Dear Diary,
I first saw her in a tiny café on Camden High Street. She sat alone at a corner table, a hot mug of tea steaming before her and a slice of Victoria sponge waiting to be tasted. I had stopped in for a quick cuppa and to think about what lay ahead.
She was striking, a true English rose, and Ive always found it easy to start a conversation with any lady. She caught my eye, and it seemed she noticed me as well.
May I join you? I asked, my tone leaving little room for a refusal.
Sure, but Im waiting for a friend, so you wont have to linger long, she replied, breaking off a piece of cake.
Long enough for a chat and to swap numbers, I said, a couple of minutes should do.
She raised an eyebrow. And why would I give you my number? she asked, taking another bite.
Because you like sweets, and sweet things are loved by good people. Were a perfect matchI’m a fan of sweets myself.
Does that make you a good person? she laughed.
Of course! Cant you see it? Im a very decent chap, I said, sipping my tea.
Ive never met someone so full of himself, she said, amused.
And Ive never laid eyes on a beauty like you, I replied.
Emily, she introduced herself, extending her hand.
Mark, I answered, taking her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze, and kissing her cheek so lightly that she flushed.
Mark, arent you being a bit forward with a stranger? she questioned.
Im not the pushy sort, especially not to a lady as lovely as you.
She then slipped a simple gold band onto her ring finger. Im married.
Does that stop anyone? I chuckled. One day youre married, the next youre notmarriage these days feels fragile.
She sighed, In my family, marriage is forever. I think its time we go our separate ways.
Hold on, I implored, I feel theres something between us. Lets exchange numbers; it doesnt bind us to anything. Who knows, we might want to talk again.
Why should I give you mine? she asked, skeptical.
Im not arrogant, Im just sincere. If we like each other, why not meet again? I said with a grin that made her hesitate.
Fine, write it down, she said, dictating her number.
Ill call you now, and youll have my number too. Keep it safe; youll need it later.
Will do, Emily promised, but I should get back to my friend. No need for gossip.
I understand, Ill be out of sight now. Well meet again, Im sure.
I left my cup behind and slipped into the far corner of the shop.
A week later I called Emily. She answered, and we arranged to meet at the same café.
Emily, I began, Id like to get to know you better.
She sipped her coffee, Mark, Im married. I work as a nurse. I could see us meeting, but my husband, James, is extremely jealous. Hes a former soldier turned trainer for a youth combat club. Hes strong and protectiveId never betray him. Besides, I abhor infidelity; its dangerous.
Emily, I said earnestly, Im drawn to you and dont want us to part. Im a software developer, not a tough guy, but Im not afraid of your husband. I just want a friendship, maybe more.
I earned a modest salary at a local tech firm, enough to indulge in a lively social life. I was a confirmed bachelor, never passing up a chance to talk to an attractive woman. Emily was no exception; I felt she might feel the same and was determined to see it through.
We met again, and that night set the course of our relationship. Emily told her husband she was on a night shift, then stayed at my flat. Before we knew it, we were falling for each other, unable to be apart. We saw each other whenever we could.
One evening Emily called:
James is away on a competition for a week, so Ill be home tonight. I want you here.
Is it safe? I asked. Maybe we could meet at my place as usual.
No, I want you at mine. Ill cook a romantic dinner; Im tired of meeting in my bachelor cave.
Alright, Ill be there.
That night I arrived at Emilys door with flowers, a bottle of champagne, a fine red wine, a cake and a box of chocolates. She had prepared a delightful meal; the drinks loosened us, and after dinner we retired to the bedroom, the night promising romance as sweet as the candlelight.
At two a.m. a frantic knock sounded on the door. We leapt up, bewildered, and Emily peered through the peephole.
Its James, she whispered, run!
Where? I asked, panic rising.
I dont know! she stammered.
Whos at the door? she asked, half asleep.
Emily, open up, you know me! a drunken voice shouted. I left my keys at work, can you let me in?
Iwhat do I do? Emily trembled, looking at me.
Just open it, the voice slurred, what else can I do?
I shoved my belongings under the bed and, still in my underwear, darted into the bathroom.
Where have you been so drunk? Emily called out. Why didnt you leave?
My bus broke down, my mates were getting home in different cars. We ended up at a bar and had a few too many.
Just a little, Emily laughed nervously, you cant even stand!
Dont worry, love, Im fine. I just need the loo.
Use it tomorrow, she snapped, now go back to bed.
I cant, I need to go now! James insisted, his voice booming.
He sang a drunken chorus, No, no, noI want it now! and staggered toward the toilet. The flats bathroom was a combined washroom, a design Id never fancied.
Emily froze, terrified, imagining the worst. She shut her eyes, bracing for a nightmare, but the bathroom remained silent. James couldnt see me; the cramped space offered a hiding spot. I scrambled onto the tiled ledge, clinging to the wall, flattening myself against the porcelain.
Jamess gaze was fixed on the toilet; he sang louder, oblivious. I held my breath, trying not to be discovered. The cramped confines amplified every sound, and when I finally sneezed, it echoed like thunder.
Suddenly James looked up, his eyes widening at a sudden flash of light. He seemed to believe a vision of something holy had appeared, and in his panic he toppled from the toilet, fainting.
Seeing his collapse, I seized the chance. I rushed out, gathered my coat and a few shirts, and bolted down the stairs, barefoot, clutching my bag. Emily stared, pale as a sheet, unable to process the chaos.
I raced out of the building, ignoring the fact it was a thirtystorey block with two highspeed lifts. The terror of James chasing us drove me faster than any elevator could have.
A few minutes later James came to, blinking up at the ceiling, bewildered.
Drink less, Emily scolded him later, when he tried to explain his nightvision.
Mark, Ive learned that chasing a forbidden thrill can plunge you into madness, and that honesty, however painful, is the only path to peace.
