Hey, Emily! Im sorry to bother you at this hour, but Ive got terrible newsmy wife just died in a crash Can you let me in? Simon slurs, his words thick with drink.
I feel as if a bucket of cold water has been poured over me. Despite the fact that weve been at each odds for a month, I let him in. The night is dark and the apartment feels colder than usual. All our past spats melt away, reduced to nothing more than childish squabbles.
Simon, tell me what happened. Dont hold back, I say, already feeling guilty for my part in his wifes death. After all, weve been lovers.
Without a word, Simon drags me to the bed. I dont resist; I want to calm him, to hold him, to give him a moment of peace. Its not the time to call him a cad or a selfish brute.
The night rushes by in a blur of sleepless desperation. In the morning I rouse Simon with great effort. He looks dazed, not remembering a thing.
Emily, why am I here? We were fighting, he asks, genuinely puzzled.
I decide not to remind him why he knocked at my door. I suspect his drunken ramblings were nothing more than a drunken fantasy. Just then his phone rings, flashing the name Honey. Thats what he used to call his wife.
He lets the call go to voicemail and looks at me, guilt flickering in his eyes, as if a memory is trying to surface.
Are you an idiot? You buried your wife last night and youve forgotten it? How could you joke about that? I snap, pushing him out of the flat. I never see him again.
Ive been on my own since I was twenty, my parents gone one after the other. I never rush into marriage; suitors swarm me like bees to honey. Some are stingy, some generous, some already taken. With Simon I stay the longest, because I truly fall for him. I know he has a family, but I later realise hes a born actorlying, inventing stories as easily as breathing. He showers me with lavish roses, extravagant gifts, wild nights, yet he never forgets his Honey. I wouldnt be surprised if he had several mistresses; hes a glutton for affection, a smoothtalking rake.
While my friends settle down, have children, I keep seeing Simon, fully aware theres no future. Hell never leave his family, and that drives us into more fights over everything and nothing.
Finally Simons last stunt puts an end to our shaky, uncertain liaison. Im free again, hunting for a happiness I cant yet name.
Then Ian drifts into my life. He lives in a village but works in the city. We meet on the commuter trainshes heading to her aunts, hes heading home from work. He sits next to me, we chat, swap numbers. He isnt married, which is a relief. We start dating.
If I compare Ian to Simon, its night and day. Ian is frugal, blunt, a touch rough around the edges. Yet I accept his flaws; Im not that young any more. He invites me to his village.
Mother wants to see you, he says.
What does she want to see when Im already pregnant? I should be smoothing my veil, preparing for the wedding
We arrive at Ians cottage. The table groans under a spread of hearty country fare. I cant look at any of it; nausea hits hard. I feel faint. Ians mother, with a assessing glance, orders him, Son, take the guest out to the veranda, lay her on the settee, then come back to the table.
She barely acknowledges me any longer.
The next day Ian silently escorts me back to the train and returns to his mother, who clearly never liked me. I rush the wedding plans, but they fall apart. Im rushed home, end up in the hospital, and suffer a miscarriage. The doctor, seeing my tearful state, comforts me, Dont worry, love. If a miscarriage happens, its better its now than a lifetime of a sick child.
Honestly, I think, Well, Ian isnt meant to be. He seems fine enough with his mother.
I break off with Ian calmly, without regret.
Among my former lovers was a schoolmate, Edward. Hed been flirting with me since our desks were side by side. I keep him as a backup, a spare card. He declares his love, but I stay silent. Eventually he marries a woman with a child, who later gives him a son. Ten years later Edward shows up, apologising profusely, Emily, forgive me, I rushed into marriage, I want a divorce.
He goes on and on about his unhappy wife, the clash of temperaments, the disharmony in his life. I listen, nod, give him a gentle squeeze, warm him with my presence. One day he bursts in, beaming like a buttered crumpet in the sun, Emily, Ive just had a second baby! Congratulations!
Congratulations. Say hello to your wife. Leave, Edward, never come back, I manage to say, choking back sobs. That night I drown my pillow in bitter tears.
My best friend at school was Megan. Everything in her life falls into placehusband, daughter, comfortable home. I admit Im jealous. Her husband, Mark, never catches my eye. I often visit Megan; she ignores Mark, focusing on us. One afternoon she confides, Emily, Ive fallen for someone. Ive lost my head. Hes married, has two kids.
Forget it, Megan, I reply. Dont tear apart your family or his. Youre already happy, no need to chase a married man. I feel sorry for her, watching her weep, I cant live without David, Im suffocating, Id fly to him on any wing!
I understand, Megan, but stop before its too late. Youll end up biting your elbows, I warn, but she looks away, detached. Thats where we part; she never calls again.
One day Mark drops by unexpectedly. Hey, Emily. How are you? Still single?
Hey. No rush on marriage. What brings you here? I ask.
Megan left me, Mark sighs sadly.
I feel sorry for him, we talk all night, and end up in each others arms. He stays with me for six months, and I think Ive finally found happiness. How could Megan turn down such a perfect man? Why swap a loving Mark for some other husband? I never understand.
Mark never proposes; he disappears as suddenly as he arrived. A new colleague, older by seven years and with a teenage daughter, appears at his work. He marries her. Now, twenty years later, theyre still together. Megan eventually marries David, and they claim its a love story for the ages. I dont believe that stolen happiness comes without a price. Two families have suffered because of that forbidden love.
I havent seen Megan in over twenty years.
You might ask, What about the heroine? Ive spent my life nursing broken, wounded, drooping wings. The men eventually fly back to their wives, and time slides inexorably onward. As my grandmother used to say, Every girl has her season; it will fade.
My season has arrived. The carousel of my life has halted. No princes wait at my window. I adopt a pedigree cat for companionship, someone to talk to in the quiet. I remain single, childless. It simply didnt work out.
