I thought we were friends, yet youve run off with my husband!
You just dont get it! You wont understand! Pollys voice cracked, and she slammed her sketchbook shut. To you its all childs play, a bit of doodling!
Polly, thats not what I meant, Megan said wearily, pressing her palms to her temples. The headache that had started that morning now hammered at the back of her skull. Im only trying to point out that being a designer is a gamble. One day you have commissions, the next youre twiddling your thumbs. Accounting, on the other hand, is a steady slice of breadalways there.
Thats your slice of bread, not mine! Polly leapt from her chair, eyes flashing. I dont want to spend my life crunching numbers like you. I want to create, to make something beautiful! Aunt Sophie gets me; shes the only one who believes in my talent.
Mention of Sophie made Megans heart tighten. Sophieher best mate from school, her rock in the darkest of timeshad lately become more of a mother figure to Polly than Megan herself.
Sophie lives in a different world, love. She runs a thriving salon, can afford to philosophise about high art. You and I are scraping from paycheck to paycheck.
Exactly! Polly shouted, snatching her coat and bolting for the door. I wont live like this!
The front door slammed, and a ringing silence settled over the tiny twobedroom flat. Megan sank onto a chair, cradling her head. Each of these fights drained her completely. At fortyfive, shed spent the last ten years shouldering everything alone. After Ianher husband and Pollys fatherwalked out, leaving a mountain of unpaid bills and a vague sorry, were strangers now, life turned into a relentless survival sprint. She worked at the local library, took odd jobs typing up manuscripts at night, and gave up every little thing just to keep Polly supplied.
Through it all Sophie had been there. Theyd shared a desk in primary schoolbright, selfassured Sophie and quiet, homebound Megan. When the divorce hit, it was Sophie who pulled Megan out of the abyss, delivering groceries, coaxing her for walks, listening for hours to her sobs. Dont worry, Marwell get through this, shed say, hugging her tight. Hell be kicking himself when he sees what hes lost.
And Megan believed her. She dusted herself off and kept moving, for her daughters sake. Sophie had become almost family: a godmother to Polly, the everunderstanding Aunt Sophie who always seemed to know the right thing to say.
Megan sighed and walked to the window. The evening city lights glittered beyond. Somewhere out there Polly was probably roaming the streets, likely heading to Sophies cosy studio in the centre of town, where the air smells of pricey coffee and haircare elixirs, gentle music drifts, and they can chat about lofty art without worrying about the gas bill.
The kitchen phone buzzed. It was a text from Sophie: Pollys with me. Dont worry, Ill talk to her. All will be well. A sting of irritation mixed with gratitude rose in Megan. Part of her was relieved that her daughter was safe, part of her fumed that Sophie was once again the peacekeeper, as if Megan couldnt handle her own child.
She poured herself a mug of cheap tea and sat at the table, eyes falling on an old framed photo of the three of themher, Ian and a baby Polly cradled in her arms. Happy, young, full of promise. Ian sometimes she could barely picture his face any more. Tall, darkhaired, cheeks creased with laughter, a lover of jazz, strong coffee, and travel books. Hed left one quiet evening, bag in hand, saying he needed alone time, and a week later called to say he wasnt coming back.
Sophies voice floated in Megans memory, Hes a fool, Mar. Youll find someone better. But Megan never did. Her life revolved around Polly.
The next few days passed in strained silence. Polly came home from school, ate, and shut herself in her room. Megan hesitated to start a conversation, fearing another fight. On Saturday morning Sophie called.
Hey, Marish, Ive got a crisishealthandsafety inspectors are popping round and my cleaners ill. Could you pop over and give me a hand with a bit of cleaning? Ill owe you one. And maybe you can sort things out with Polly; she was due to visit me anyway.
Megan wavered. Guilt tugged at her, but the thought of finally talking to Polly on neutral ground tipped the scales.
Ill be there in an hour, she replied.
Sophies boutique, Cleopatra, greeted her with sparkling mirrors and a whiff of floral perfume. Sophie, ever impeccably dressed in a sharp trouser suit, met her at the entrance.
Marish, my saviour! she beamed, planting a quick kiss on Megans cheek. Just change into something comfy. We need a quick dustoff and floormop in the main room. Ill sort the paperwork. Polly will be here soon enough.
Megan swapped into an old tee in the staff room and got to work. She didnt begrudge Sophies success; the latter had always been ambitious, earned everything she owned. Yet standing amid the gleaming salon, surrounded by opulence, Megan felt her own instability starkly.
She was just finishing the floor when Polly strode in, eyes narrowed at the sight of her mother with a mop.
Polly, we need to talk, Megan said quietly.
About what? About me giving up my dream and going to some drab college? Polly snapped.
No. About us.
At that moment Sophie emerged, two phones in handher own and, apparently, a clients left charging.
Ladies, no fighting! she chirped, flashing that disarming smile. Polly, dont be angryshes just a kid with big ambitions. Your mum only wants the best for you. How about we all have a cuppa? Ill brew your favourite, with a pinch of cinnamon.
She set the phones on the reception desk and disappeared into the backroom. Megan sighed. Here we go again. Polly buried herself in her own phone. Megans eyes drifted to the two devices side by side. One screen lit up with a short message from a contact simply signed I. Missing your coffee. And you. And a tiny red heart.
Megans heart skipped. I? She wondered if it could be Ian. Sophie had mentioned a flirtatious, divorced, complicated gentleman shed met recently, but the idea that it was Ian seemed absurd. Millions of men begin with I in the UK, after all. She shook her head, trying to banish the ridiculous notion.
The conversation with Polly never materialised that day. They sipped coffee while Sophie babbled about the latest hair trends; Polly nodded, and Megan sat mute, feeling an invisible wall rise between her and the people she loved. The mysterious text nagged at her.
Later at home she dug out an old address book, found Ians numberone she hadnt dialled in years. Just in case, she thought. Hand trembling, she almost called, but decided against it and put the phone down.
A few days later Sophie invited them to the cinema. They sat in the dim hall watching a romcom while Megan kept a discreet eye on Sophie, who kept glancing at her phone, typing quickly, smiling to herself. Once, Megan caught a glimpse of the same I. on the screen.
After the film they passed into a café.
Oh, Marish, Im over the moon! Sophie exclaimed, stirring sugar into her tea. I think Im truly in love. Hes reliable, clever I feel like Im behind a stone wall with him.
Were happy for you, Aunt Sophie, Polly replied. Who is he?
Hes not from our circle. We met by chance. Hes just returned to town after years up north.
North Megan recalled Ian had taken a stint in the oil fields of the North after the divorce, a fact shed heard from mutual acquaintances. Coincidence? Too many coincidences. A cold shiver ran down her spine.
Whats his name? she asked, trying to sound indifferent.
Igor, Sophie answered, then quickly changed the subject. Polly, theres a prestigious art school advertising foundation courses. Want to try? I can cover the fees.
Megans mind raced. Igor. It fit. Her best friend, the woman whod soothed her after the split, now seemed to be courting her exhusband. The picture of Sophie shifted from caring confidante to cunning opportunist, subtly pulling Polly away from Megan while chasing her own fantasies.
Mom, whats wrong? Pollys voice snapped Megan out of her reverie. You look pale.
Nothing, Megan replied hoarsely. Just a headache. Lets go home.
Back in the flat, Megan locked herself in the bathroom, turning the shower on so Polly couldnt hear her sobs. The tears burned, not just hurt, but a betrayal that cut deeper than any infidelity. She wasnt grieving Ian; she was mourning a friendship that had been used as a stepping stone.
She knew she had to act, but not with a tantrum or accusationsthat would be too easy, too shameful. She decided to wait for undeniable proof.
A week later Sophies birthday arrived. She threw a lavish party at a countryhouse restaurant and, of course, invited Megan and Polly.
You must come, Marish! she chirped on the phone. Ill introduce you to my Igor. Youll love him!
Megan felt her throat tighten.
Fine, well be there, she said.
The whole day she moved through a fog. She chose a dress, did her hair, applied makeup, and stared at herself in the mirror, seeing a stranger with feverish, glittering eyes. Polly, oblivious, buzzed around excitedly, anticipating the celebration.
The restaurant was glitzylive jazz, whitetablecloths, guests in elegant attire. Sophie, radiant in a silver gown, flitted from guest to guest. Spotting them, she rushed over.
At last! Come in, dears! Marish, you look stunning! Ill introduce you Igor! Over here!
He stood there, silverthreaded at the temples but unmistakably Ian. His face registered shock, then a flash of shame, then something like panic.
Ian? he muttered.
Good evening, Megan said coolly, meeting his gaze.
Sophie seemed bewildered, glancing between the two.
You you know each other?
More than you think, Megan replied, a wry smile forming. Hes my exhusband. Pollys father.
The room fell dead silent. The music seemed to stop. All eyes were on the trio. Sophies complexion turned ashen. Pollys expression flickered between mother, father, and her beloved Aunt Sophie, bewilderment written across her face.
Mom, is this true? she whispered.
Yes, love. Hes your dad.
Megan stepped toward Sophie, who clutched Ians hand as if afraid hed evaporate.
Happy birthday, dear, Megan said softly, yet firmly. I thought we were friends, but youve not only comforted me in my darkest hour, youve also taken what I lost and hidden it. How easy was it to fall in love with my husband behind my back? To give me advice on betrayal while committing an even worse one?
I I didnt know how to say it, Sophie stammered. It just happened we met six months ago, he never mentioned
You knew he was my husbands? Megan finished for her. You knew everything.
She turned to Ian.
Youre nothing but a coward. You ran from one, landed with another. Nothing changes.
She took Pollys hand. The girls eyes were wide, brimming with tears.
Lets get out of here, love. This isnt our place.
They walked out, drawing startled glances from the guests. At the doorway, Megan glanced back. Sophie stood alone, bewildered, while Ian stared at the floor, avoiding them entirely.
The ride home was silent. Once inside, Polly burst into tears.
Mum, how could Aunt Sophie? And Dad?
Megan held her, rubbing her hair.
Shh, sweetheart, shh. People sometimes do terrible things, even those we love. The important thing is we still have each other.
That night they stayed up in the kitchen, Megan recounting her life with Ian, her friendship with Sophie, leaving nothing out. Polly listened, her childish hurt fading into a more mature understanding.
The next day Sophie cut off contact. Megan ignored the flood of apologetic messages. A few days later Ian showed up at the door.
Megan, we need to talk, he said, eyes avoiding hers.
Theres nothing to talk about, she snapped. Leave.
But Pollyshes my daughter!
You only remembered that now? Ten years it didnt bother you. Get out, Ian. Dont ever come back.
She slammed the door shut, leaning against it, heart poundingnot from pain, but from relief. It was as if a massive stone shed been dragging for years had finally dropped.
Life moved on, harder but honest. The void left by Sophie was hard to fill. Occasionally, in the evenings, her hand reached for the phone to call a friend, to gossip, but she stopped herself. That friend no longer existed.
Her bond with Polly grew stronger than ever. Polly matured overnight, stopped demanding the impossible, started helping around the house and even took a tiny sidejobselling portraits online.
One evening Polly placed a bundle of cash on the kitchen table.
Here, Mum. Its for the prep course. I earned it myself.
Megan looked at her daughters earnest, grownup face, tears welling up.
Youre my pride, she whispered.
No, Mum, youre my pride, Polly replied, hugging her tightly. Youre the strongest.
Megan held her daughter, realizing she hadnt lost everything. Shed lost a friend and some naïve dreams, but shed gained something far more valuableher childs love and respect. A new life lay ahead, tough but genuine, and the two of them would face it together, side by side.
