**Best Mates**
“Happy birthday!” Emily handed her friend a gift bag.
“Thanks,” Sophie kissed Emily on the cheek. “I’ll open it later, yeah? Come in.”
Emily stepped into the room, where a festive table was set up in the middle. By the window, two lads were deep in conversation.
“Meet my best mate, Emily. We’ve been friends since secondary school. And this is James and Liam. James is the one on the right,” Sophie whispered in Emily’s ear. “Don’t get them mixed up—he’s my boyfriend.”
Both lads stared at Emily. The one Sophie called Liam gave her a warm smile.
“Right, you lot get acquainted—I’ll go check on the roast before it burns,” Sophie said, vanishing into the kitchen.
Emily froze, unsure what to do. Liam saved her by circling the table and approaching her.
“James and I go way back too. Popped round his place today and somehow ended up at his girlfriend’s birthday do.”
Up close, he was even more handsome.
The doorbell rang, and soon a rowdy crowd poured in, drowning out any chance of conversation. At the table, Liam sat next to Emily. His nearness and lingering glances made her cheeks burn. When the music started, he nudged her.
“Fancy sneaking off?”
“Sophie’ll be cross…”
“Don’t worry, she won’t even notice with this lot around. Come on, while she’s distracted.” He tugged her hand toward the door.
They wandered through town, discovering how much they had in common—neither liked big crowds. Later that night, Sophie rang, furious Emily had left without saying goodbye.
They didn’t speak for days, but eventually Sophie caved and made up. She admitted she and James had split.
“What’s up with you? Smitten or something?” she asked, noticing Emily’s dreamy expression.
“Sorry, but I’m over the moon! Proper lost my head,” Emily confessed. “Liam proposed. We’re putting the wedding off till autumn. You’ll be my bridesmaid, yeah? Soph, I feel awful. It’s all happened so fast. You and James brought us together, and now you’ve broken up. You’ll find someone too.”
Sophie had rotten luck with blokes. They flocked to her beauty like moths to a flame but lost interest before things got serious.
“Lots of girls look like her—but you’re the only one,” Liam said when Emily asked why he’d chosen her over Sophie, who was prettier.
After the wedding, they moved into Liam’s parents’ flat. They’d divorced three years back—his dad had left for another woman, and his mum remarried six months ago and moved abroad.
“Lucky you, Em. Snagged a fit husband with a flat to boot. If I’d known, I’d be Mrs. Liam now,” Sophie sighed.
Emily hugged her. “Soon it’ll be your turn.”
“Why does she keep coming round? You’ve nothing in common,” Liam once grumbled.
“She’s my best mate. Think she fancies you, though. She’s lovely—just unlucky in love.”
“Exactly. Unhappy people get jealous,” Liam muttered.
Emily brushed it off then, defending Sophie. But later, she realized he was right.
One day, Sophie dropped by, chattering about a school reunion. Five years since graduation—time to catch up, brag about achievements.
“What achievements? We’ve barely started careers.”
“Don’t sell yourself short. You’re already married! Some are divorced. And Jessica Smith’s had three kids in that time—imagine!”
“How?!” Emily gasped.
“One daughter, then twins two years later. I’ll text you the details. Probably New Year’s break—long weekend, everyone’s visiting family. Brilliant, yeah?”
“Suppose,” Emily mumbled.
“Someone’s not thrilled,” Sophie smirked.
“You know I hate these things. And I’ve not missed school.”
“It’s not at school—probably a café or someone’s flat. Tom Harris is organising it. Come on, not even curious?”
“Dunno. Not really. I see you all the time—you’ve not changed much. The rest don’t interest me.”
“If you don’t go, I’ll sulk. Won’t speak to you, got it?” Sophie threatened. “Liam, you’ll let your wife go, yeah?”
“Course. Who’d stop her?” he called back.
“Thought you’d stick up for me,” Emily joked.
“Nah, or your mate’ll say I’m a control freak. Go on—just don’t stay out till dawn.”
The reunion was held in a café, decked with fairy lights and pine sprigs. The girls dolled up; the lads bragged about careers, kids, or flings. Emily stayed quiet—happiness loves silence.
Then she spotted Oliver Grant. Her school stalker. The one person she never wanted to see again.
“You didn’t say he’d be here,” she hissed at Sophie. “I’d have stayed home.”
“Not my fault! Tom rang everyone.” Sophie shrugged but faltered under Emily’s glare. “So what if he came? It’s been years. Honestly, I didn’t know.”
Oliver beelined for them. Sophie got “called away,” leaving Emily trapped. His clingy gaze sent her back to schooldays—his relentless pursuit, unwanted affection. She shot desperate looks at Sophie, who finally rescued her.
“Sorry, Oliver—girl chat. Back in a mo.”
Outside, Emily grabbed her coat. “I’m leaving. Don’t tell him.”
“Seriously?! You’re ditching me?”
“If I’d known he’d be here, I wouldn’t have come. Can’t stand him. Cover for me.”
Emily fled, hailing a taxi. But as she slammed the door, Oliver slid in beside her.
“Leaving so soon? I’ll see you home.”
“Wait!” she begged the driver. “Don’t. Get out, Oliver,” she pleaded.
“Going or not?” the driver snapped.
“Yeah,” said Oliver.
“No!” Emily shouted.
The car lurched forward.
“I’m married,” she hissed. “Plenty of girls here—pick one. My husband’s the jealous type…”
“Even better. Divorce him and marry me.”
“Don’t be daft! I love Liam—”
They argued all the way home. Oliver followed her out.
“Emily—” He grabbed her wrist.
“Go away! Never come near me again!” She wrenched free and bolted inside.
Calming her shaky breath, she finally went upstairs.
“Back early,” Liam noted. “You okay? You look rattled.”
“Just winded from the stairs. Headache from the noise.”
Days later, Oliver turned up at their flat with flowers. Emily slammed the door in his face, ignoring the bell. Back in the kitchen, she cursed his persistence.
Ten minutes later, Liam came home—holding the bouquet.
“Found it on the doormat. Who’s been round?”
“No one,” Emily lied smoothly. “Must be for Polly downstairs—wrong floor.” She snatched the flowers and dashed out, dumping them on their bewildered neighbour.
Liam eyed her suspiciously at dinner. The next day, Sophie visited—sipping tea with Liam when Emily got home.
“Where’ve you been? Waited ages,” Sophie said.
“Same time as always,” Emily replied, her pulse jumping. “You’re home early,” she asked Liam.
“Nowt’s ever right—late, I’m rubbish; early, still wrong.” He left without a glance.
“Soph, what did you tell Liam?”
“Nothing! He mentioned flowers left at your door, asked who’d sent them. Said you’d seemed jumpy lately.”
“And you said?” Emily whispered.
“That it was an old classmate. So what? It’s not like anything happened… unless it did?”
“Why?! I’d have told him myself! Had to open your big mouth—”
“Always my fault! Should’ve warned me then.”
“You betrayed me. I asked you not to tell Oliver I left—then he ambushed me. Did you give him our address too? Wanted to stir trouble?”
“Oh, so now I’m the villain? Maybe tell your husband the truth next time.” Sophie stormed out.
Later, Liam cornered her. “Anything to say?”
“No.”
“Em, I get it—first crush and all. That was him, wasn’t it? His flowers? Why hide it?”
“Because there was no crush—not on my side. He harassed me at school. Makes my skin crawl.”
“Then why lie?”
“Stop interrogating me! I’ve done nothing wrong. Whatever Sophie said—”
“Fine. But no more secrets.”
They slept back-to-back for the first time ever.
The next day, Oliver loitered outside her work with more flowers.
“What do you want?” she snapped. “”When she spotted Liam waiting across the street—his face stormy as he watched Oliver shove the bouquet toward her—she knew her silence had finally cost her everything.”
