14March
I met her in a little café on Regent Street. She was sitting alone at a table, waiting for a friend. In front of her steamed a cup of black coffee and a plate held a slice of Victoria sponge. I had stopped in for a brew and a moment to think about what comes next.
She was strikingly beautiful, and Im a fairly easygoing chap who never shies away from a chat with a stranger. Something about her caught my eye, and I sensed she felt the same.
May I join you? I asked, my tone leaving little room for a no.
Sure, but Im waiting for my friend, so you wont have to linger long.
No, I dont need much time. I just want to meet you and swap numbers a few minutes will do.
Who says Ill hand over my phone? she replied, breaking off a bite of cake.
Because you like sweets, and sweet things are only loved by good people. That means were a perfect match, as I also have a sweet tooth.
Youre saying youre a good person? she laughed.
Absolutely. Cant you see? Im a very kind and decent fellow, I said, taking a sip of my coffee.
Its the first time Ive met someone so selfassured.
And its the first time Ive seen a beauty like you.
Emily, she said, extending her hand.
Tom, I answered, taking her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze, and leaning in for a kiss that left her breathless.
Tom, she whispered, arent you being a bit forward with a total stranger?
Im not forward, Im just polite. And besides, youre the most delightful woman Ive ever laid eyes on.
She lifted her wedding band, flashing it on her ring finger. Im married.
So what? Who says that stops anything? One day youre married, the next youre not. Marriages these days are fragile, fleeting.
Actually, my family believes marriage is forever. So, dear, I think its time we part ways.
What are you saying? I feel theres something between us. Lets at least exchange numbers it obliges us to nothing, but if we ever want to talk again, well have a way.
Youre quite confident. Why do you think Ill give you my number?
Im not confident, Im sincere. If we like each other, why not meet again? I smiled, hoping it would melt her resolve.
Fine, tell me yours, she said, dictating her number.
Ill call you straight away, and you can keep my number. You might need it later.
Alright, Ill keep it safe. But you should move to another table I see my friend arriving, and Im not interested in more gossip.
No worries, I understand. Ill disappear, but well meet again someday.
I took my cup and slipped to a corner of the café.
A week later I rang Emily. Shed been waiting for my call, so she agreed to meet again at the same spot.
Emily, I began, Id like to get to know you better.
She sipped her coffee, then said, Tom, Im married. I work as a nurse at StThomas Hospital, and I could see us meeting, but my husband, James, is very jealous. He served overseas as a contractor and now runs a youthcombat training club. Hes strong, proud, and Id never betray him. Besides, I cant condone infidelity its dangerous.
Emily, I replied firmly, youre important to me, and I cant just walk away. Im a software developer, not a fighter, but Im not scared of your husband. I just want to be friends and perhaps something more.
I earned a modest salary at a small tech firm in Shoreditch not enough to chase endless romances, but plenty to enjoy a few evenings out. I was a confirmed bachelor, never passing up a pretty face. Emily was no exception. I felt she might feel the same, and I was determined to see it through.
We met again, and that set the tone for what followed. She told James she had a night shift, then spent the night at my flat. We fell into each others arms without noticing, and soon we were inseparable, meeting whenever we could.
One evening Emily called:
James is away for a competition for a week, so Im expecting you at my place tonight.
Is it safe? Maybe we should meet at my flat as usual.
No, I want you here. Ill cook a romantic dinner I cant keep meeting you in my bachelors den!
Alright, Ill be there.
That night I arrived with a bouquet, a bottle of champagne, some wine, a cake and a box of biscuits. Shed prepared a wonderful meal; the drinks loosened us, and after dinner we retired to the bedroom, expecting a night as tender as the candlelit dinner.
At twoa.m. there was a frantic knock on the door. We bolted upright, unsure who it could be. Emily peered through the peephole:
Its James Tom, its over! Hide somewhere!
Where? she whispered, trembling.
I dont know, figure it out yourself!
Whats happening? I asked, still halfasleep.
Emily, open up! Dont you recognise me? a drunken voice shouted from the hallway. I left my keys at work, so Im banging. Open up!
What do we do? Emily asked, eyes wide.
Open the door, what else can we do? the voice answered, pale as a sheet.
I shoved my belongings under the bed and, still in my boxers, darted into the bathroom.
Where did you get so smashed? Emilys voice echoed. Why didnt you go home?
My bus broke down, the lads were riding back in different cars, we stopped for a drink at a pub and got a bit stuck.
Just a little drink, Emily shouted, you cant even stand!
Dont worry, love, Ive got this. I just need the loo.
Go to the bathroom tomorrow, now go back to bed! she commanded.
I cant, I need to go now! James slurred, his bass voice filling the corridor. He laughed like a child, stumbling toward the toilet.
The bathroom was a combined washroom a design I never understood, putting a toilet right beside a bath. James rushed in, unaware of my hiding spot.
I crouched behind the tiled wall, heart pounding, as he sang his drunken anthem, oblivious to the narrow space I occupied. The walls were halftiled, ending in a sturdy ledge. I clambered onto the ledge, stretched out, and pressed myself flat against the far wall, grabbing the tiles for support.
James, his eyes fixed on the toilet, never noticed me. He kept singing, while Emily, trembling at the bathroom door, could not fathom where I had gone.
When I saw the size of James and his clenched fists, I knew if he spotted me it would be the last night of my life. I held my breath, remaining utterly still.
James lingered, singing and sniffing the air, his breath reeking of alcohol. A sudden, sharp sneeze escaped me, echoing in the cramped room like a clap of thunder.
Startled, James looked up and, for a brief moment, seemed to see a figure in the corner a painted crucifix that looked oddly like a statue of Christ. He froze, his face twisted with fear, then slipped from the toilet, toppling onto the floor and fainting.
Seeing my opponent down, I seized the chance, leapt from the ledge, and sprinted toward the bedroom. I grabbed my few belongings and fled the flat, barefoot, down the narrow stairwell. Emily lived on the twelfth floor of a thirtystorey block with two highspeed lifts, but the panic drove me to the stairs, my heart hammering.
A few minutes later James came to his senses, looked up, saw nothing, and muttered, Drink less, as Emily scolded him later about his vision.
Reflecting on the night, I realise that chasing fleeting thrills can lead to chaos and danger. Ive learned that honesty and respect for commitments matter far more than the thrill of a secret romance. This ordeal taught me to value integrity above impulse, and that any shortcut to excitement can leave you scrambling for an exit when the lights go out.
