Envy of a Best Friend
Friendship between Emily and Charlotte practically began the day we were born. Our mums would take us to the playground, where we first traded toy spades and squabbled over sand buckets. We went from toddler tantrums to sticking together against the world: sharing secrets of first crushes in Year 3, comparing heartbreaks over spots, commiserating about the sheer injustice of strict parents. People never saw one of us without the other; we were inseparable, or so it seemed.
As children, life was a great leveller: same scraped knees cleaned with Germolene, the same market-bought jeans, the same faded jumpers. But by sixteen, differences appeared.
Emily, always the taller of us, seemed to blossom overnight. She had a grace about her, with thick, chestnut hair her mum let her dye in shades promising Belgian Chocolate and flawless skin, unbothered by oily hormones or bargain make-up. Her parents doted on her, never thinking twice about the odd designer dress or a good mascara.
Charlotte, on the other hand Well, she lived in Emilys shadow. Her mother, practical and stern, said her straw-like hair looked best in a boyish crop. Her dad, a foreman at the local factory, would roll his eyes at the word makeup: That’s for tarts, love. My girl will use her brain. Charlottes hair was always short and messy; hand-me-down jumpers hung off her slight frame, and her face bore marks from nervously picked spots.
By seventeen, Id devoured every glossy magazine on the newsagents rack. I became convinced there was a hidden beauty in every girljust waiting to be uncovered. I turned up at Charlottes with my hairdryer and, in thirty minutes, her limp haircut was spiked into a bold mohawk. I spotted an affordable, but effective, facial cleanser at Boots. Dug out a simple black turtleneck and skinny jeans from my own wardrobe. When Charlotte looked in the mirror, she barely recognised herself. She had long, elegant legs, soulful grey eyes usually lost under her fringe, and a figure to be proud of.
Oi, look at you! I laughed. Turns out youre a right stunner!
Charlotte blushed and turned away, the word stunner cutting more than lifting. It sounded patronising.
We both went to university, reading economics. Parental control loosened, at last. Charlotte grew her hair, mastered her eyeliner to make her eyes seem bigger. She switched her wardrobe for something softer, more feminine. Left the mousy brown behind for copper highlights, andsuddenlyshe was lovely. Even had admirers of her own, though fewer than Emilys whole fanclub.
Still, she was dubbed the plain friend. Not the centre of attention; she was more of a consolation prize for the fellas realising Emily was out of reach. Emily, on the other hand, was always radiant. Boys competed for hergiant bouquets, the coolest new restaurant, the best joke. She accepted it all lightly, with just a hint of amused gratitude.
Charlotte, meanwhile, swallowed her envy with a painful lump every time she saw Emily, nose wrinkled, turning down another would-be Romeo. She secretly longed to swap places, just for a momentto handle all that power, that dizzying attention. But she survived on rare compliments and the constant comfort of Emily always nearby. As the years passed, Charlotte tried to weed out any bitterness, tried to nurture loyalty.
Everything changed one crisp September evening in our second year, when we fell in with two senior lads from the journalism course. The thoughtful, bespectacled James, and his loud, wisecracking mate, Oliver. Sparks flew instantly between Emily and Jamesso strong I felt the air charge when they looked at each other.
Oliver, never one to faff about, began courting Charlotte. He was funny and kind, but right away, Charlottes heartsore with jealousyhad been lost to James. It physically hurt to witness the love and tenderness in his eyes for Emilythe sort of adoration she herself could only dream.
Whenever our group went out, Charlotte spent forever getting ready. Peeling on makeup to mask flaws, donning her dare-iest dress and tottering on heels that left her feet agony.
Going all out for Oliver, are you? Emily joked, zipping her into her dress. Hed trail after you even if you wore trackies.
Charlotte mustered a smile. If only you knew, she thought, for whose attention Im planning this sultry look.
She looked fine, perfectly nice even. But at the height of her effort, she was just a pretty girl, while Emily was something else entirely. Emily could pull on old jeans and an oversized tee, bundle her hair into a messy bun, and still turn every male head in the room. Charlotte would admit it, privately, with the ache of someone always destined to play second violin.
Every word James dropped her way, Charlotte dissected, hunting for hidden meaning, some clue he cared. When he asked what she thought of the new macroeconomics lecture, she convinced herself he wanted a hearty discussion with her. His offhand compliment on her new handbag became, in her mind, a secret confession. But reason would always cut throughhes just polite, just being nice. His eyes see only Emily.
It fizzled fast with Oliver; he sensed her interest was half-hearted, and soon enough, he redirected his energy to a bubbly fresher from next door.
Shame, that, Emily sighed over pizza, Olivers great. Reliable, funny. I thought you made a cute pair.
Not bothered, Charlotte shrugged, biting into her pizza. Hes as shallow as your James. All the same, arent they? Just after a bit of fun before they move onto the next girl. I clocked it straight away.
Emily bristled, pushing away her plate. Dont talk about James like that. Hes not like them. Hes different. Our thing its not casual.
Yeah, well see, Charlotte muttered, feigning indifference but secretly hoping. She prayed for James to turn out to be a scoundrel, to break Emilys heart. Maybe then, the spotlight would dim and James would finally notice her, the one who had truly loved him all along.
Like any couple head over heels, Emily and James foughtabout jealousy, about time, silly things. Charlotte, breath held, anticipated every argument might be the end. But James always came back: one day with her favourite Milkybar buttons, another time arranging a trip to an old airfield to watch the stars. He put his heart into it.
Hes faking it, you know, Charlotte spat when Emily shared a sweet new message from James, her face glowing. Hes just buttering you up, so he can catch you off guard. I hate manipulators like that.
Thats enough, Char, Emily wrinkled her nose. You dont know him at all. He tries because this matters to him.
He just wants his pretty toy, Charlotte retorted, voice trembling with the hatred of someone deprived. Bet hes got a girl in every uni. To him, youre a trophy, thats all.
Emily looked at her, genuinely hurt. What makes you think that?
Remember him talking about that internship in London? They want him there! Arent you bothered hes ready to move away without you?
I remember. But thats a brilliant opportunity! Emily exclaimed. We agreedIll join as soon as I finish my degree. Makes sense, right?
Charlotte just shrugged, planting reluctant seeds of doubt. Sometimes it worked: Emily would grow anxious, more clingy, sparking bigger rows. But James always seemed ready, almost happy, to prove his loveagain and again.
Before long, James did leave. The offer was irresistible: an internship at a major media group in London, a job offer on the horizon. He dreamt of a future together and wanted to build a foundation for Emily, knowing our home town in Norfolk couldnt offer half as much.
Ill miss you more than anything, Emily sobbed the night before his departure, clinging to him. Its a long way, and travels expensive
Ill visit every weekend, he whispered, kissing her damp eyelids. And save for our nest. Promise me youll wait.
And off he went. Emily entered a period of anxious waiting. Strangely, Charlottes own life got easierwithout seeing James all the time, her envy cooled, settling into a dull ache. She even dated Ben, a quiet postgrad from their course.
Then, one day, Emily showed up pale as a bedsheet with news that stunned Charlotte cold: she was pregnant. Only a few weeks along.
You need to get rid of it, Charlotte advised, not missing a beat. James is a career man. Hell hate you for tripping him up now. A baby will ruin his plans.
Emily rang James anyway. He panicked, briefly, but stepped up: told his parents, made plans for Emily to come to London after the birth, started hunting for a flat, scrimped and saved every penny.
On learning all this, the first thing I felt was a sharp, overwhelming pain. He hadnt abandoned herhed accepted it all. He really did love her. And this baby would tie him to Emily forever. All my hopes shattered with an almighty crash, leaving only savage, blinding rage.
From that moment, I knew my goal: I had to break them apart, no matter the cost.
Life for Emily and James became a cycle of waiting. They spoke less often: James buried himself in work, juggling side projects and overtime to pad their budget. He rang late at night, while Emily, exhausted and sick with worry, would already be asleep.
I did my best to stoke the flames.
So, your fiancé vanished again? Id ask, feigning sympathy. Does he have any clue what youre going through? Some dad. Cant even pick up the phone.
Even pregnant, Emily was beautiful. Pregnancy softened and brightened her, giving her eyes even more warmth. She still drew admiring glances, no matter her bump. Among her not-so-secret clique of fans, the most constant was Tom, a mutual friend. He drove her to appointments, carried her shopping, made her laugh.
Now *theres* a proper man, Id whisper to Emily, perching on her duvet. Present, thoughtful, practical not like James swanning off miles away.
Once, Tom got a bit carried away in his protective friend role, holding Emily in a hug that lingered. Emily pulled away, firmly telling him off. But I, conveniently nearby with my phone ready, snapped a photo. The angle made it look like Emily was nestling in, not pushing away.
Delete that now, Emily demanded, cheeks burning.
Of course, of course, I nodded, already tucking it safely away for future use.
My ‘evidence’ folder grew. I dragged Emily along to group picnics and cafe meetups, always arranging for Tom to sit close, always taking photos. Together, they looked every bit the happy couple: the expectant mum, supposedly abandoned, finding comfort with her stalwart friend.
Soon my moment came. I announced my cousin had had a car accident in London and she needed my help desperately.
See if you can check in on James while youre up there? Emily begged, eyes hollow with sadness. Just see how hes doing.
Of course, I promised. Ill tell you *everything*, honestly. If hes cheating, youll be the first to know.
I prepped carefully: salon blowout, a stylish (but understated) dress, subtle makeup to make my sad grey eyes seem heartbreakingly deep. Without dazzling Emily beside me, I was finally the one in the spotlight.
James met me at the station, drained and homesick but glad for a connection to his old life. Over dinner, as he sipped his pudding, I went solemn.
James, I hardly know how to say this but I must. For your sake, you deserve the truth. You mustnt be a fool.
Out it all came. I told him everything: how, since he left, Emily started ‘living it up’, how she encouraged the attention of other men, especially good old Tom, now her constant companion. I flicked through my phonepicnics, dinners, always Emily and Tom, side by side. The perfect narrative: pregnant Emily finding solace with another man.
She never even mentioned a Tom, James murmured, shock, disbelief, and pain in his eyes.
Of course not, I said, brushing his arm. She and Tom well, its gotten serious. It hurts me to tell you, since shes practically my sister, but you should know.
I performed my part perfectly, the concerned, regretful friend broken by Emilys supposed betrayal. And at a distance, with exhaustion and doubt fogging his brain, he believed me. He’d never thought me capable of such an awful lie.
He nearly rang Emily at once, poised for a showdownbut I stopped him.
Best not to, James. Youre angry, and youll only say things youll regret. Let her call you. Watch her reaction.
That evening, back at my hotel, I phoned Emily.
Emily, I I dont even know how to say this I forced myself to sound on the verge of tears. James hes seeing someone here.
There was a shriek down the line.
All those times he said he was busy at work? Its her, Emily, Im so sorry. I saw them together. They were closevery close.
I urged her to wait, not to ring and embarrass herself. The next day, Emily caved and called James anyway. James, still following my script, saw her name flash up, buthurt and angryjust ignored it. Emily took it as silent confirmation of her worst fears.
Everything was working better than Id hoped. The next night, I turned up at Jamess with puffy, red eyes.
Shes had an abortion, James, I whispered, voice thick with fake remorse. Shes moved on, moved in with Tom. Said the child was a mistake, and youre just a painful memory.
Meanwhile I called Tom, posing as Emilys friend, andsobbingI pleaded, If James rings, please shield her. Shes fragiledont let him hurt her. Loyal and honest, Tom worried for Emilys wellbeing and, when James finally called, answered with a rough, angry:
Dont call here again, you worm. Youve done enough. Leave her alone.
I was there for James as he collapsed, head in his hands. I made tea, murmured soft words, exuding patience and understanding. I was the woman available, now that the woman he loved was so cruel.
James didnt love me. He was all bitterness and emptiness. But my gentle care, my silent comfort, became a balm for his wounds. Our physical relationship was harsh and forgettable, a way to banish pain. Within a week, moved out of his hotel, I had all but moved in.
I dropped out of uni, took a job as an office junior in the next building, inwardly triumphant but outwardly the image of mournful devotion, the woman gathering up the pieces of a broken man. In my daydreams, I started picturing a white dress.
Emily, meanwhile, was alone with her growing bump and broken heart. Tom continued to support her, but only as a friendhe was too honourable to take advantage. Emily believed James had cut and run, hiding behind stories of her supposed cheating simply to ease his conscience. What hurt the most was his indifference towards their unborn child. Not a single message, no inquiries after her or the baby.
One day, sobbing down the phone to me, Emily poured out her heart. I, already living with James, sighed:
He told me the same, Em That the baby was your problem, that he wanted nothing to do with either of you. I’m sorry, but you have to accept it.
Emily did. After all, what could be more convincing than her best friend telling her so herself?
James and I put in for our marriage certificate at the town hall. We planned a small do for the next month. James shuffled through the days as if sleepwalking. He made me swear not to tell anyone, especially our friends. He didnt want questions or pity, orworseanyone saying Emilys name.
But even he slipped, pouring his heart out to Oliver, the very friend whod introduced us. Oliver, stunned, wished us well, but in a drunken moment, messaged Emily: Hope you knowJames is marrying Charlotte.
That was the last nail in Emilys coffin. She cried for days. Even when hope had flickered that thered been some terrible mistake, now it was obvioushe had left her for her best friend, the sister shed trusted most.
Tom, summoned by a panicked call, comforted her as she fell apart. But being practical, Tom began to see the pattern: the speed of it all, how convenient things had been, how the winners of this story were always Jamesand Charlotte.
He tried to point this out to Emily. She shook her head and wept harder.
Whats it matter, Tom? Theyre together; hes marrying her. Its finished. They both betrayed me. I dont care anymore.
But Tom still cared. He loved her, not with some agenda, but enough to want her to find peace and justice. He got Jamess number off a mutual friend and began to ring and ring. After many attempts, James finally answered one evening.
Listen, you git, Tom began, voice seething, Youve set up house with your new flame while Emilys alone, carrying *your* baby! Have you even bothered to think about her? Or care just about your new job and missus?
At first, James went to hang upbut Toms words your baby stabbed him.
What baby? he asked, deadly quiet. She was supposed to have
Toms silence was heavy with meaning.
To have what? An abortion? Are you insane? Shes five months gone! She cries herself to sleep, convinced youre a rotter who ran away from his child! In fact, youre just a complete idiot!
Their conversation lasted forty minutes. Forty minutes of revelation, horror, and a growing fury aimed at me. When it ended, James shook with anger. He looked at the flatnow filled with my thingsand felt physically sick.
He waited for me to come home. I breezed in, shopping bags swinging, planning dinner. He was seated, cold-eyed.
Pack your things, now, he said, voice flat. Get out. Right now.
I stopped dead, bags slipping from my hands.
James? What
Ive spoken to Tom. I know everything. Every nasty, heartless game. Leave.
I blanched. Tears pricked my eyes.
James, wait, I can explain. Ive always loved you! Were good together! You know it
He recoiled; I might have been a viper.
Dont touch me. You disgust me. Youre hideous, inside and out. Without Emilys light, youre nothing. Youre just dirt. Now, get out.
Every word hit home, shattering my fragile confidence. I burst into real tears.
Its night, where am I supposed to go?
Hell, for all I care. Sleep in the lobby.
I dragged my case onto the landing, numb. Behind me, the lock clicked. I was left in shadow, mascara streaking down my cheeks, consumed by furynot remorse. At the world, at James, at Emily, at Tom. Once again, the prize had gone to someone else. I slumped onto the freezing step outside and cried out my powerlessness into the night.
James ran about the flat, flinging things into his sports bag, hands shaking. He madly booked the earliest flight back homedeparture in four hours. Somehow, he managed to ring Emily. Hearing her voice, wary and brittle, stole his breath.
Emilyits me. Please, dont hang up.
What do you want? Her voice sounded empty. Want to offer your congratulations?
Shes not my fiancée. Never was. Everything you heard was lies. Charlotteshe set it all up. She lied about the lot. About the abortion, about Tom. IIve been a blind fool.
There was a long silence. Then, a sigh.
Why tell me now, James? Make yourself feel better? It doesnt help. The worst thing iseven if its true I cant make myself care anymore. Im tired. Leave me alone.
I cant. Im heading to the airport, now. I have to see you. To explain, properly.
Dont come. I dont want it. I dont want you. Pleasejust go.
She hung up.
Emily lay in her dark bedroom, hand on her tummy, heart battered by grief and fatigue. The news from Oliver, the call from James If James was honestoh God, what had Charlotte done? And what about her own role in believing the worst? Disconnected memories flitted by: Charlottes criticisms of James, relentless hints, the photo with Tom shed begged to be deleted… Emilys heart clenched with a new, sharper pain. This wasnt just betrayal or cowardiceit was complete, methodical destruction, delivered by her oldest friend.
She didnt want to see anyone, didnt want James to turn up. If he did, the maelstrom inside might just tear her apart.
Next morning, the bell rang and rang. Emily lay unmoving. Then knocking began, loud and persistent. Toms voice called from the other side:
Emily! Open up! Urgent!
She let him in. Tom was breathless but grinning.
Hes coming! I just spoke to him. Last night, right? He knows everything. Charlottes behind it allit was a set-up. The photos, the liesit was all her plan.
Emily listened silently, sliding into a kitchen chair.
What now? she asked quietly. He knows. And? He called last night, said he was a fool, hed come.
Good! Tom sat opposite, gripping her icy hands. Hell be here soon, you can sort it all. Start fresh
Start fresh? But Tom, how? After all that? She met his honest eyes, tearful and spent. He *believed* Id have an abortion, that Id cheat. How can we erase that?
Tom fell quiet. Hed wanted justice for her, but fixing trust, he realised, was not the work of a few days.
I dont know, he admitted. But at least talk. Face to face, not by phone. For your babys sake, at least.
Emily closed her eyes. For their childyes, she owed that much.
James arrived that evening, outside her flat clutching a battered sports bag, uncertain and shaking. He knocked quietly, then louder.
No sound inside. He pressed his forehead to the door.
Emily please. I know youre there. Im not leaving.
At last, the lock clicked. The door opened a crackshe stood there, pale, eyes haunted.
He couldnt wait. He stepped through anyway; the door didnt resist. They stood inches apart in the narrow hallway. He dropped his bag. His arms twitched towards her, but stopped.
I His rehearsed words scattered. Im not here for forgiveness, because I dont deserve it. I came to say: Im a fool. The worst sort. I believed her because I was so frightened you actually *could* stop loving me.
He struggled to breathe, eyes never leaving her. Emily looked away, gaze fixed somewhere over his shoulder. At last, she fixed him with a flat look.
She stayed with you?
He nodded.
Yes.
Were you together?
He nodded again.
Yes. Butit meant nothing. It was an attempt to forget like drink. I can barely remember. It was empty, it hurt. She was just there and
Stop, she interrupted, closing her eyes. Dont spell it out. Say no more.
She wrapped her arms round herself.
And do you know the worst bit? Her voice wavered. I believed her too. When she described your affairs, I sobbed and cursed you. Because she was familya sister. We trusted her for everything, and she used it.
She looked into his eyes at last.
So what do we do now, James? Where does this leave us?
It cant be like it was, he said, voice steadier, But if youll let me, Ill quit London. Move back here. Ill live in a bedsit, share a street, whateveras long as I can be nearby. Ill take you to every appointment, carry your bags, listen to you curse me. But Ill be here. Because, truly, youand our childare all that matter now.
Emily said nothing. She turned and walked into the sitting room. He stood in the hall, not daring to move. After a minute, she returned clutching a duvet and a pillow.
Sofa bed in the lounge. Ive got my antenatal appointment at ten tomorrow. Come if you like. Now, though, I need to be alone.
James accepted the bedding like a prize. Thank you, he whispered.
He didnt try to hug or kiss her. He simply went to the lounge, leaving her door ajarjust in case.
Life slipped into a new rhythm. James sent in his resignation, his boss unexpectedly understanding and offering remote work possibilities. He picked up a job at the local paper. Every day, he was there, ready to take Emily wherever she needed.
For days, they barely spoke except on matters of necessityPass the salt, Doctors orders, we need vitamins. Talk of Charlotte was taboo. Her name became a curse, a shadow you didn’t mention.
One evening, half-watching a TV drama, Emily asked, What did she saythat convinced you?
James flinched. He understood immediately.
At first, just hintsEmily’s lonely, spends all her time with Tom. Then said youd grown really close. Then the picnic photo. Then, when I lost it, she claimed youd had an abortion, and showed a picture of Tom hugging you. She phoned him, asking him to keep you away from my calls.
Emily nodded, fixed on the screen, where a character howled with laughter.
She was clever. Brilliant, actually. Smarter than meand I never imagined that kind of cleverness could go so wrong.
Pause.
And what did you say once you knew?
Jamess jaw clenched.
I called her hideousinside and out. Told her she was just a sad shadow, jealous of your light.
Emily closed her eyes.
Thats harsh.
She deserved it.
Maybe. But it doesnt make this easier. I saw the way she looked at you. Assumed it was hero-worship. But it was an illness, wasnt it?
Thats not your fault, James snapped. You were a sister to her. Thisthis is on her. Not you.
Time moved on. Slowly, they spoke about the future. About possible jobs for James, about nursery plans, about baby names. The conversations were cautious, like treading thin icebut they were a start.
One day, after a walk, Emily found a message from an unknown number: Forgive me. I ruined everything I ever cared about. Im truly sorry.
She showed James. He frowned.
Delete it. Dont respond. She just wants to know youre thinking of her, that youre still in pain.
Maybe she truly is sorry, Emily whispered.
No, James replied, firm. Shes only sorry she was caught, that her scheme backfired. If shed got her way, shed be the bride now, queen of all. Thered be no guilt then.
Emily sighed and deleted the message. He was right. Knowing this left her cold.
They registered their marriage. No big partyjust parents and two friends. Tom was Emilys witness; his shy girlfriend held her bouquet. Not a fairytale wedding, but a small civil ritual to cement their new, hard-won family status.
Afterwards, in the local tea shop, Tom raised a glass.
To truth winning out over lies. And to your familymay it be stronger for all youve survived.
Emily returned Toms toast with her first real smile in months.
A month later, they movednot to London, but to the next, slightly bigger city where James had found a suitable job. They rented a snug two-bedroom flat, nothing fancy.
The birth was a marathon. Emily suffered through the ordeal for ages, James never leaving her side, mopping her brow, whispering endless, jumbled encouragement. When at last their screaming daughter arrived, tiny and bundled with dark hair, James wept harder than he ever hadeven harder than the night he learned the full truth.
They called her Harriet. Hetty.
They never heard from Charlotte again. Her social media disappeared; friends said shed moved to the southwest and changed her name. Sometimes, in her darkest moments, Emily would wonder how things might have gone without Tomwithout his sharp mind teasing out the facts. Would she and James have drifted into resentment, forever separated by a friend who was always ‘there’? The thought haunted herhow close shed come to losing everything because she trusted Charlotte absolutely.
One afternoon, as Hetty giggled and reached for pigeons in the park, Emily spoke quietly, You know, Im starting to realiseshe didnt take our love. She tested it to breaking point. Broke everything breakable. What survived maybe thats real love.
I slipped an arm round Emilys shoulders and hugged her close, our giggling daughter between us.
My lesson? Envy breeds only devastation. Genuine love, battered and bruised, can be rebuilt if its real. Forgiveness is possible, but youll never be the same again. And some friendships, no matter how they begin, are best left in the past.
