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The Grey Mouse Is Happier Than You
Emily, honestly, are you kidding me right now? Jessica stared at her faded cotton dress with a look reserved for something in a charity shop window: use unknown, value questionable. You wear this shabby old thing? Around your husband?
Emily tugged at the hem unconsciously. The dress was so soft by now, almost comforting, after so many cycles in the wash.
I like it, she said quietly.
Typical. You like all sorts of things, chimed in Sarah, eyes glued to her phone. Staying home, cooking stews, knitting doilies. Do you realise your youth is passing you by? One day youll regret just “existing” instead of living.
Jessica nodded energetically, the gold hoops in her ears swaying like tiny pendulums with every movement.
We went to The Ivy last night on Marylebone. Gorgeous! I bet you were frying chips again?
Emily had been. With mushrooms, just the way Michael loved. Hed come home exhausted, ate two helpings, and fell asleep against her shoulder by the telly. She didnt mention any of it. Why bother? Her friends wouldn’t get it.
A lifetime ago, the three of them married months apart. Emily remembered it like yesterday: her modest registry office ceremony, then Jessicas extravagant bash with a live band and fireworks, and after that, Sarahs celebration where each guest received a handcrafted name tag in a velvet pouch. Shed seen her friends sidelong glances when she mentioned spending her honeymoon at Michaels parents’ cottage in Devon. Jessica snorted into her prosecco; Sarahs eye-roll was so dramatic it was practically audible.
The teasing became constant background noise whenever they met. Emily taught herself not to react, though some bitter ache always lingered beneath her ribs.
Jessica was one of those women who entered a room and everyone noticed. Loud laughter, big gestures, endless tales of who said what and who looked at whom. Her flat with Andrew was always full: friends, colleagues, friends-of-friends, random acquaintances, appearing and disappearing, leaving behind wine rings on pale carpets and piles of empty glasses.
Well have about fifteen on Saturday! Jessica announced down the phone. Come round! Andrews cooking steak.
Emily declined politely. Michael craved peace after his long week, not a crowd of strangers arguing over wine in their kitchen.
Hide in your little hole, then, Jessica said, with a flash of something like pity in her voice.
Andrew had played along at first, helping set the table, making jokes with the guests, tidying up after. Emily saw him during those rare visits she did attend: the tired eyes, the forced smile, movements as mechanical as clockwork. He poured wine, laughed when expected, but his gaze slid further and further away.
Andrew, why so glum? Jessica pinched his cheek in front of everyone. Smile! Or people will think Im starving you!
Andrew smiled. Everyone laughed. Emily wondered how long someone could wear a mask before it stuck, or before you wanted to rip it off, skin and all.
Ten years passed and the mask shattered. Andrew left her for a quiet woman from accounting rumour was, she brought him homemade Cornish pasties for lunch and never raised her voice. Jessica learned last, though the office had been whispering for weeks.
Hes left me, Jessica sobbed, noise and clattering echoing in the background. Ungrateful, selfish man! I gave him everything! And this is what I get!
Emily listened in silence. What was there to say? That Andrew drifted off to sleep each night to someone elses laughter, woke to someone elses chatter? That a home should be more than one long party?
After the divorce, everything unravelled. The flat was mortgaged to the hilt, the loans stacked up like bricks. Jessica was left alone to clear the wreckage, and her laughter grew quieter.
Meanwhile, Sarah built her empire of curated Instagram perfection. Her page glittered: Soho dinners, weekends in Bath, beach trips to Cornwall, all flawless makeup and captions about “gratitude” and “happiness.” Denis hovered in the background a blurred figure funding the glossy charade.
Look, Sarah shoved her phone in Emilys face. Lucys husband bought her a Tiffany necklace. What about mine? Always something daft.
Maybe he likes choosing things for you himself?
Sarahs expression was odd.
Hardly. I send him a list. Stick to the list, thats what I say.
Emily kept quiet. Yesterday, Michael brought her a book shed wanted for ages. Hed found it in a tiny shop near Paddington, wrapped it in brown paper himself. She didnt tell Sarah shed only laugh at such “poverty.”
For five years Denis kept up. Overtime, side gigs, always striving for Sarahs shifting expectations. Until he met a shop assistant in a bookshop: divorced, with a child, no manicures and no designer bags. She looked at him as though, for once, he was enough. Just as he was.
The divorce was fast, furious, ugly. Sarah demanded everything, got half by law, not by choice. By then, their savings had all gone: spa memberships, beauty treatments, endless shopping weekends. Nothing left.
How am I supposed to live? Sarah sat in a cafe, tears streaking her make-up, voice taut on the edge. On what?
Emily sipped coffee, thinking how, through all those years, Sarah never once asked about her life. How Michael was. If they were well. It was always Sarah Sarahs needs, Sarahs complaints.
Both friends ended up adrift: without husbands, without money, without the familiar comforts. Jessica started a second job to cover the debts. Sarah moved to a smaller flat and stopped uploading photos.
Emilys life continued as before. She made Michael dinner, asked about his day, listened to his stories of impossible negotiations and supplier woes. She didnt demand gifts or compare him to other men. She was simply there. Steady, like a houses foundations. Warm, like the lamp glowing in the kitchen window.
Michael noticed. Once, he came home, placed a folder of documents in front of her.
Whats this?
Half the business. Yours now.
Emily stared at the papers a long time before she found her voice.
Why?
Because youve earned it. I want you protected. None of it exists without you.
A year later, he bought a new flat light-filled, roomy, huge windows. Put it in her name. Emily sobbed into his shoulder, and Michael stroked her hair, whispering she was his treasure. His quiet harbour.
Occasionally, old friends dropped by. First rarely, then with more frequency. They admired the velvet sofa, fingered soft cushions, gazed at paintings on the walls. Emily watched their faces: puzzled, unsettled, thinly veiled envy.
How did all this happen? Jessica asked, eyes scanning the living room.
Michael gave it to me.
Just like that?
Just like that.
They exchanged glances. Emily refilled their mugs and kept silent.
One afternoon, Jessica couldnt take it any longer. She set her cup down so sharply coffee spilled onto the saucer. She blurted,
Tell me why. Why did we lose everything, and you, mousy little Emily, remain happy?
Silence thickened around the table. Sarah stared out the window, pretending not to hear, but her hands twisted an imitation silver ring a far cry from her diamond days.
Emily could have answered. She could have spoken about patience, about noticing small things, about how real happiness is built quietly, day by day. About how love is listening, paying attention, looking after each other. Giving, not demanding.
But what for? For twenty years, those women saw right through her, as if shed always been part of the wallpaper. For twenty years their advice had been Live a little! and Dont be so dull! For twenty years, they only ever heard themselves.
Maybe Im just lucky, Emily smiled.
After that, they came less often. Eventually not at all. Jealousy won out over friendship, over shared history, over reason. Easier to turn away than admit theyd got it wrong.
Emily didnt miss them. Strangely, the space they left filled up with peace as if shed finally taken off a pair of shoes a size too small and could breathe again.
Another ten years passed. Emily turned fifty-four, and life was gentle. Grown children, a grandchild, Michael still bringing her books in brown paper. From an old acquaintance, she heard Jessica never remarried, worked two jobs, grumbled about her health. Sarah dated three men in five years, each relationship ending the same way: accusations, resentment, demands.
Emily listened with no sense of triumph. She simply listened and thought sometimes, its the grey little mice who stumble quietly upon happiness. Not the noisy, showy kind, but the sort you hold tight to, invisible to the world and priceless within.
She switched off her phone and began making dinner. Michael had promised to be home early, and all he wanted tonight was fried potatoes with mushrooms.
“We’ll Stay at Your Place for a While Since We Can’t Afford to Rent a Flat!” – My Friend Announced At 65, I’m a lively woman, never letting age stop me from exploring new places or meeting fascinating people. I look back at my youth with both joy and a touch of sadness. Back then, you could holiday anywhere you fancied! From seaside trips to camping adventures with friends, even sailing down any river you chose—all for just a little money. Sadly, those days are behind me now. I always loved meeting new people—on the beach, at the theatre, anywhere really. Many of those acquaintances became lifelong friends. One summer, I met Sara while staying at the same B&B. We parted as friends, keeping in touch with the occasional letter over the years. Then one day, I received an unsigned telegram: “The train arrives at 3 a.m. Please meet me!” Puzzled about who had sent it, my husband and I stayed put. But at four in the morning, our doorbell rang. To my shock, there stood Sara with two teenage girls, a grandmother, and a man, all surrounded by heaps of luggage. My husband and I were baffled but let these unexpected guests in. Sara exclaimed: – “Why didn’t you meet us? I sent you a telegram! Besides, that’s not cheap! – Sorry, we didn’t know who sent it! – Well, you gave me your address. So here we are. – I thought we’d stick to letters, nothing more!” Sara explained that one of the girls had just left school and decided to go to university, so the whole family came to support her. – “We’ll be living with you! We can’t afford to rent a flat or stay in a hotel!” I was stunned. We weren’t even related—why should we let them stay? We had to feed them three times a day; although they brought a bit of food, they cooked nothing and ate ours. I was left to serve everyone. After three exhausting days, I asked Sara and her family to leave—I didn’t care where to. That sparked a row. Sara smashed crockery and screamed hysterically. I was appalled. As they packed, they even managed to steal my dressing gown, a few towels, and somehow my large cooking pot vanished too—no idea how! That was the end of our friendship—and thank heavens! I’ve never heard from her since. How could anyone be so cheeky?! Now, I’m much more wary when I meet new people.
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