. “Doctors gave no guarantees. Boxing was over. I was already pregnant—don’t know how I didn’t lose her.”
After the birth, she’d juggled the baby and Jake’s care. Sold their car for bills. Her mum helped. Six months on, she was back at work. “Took years, but Jake recovered. Couldn’t box, though. No other skills. Jobs never lasted—no qualifications, or they’d turn him down after the injury. He’s bitter. Shuts everyone out… even our girl.” Emily turned away, wiping her eyes.
“I’ll talk to my husband. He’s no Rockefeller, but his firm’s decent. Security work suit Jake? Chin up, love.” Sophie squeezed her hand.
“Thanks, Soph. But I’ve got to go. Jake frets if I’m late.”
“Swap numbers. I’ll ring tomorrow. Paul adores me—won’t say no.”
“Proving Mum right—you *are* the clever one.” Emily hugged her.
“Rubbish. It’s not how you start—it’s how you finish.”
At home, Emily kept quiet, not wanting to jinx it. Sophie rang three days later.
“Paul’s willing to meet him. Three o’clock, sharp. Suit, clean-shaven. And—sorry—no booze today. Paul’s strict on that.”
“Jake doesn’t drink,” Emily snapped.
“Just covering bases.”
She relayed the offer, skipping the booze bit to avoid offence.
Next day, Jake left in a suit. Emily clutched her phone till he called—hired. Relief washed over her.
For two months, life steadied. Then Paul sacked his driver and offered Jake the job.
But soon, Jake came home late, withdrawn. One night, his knuckles were split.
“You got in a fight?”
“Comes with the job. Don’t fret.”
Then Sophie rang, furious: *”I helped you, and Jake repaid it by beating Paul!”*
Emily demanded answers. Jake sighed.
“Paul’s not who she thinks. I’ve been driving him to his mistress—some doll in a pink negligée. Tonight, at a dinner, he got handsy with a girl. I stepped in. Had to clock him.”
As he spoke, the doorbell rang—angry pounding. Three men barged in. Jake threw them out, threats echoing behind the slammed door.
Sophie arrived the next day, face bruised.
“Paul hit you?”
“First time. I didn’t know him at all.” She turned to Jake. “Tell me the truth.”
Jake did—sharp, no embellishments.
“I pitied you. Thought Margaret was right—that you’d married wrong. Turns out *I’m* the fool.” Sophie broke down.
“Stay with us,” Emily urged.
Sophie refused. “Paul’ll come for us all.”
Next morning, Jake walked her home. A black car nearly mowed her down—he shoved her clear, then booked her into a cheap hotel under a fake name. *”Leave town. He’ll find you.”*
Meanwhile, Paul’s firm was audited—fraud, missing funds. Charges followed.
And Jake’s old trainer visited. *”Retiring. Heard you’re fit. Take over my gym?”*
Jake grinned. *”Yeah. Too proud to ask before.”*
Funny thing, life. Shows you who people really are when the chips are down. Jake, broken but decent. Paul, polished but rotten.
*Sometimes the dead end’s just a reason to knock down walls.*
