They first met in a little coffee shop on a rainy morning in Manchester. She was perched at a corner table, waiting for a friend, a steaming mug of tea before her and a slice of Victoria sponge on a plate. He had drifted in looking for a cuppa and a moment to ponder his future.
She was a striking young lady, and he was a charming fellow, not averse to striking up conversation with any woman he met. Their eyes locked, and it seemed the feeling was mutual.
May I join you? he asked, his tone leaving little room for refusal.
Sure, but Im waiting for my friend, so you wont have to linger long. she replied.
I wont be long at all. I just need to introduce myself and swap phone numbers. A few minutes will do.
She arched an eyebrow. And who says Ill hand you my number? she said, breaking off a bite of the cake.
Because you like sweets, and only kind people love sweets. That means were perfect for each otherIm a sweet-tooth myself.
So you consider yourself a good soul? she laughed.
Of course! Cant you see it? Im as nice as a summers day, he grinned, taking a sip of his tea.
Im seeing such confidence for the first time. she murmured.
And Ive never seen a beauty quite like you.
Emily, she said, extending her hand.
Tom Bennett, he answered, taking her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze, and planting a kiss so fierce it seemed to set the room alight.
Dont you think youre being a bit forward with a complete stranger? she asked.
Im not a fan of forcefulness, and besides, youre the loveliest woman Ive ever laid eyes on.
Emily lifted her left hand, revealing a gold wedding band. Im married.
Does that stop anyone? Yesterday you were wed, tomorrow you might not be. Marriage these days is a fragile thing.
I was raised to think marriage is forever. So, dear Tom, I think its time we part ways.
What are you saying? I feel theres something between us. Lets at least exchange numbersno strings attached. If we ever want to talk again, well need a way.
Youre awfully selfassured. Why would I believe youll give me yours?
Im not cocky, just earnest. If we like each other, why not meet again? he said with a smile that melted her resolve.
Alright, give me your number. Emily dictated her own.
Ill call you now, and youll keep my number safe. Youll need it later.
Very well, Ill keep it. And perhaps you should move to another table; I see my friend arriving, and I dont need any more gossip.
Dont worry, I understand. Ill be off. Well meet again, I promise.
Tom gathered his cup and slipped into the far corner of the shop.
A week later he rang Emilys landline. She had been expecting his call and agreed to meet again at the same shop.
Emily, Tom began, Id like to get to know you better.
She took a sip of her tea. Tom, Im married. I work as a nurse at the Royal Infirmary, and I could, in theory, see you. But my husband, James, is terribly jealous. He served overseas as a contract soldier and now runs a youth-fighting club. Hes strong, proud, and Id never betray him. Besides, Im utterly opposed to infidelityits both immoral and dangerous.
Emily, Tom replied confidently, Im drawn to you and cant just walk away. Im a software developer; I may not lift heavy weights, but Im not scared of your husband. Id like to be friends, perhaps more.
Tom earned a modest wage at a modest firm, enough to enjoy a lively social life. He was a confirmed bachelor, never passing a pretty face without a second glance. Emily was no exception; he sensed she felt something for him too and was determined to see it through.
They met once more, and that encounter set the course of their secret liaison. Emily told her husband she was on a night shift, then stayed the night at Toms flat. Neither noticed how quickly they fell for each other, and soon they were meeting whenever they could manage it.
One evening Emily called Tom.
James is away on a competition for a week, so Ill be home tonight. I want you here.
Is it safe? Tom asked. Maybe we could meet at my place as usual.
No, Ill have you over. Ill cook a romantic dinner; I cant keep coming to your bachelor den.
Alright, Ill be there this evening.
At the appointed hour Tom arrived at Emilys door bearing a bouquet, a bottle of champagne, a fine red wine, a cake, and a box of chocolates. Emilys dinner was delightful; the wine and champagne loosened them both, and after the meal they retired to the bedroom. The night promised to be as romantic as the candlelit supper.
At two oclock a sudden, frantic knocking shook the door. They leapt from the bed, bewildered. Emily peered through the peephole.
Its James, she whispered, Tom, its over! Hide!
Where? Tom asked, panic rising.
I dont know, think fast! she cried.
Whos there? Emilys voice trembled.
Emily, open up, you dont recognise me? a boozy voice called from the hallway. I left my keys at work, so Im banging. Open up.
Emily, shaking, stared at Tom.
Do what you must, he muttered, his face as white as a sheet.
Tom shoved his belongings under the bed and, in his shorts, darted into the bathroom.
Whats got you so drunk? Emily shouted from the bedroom. Why didnt you leave?
My coach bus broke down, so the lads are hitching rides home. We stopped for a quick drink at a pub and got a bit carried away.
A quick drink, indeed, Emily snapped, you can barely stand!
Dont worry, love, Ive got everything under control. Just need the loo.
Use the bathroom tomorrow, Emily snapped back, now get back to bed!
But I need the loo now! James howled, his voice slurred. He staggered toward the bathroom, singing a drunken chant about wanting to go immediately.
The cramped bathroom was a nightmare of tiles and a low wall, the kind of combined toiletshower that makes any sensible person cringe. James, eyes glazed, clambered onto the toilet and continued his raucous song. Emily, frozen, could not move. She imagined the worst and pressed her hands to her eyes, bracing for terror, yet no sound emerged from the bathroom.
James, focused on the porcelain throne, failed to notice Tom perched on the tiled ledge, his legs draped over the wall, his body pressed flat against the ceiling, arms clutching the tiles for balance. He stayed utterly still, breath held, hoping not to be seen.
The drunken husbands gaze lingered on the toilet bowl; the only thing that caught his attention was the smell and the faint echo of his own singing. He kept crooning, oblivious to the silhouette tucked away above him.
When Tom finally realized James was about to turn his head, he knew this could be his last night alive. He stayed motionless, refusing to breathe. James lingered, humming, and finally, a sudden sneeze erupted from Tom, amplified by the tiny room into a booming crack that echoed off the walls.
Startled, James looked up and, for a brief instant, saw a glimpse of a crucifix painted on the bathroom walla strange, almost surreal vision that made him pause, his drunken bravado fading. He stumbled backward, fell off the toilet, and clutched his head, bewildered.
Tom seized the moment, leapt from the bathroom onto the hallway floor, snatched his bag, and bolted down the stairs of the twelvestorey block, barefoot and in his underpants, his heart pounding faster than any lift could ever carry him. The speed of his escape was fueled solely by fear.
Emily, pale as a sheet, could only watch as the doorway swallowed the chaos. James, dazed, finally regained his senses and blinked at the empty hallway.
Drink less, Emily chided him later, when he tried to explain his nightmarish vision.
Thus, the memory of that reckless, feverish night lingers, a reminder of how love, jealousy, and folly can intertwine in the most unexpected of ways.
