A Difficult Decision
Agnes Markham, known to her friends as “The Countess,” sat in her living room with her Yorkshire terrier Dusty nestled on her lap, a laptop open in front of her. She browsed Skyscanner for flights to Manchester.
Maybe I just wont find any decent or affordable flights for those dates, and then itll sort itself out, she thought, hoping for an easy way out.
Sensing her nerves in that special way only dogs can, Dusty lifted his head and lovingly licked her hand.
Even you know it wont be that easy, she sighed, managing a bitter smile.
The invitation had come from Clive the husband of her former friend Helen, who she hadnt spoken to in over a decade. Apparently Clive wanted to surprise Helen for her fiftieth and was gathering all their old friends. Agnes suspected Helen had no idea.
What to do? Go? Stay? Would they be pleased to see her, or just treat her like part of the waiting staff?
Her husband, Michael, was firmly against the idea.
Why bother? hed grumble. Shes all talk. I did my best, welcomed them before you even moved here, tried to impress, and she still treated you…well, you know she did. He shot down any attempt to discuss it.
While waiting for another flight page to load, Agnes glanced around and spotted a ceramic figure that Helen had once given her. Her chest tightened.
Theyd arrived in England at the tail end of the last big wave of newcomers. Shared language classes, celebrated every little holiday, sent their children off to the same summer camps. Hour after hour together by the pool at the local club, nattering about books, films, sharing secrets. Their friendship had felt unbreakable.
Agnes had treated Helens parents and Helen herself for every cough, migraine, and minor ache.
But then, a thoughtless message, dashed off to the wrong person. Cant talk now, my ears aching. Listening to Helen ramble on about another dress. She knew it wasnt right to gossip, but it *was* true Helen was obsessed with designer frocks. And that truth ruined everything. Agnes meant to send it to a mutual friend, but Helen herself read it. After that, just an icy voicemail the next day: I dont need friends like you. That was it.
Years had rolled by. And now, this invitation.
All night, reasons for and against whirled through her mind. She tossed and turned, keeping both Michael and Dusty awake.
Give it a rest, Michael snapped.
She started half a dozen replies to Clive, but deleted every one.
That flight from Cologne to Manchester blinked temptingly on her laptop.
Book now?
Her finger hovered over the mouse.
If you want to go, go, Michael said the next morning, his tone clipped. But dont expect sympathy. I wont be coming along.
I dont expect you to, she replied quietly.
Just dont say later you wish you hadnt gone.
Ill say it. Or not. All that matters is not regretting that I didnt try.
So she booked the ticket.
Then everything went wrong. The flight was delayed, she missed her connection, and her dress disappeared into the bowels of an airport on a different continent. When she finally arrived at the hotel, her booking had mysteriously disappeared and the hotel was packed to the rafters. A young man at the desk handed her a list of nearby hotels with a polite smile.
Thanks, said Agnes, mustering a tired smile, Thats just my luck.
With a lukewarm latte and a hastily scribbled list of hotels, she suddenly remembered Jenny, her old university friend. To her surprise, Jenny messaged back at once: Come over! Weve got a guest room. Well find you a dress.
The next day, they drove together to the golf club hosting the event. Jenny grinned, egging her on.
Youre a guest, not a ghost from the past. Chin up.
The party was as posh as they came: marquees, champagne, well-heeled ladies with identical faces. Not a familiar soul in sight just beautiful, confident strangers.
Clive rushed over first, embracing her awkwardly.
Glad you made it, Agnes. Sorry I just hoped shed see you.
And then, Helen appeared. Dressed to impress in a designer dress, hair in a flawless chignon, eyes cold as glass.
Agnes. Well, thats a surprise, she said, lips barely twitching. Enjoy, she tossed over her shoulder as she walked away.
Later, as everyone gathered for a toast, Helen lifted a martini to her lips, popped a green olive in her mouth and suddenly started to cough, violently. Her face flushed, her eyes bulged with panic, hands clutching at her throat.
Shes choking! Someone, ring an ambulance! Clive shouted.
But Agnes was already by Helens side.
She moved quickly, surely ignoring her borrowed dress and heels. Arms in position, clenched fists pulling upwards the Heimlich. The olive shot out of Helens mouth, and she gasped, sobbing for air.
The paramedics arrived fifteen minutes later, but by then, Helen didnt need them.
Thank you, Helen muttered, not meeting her eye.
Thats all right, Agnes retorted wryly. Glad I made the trip.
At the airport on her way back, Agnes finally felt lighter.
Not because it was over.
But because, at last, everything was clear.
That friendship had died long ago. Today had just been its burial no speeches, but full of truth.
Michael met her at arrivals. Dusty all but burst with joy.
So, how was it all? Michael asked, shouldering her bag.
A mixed bag. But its done.
Did you embarrass yourself?
No. If anything, she did.
And?
Ive no desire to go back.
He took her bag. She slipped her arm through his.
And together, they walked home.
