FEMALE FRIENDSHIP
There are mates you meet over coffee. There are friends that last a lifetime.
Margaret Hawthorne had her own story.
Alright, thats it for today, she said, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. The love of my life will be home from the office soon, and I havent even started dinner. And give your husband a kiss and ring me as soon as youve sorted your travel dates! The call ended on a high note; her friend and her husband were about to fly to France to see their daughter, which meant a real chance to meet in the near future.
Its a shame Emily lives so far away now, Margaret sighed, its become so costly and difficult to get together, but at least we can gab on the phone.
Even though their meetings were sparse and their lives ran on different tracks, the conversation always slipped back into place as if it had never paused. The majority of the women shed befriended after moving abroad never managed that; they shared the same circles, attended the same events, travelled to the same places, yet the wellof topics ran dry. Margaret refused empty chatter.
She and Emily had been classmates since primary school, but the true bond only blossomed after Lucy left Russia. In school each kept to her own little world, barely intersecting, while Margaret dreamed of a true friendone out of the novels, genuine and steadfast.
Writers never lie; they draw from life unless theyre spinning fairy tales, right?
Theres a common belief, bolstered by endless jokes, that women dont have friendshipsonly men do. But what does a male friendship look like? A night at the match, helping move heavy furniture, a chat about politics, maybe a loan of cash they never pour their souls out to each other, at most they complain about wives or bosses.
Lucy split female friendship into two camps: mates and friends.
She always had plenty of mates, with whom she could discuss anything on a surface levelfashion, health, beauty, books, movies, travel, household chores, parenting, ageing parents.
A friend, she insisted, was someone you could be yourself with, lay bare your deepest secrets without fearing ridicule, and count on unwavering support. A friend would drop everything at the first summons, rain or shine, with or without a bottle, and sit for hours listening to the same story in endless variations, wiping away your tears and snot.
Margaret knew such a friend existed because she would act exactly like that. Nighttime rescues sometimes failedfirst her parents, then her husbandbut otherwise she was always ready to lend a hand. After a long, thorny road she finally found that in Emily.
There had been mishaps: a neighbour on the landing whod been a childhood confidante, broken over a cracked dollhouse given by her parents for a birthday. A cousin, visiting, drenched the doll in water while playing house, and Lucy was blamed. The friend didnt defend her, and that chapter closed.
Later, an American friend snapped over a trivial slight, ending all contact despite years of shared hardship in exile and sincere apologies from Margaret.
The star of the falsefriend roster was Charlotte. She appeared in Year 2, slipped into the group at once. Short, plump, with tightly coiled hair braided into a thick plait, she lacked conventional beauty but made up for it with boundless energy, confidence, and a laugh that some called infectious, others likened to a snort.
The girls clicked instantly, living on the same block and riding the tube home together. They started a ritual: each afternoon on the way to the station they bought a scoop of strawberry icecream in a waffle cone from a stall. Lucy usually paidCharlottes mum gave her a pound a week and said, Here, spend it as you wishbut Lucy believed petty calculations had no place among friends.
Daily icecream turned oncesick girls into hardy ones; colds passed them by, and their parents even enrolled them in a swimming club they attended together after lessons. They went to the cinema, theatres, exhibitions; if Lucy disliked a painter, Charlotte would declare, You just havent grown into it yet. They camped at youthhostels, joined dance and art classes.
Lucy loved drawing but quit after Charlotte critiqued a quail shed painted, calling it a cowlike mess, though it was oilbased, which Charlotte claimed made it superior.
Both fell for the same boy in primary school and broke off simultaneously, or so Lucy thoughtCharlotte, however, kept a secret crush, hoping for reciprocation.
Their grandparents were indifferent; Lucys grandmother would shake her head and warn, Stay away from that Charlotte, shell be jealous. Lucy would retort, You dont understand, were true friends!
Lucy was ready to surrender leadership, accept unchallenged opinions, tolerate perpetual tardinesstrivialities compared with the rocksolid certainty that her friend would be a mountain for her.
Charlotte once decided to tell a classmate who was courting Lucy that he wasnt right for her, branding it overprotectiveness. When Lucys mother, a psychologist, harshly scolded her about a budding romance with a fellow student, Charlotte soothed the crying girl and defended her fiercely.
Their friendship survived university choices, temptations, weddings where each stood as the others maid, and the birth of first children.
Then they drifted: Margaret moved to the United States, Charlotte to Israel, and contact dwindled to a few missed messages.
They reunited unexpectedly on neutral groundin Brussels. The initial euphoria gave way to Lucys bewilderment when she learned Charlotte had toured the United States several times in those years yet never bothered to reach out. Charlotte bragged about a fling with Margarets most devoted admirer, even hinting at intimate details Lucy never wanted to hear.
The sting was sharp, but Brussels proved forgiving: their Moscowborn friend Emily arrived, and old grievances, if not erased, were tucked away deep.
A few more years passed in lukewarm correspondence and occasional meetups. Charlotte divorced and kept hunting for a new partner; Margarets marriage stalled, though children grew and life seemed a matter of endurance.
At some point it became unbearable. A former acquaintance resurfaced, letters turned to meetings when he visited her city for a medical conference. They reminisced, argued, and, predictably, ended up in bed.
A clandestine affair sparked. Margaret felt ashamed yet the new colours of life were intoxicating; she couldnt and didnt want to stop. Meetings were raresometimes she managed to slip away for a conference, other times he was on a business trip.
One day the lover proposed a grand plan: meet in Israel, where both had relatives, with Charlotte covering the rearguard. The scheme was shaky from the start, but they took the risk. Lucy cheered, Thats the sort of man you need, not the bloke you married! She even tried to flirt with him while Margaret was out, only to be rebuffed.
They toured chic galleries, dined in expensive restaurantsLucy chose the venues, he footed the bill. Everything ran smoothly until the lovers booked a threeday seaside escape to Eilat. Charlotte packed her suitcase, hoping to be invited, but the man refused to pay for her ticket.
Why do we need a blacksmith? he asked calmly, leaving Charlotte stranded in Jerusalem, forced to concoct excuses if his wife called.
Three days flashed by. When the sunkissed lovers returned to Jerusalem, Lucys phone rang.
Your husband called me last night. He caught me offguard, I panicked, tried to calm him all night, but he seemed to know everything already, she blurted. Better that way, otherwise youd never have made a decision.
The aftermath was a nightmare: endless arguments with her husband, a marriage patched together for another few years.
And the friend what friend? Lucy never admitted any guilt, perhaps believing shed done Margaret a favour. Margaret never raised the painful episode again.
They still exchange occasional messages, but neither invites the other to a second wedding, and they havent seen each other since.
Her phone chimed: a notification from Google Photos, a fresh collage of pictures of Lucy, Margaret, and Emily spanning years of trips and gatherings.
Theyre reading our thoughts now, Margaret mused, a flicker of annoyance crossing her face, then she smiled, lost in the images and memories.
True friendship does exist, she whispered, relief softening her tone.
