Just a Childhood Friend — Are you seriously planning to spend all Saturday sorting junk in the garage? The entire Saturday? — Alena speared a piece of cheesecake with her fork, raising a skeptical eyebrow at the tall ginger-haired man. Ivan leaned back in his chair, warming his hands around a mug of cooling cappuccino. — Alena… That’s not junk, those are childhood treasures. I’ve still got a collection of “Love is…” gum wrappers in there somewhere, I’ll have you know. Can you imagine what riches those must be? — Oh my God. You kept gum wrappers? Since when? Alena snorted, her shoulders shaking with barely suppressed laughter. This little café, with its worn-out plum-colored sofas and eternally steamed-up windows, had long ago become their personal territory. The waitress, Mary, never even asked what they wanted anymore — she just brought out Ivan’s cappuccino, Alena’s latte, and the dessert of the day for them to share. Fifteen years of friendship had rehearsed this ritual into muscle memory. — Fine, I admit it, — Ivan toasted her with his mug, — the garage can wait, and so can the treasures. By the way, Chris invited us for a barbecue on Sunday. — I know. He spent three hours last night picking out a new grill online. Three. Hours. I thought my eyes would bleed from boredom. Their laughter dissolved into the whirr of the coffee machine and the gentle hum of conversation at the neighbouring tables… …There were never awkward silences or unspoken words between them — Alena knew Ivan as well as her own palm. She still remembered how skinny little Ivan, shoes perpetually untied, was the first to talk to her in the new class. Ivan remembered how she was the only one who didn’t laugh at his thick-rimmed glasses. Chris had accepted their friendship without questions or suspicion from the very first day. He watched his wife and her childhood friend with the calm confidence of a man secure in himself and those he loved. On their Friday nights of Monopoly and Uno, Chris laughed the loudest when Ivan lost to Alena for the hundredth time at Scrabble, and poured the tea while those two squabbled over game rules. — He’s cheating, that’s why he wins, — Alena declared once, tossing a handful of cards at her husband. — That’s called strategy, my dearly beloved, — Chris replied placidly, collecting the scattered cards. Ivan watched them with a warm smile. He liked Chris — grounded, reliable, with that dry humour that left you guessing, joke or not. Alena blossomed with Chris, grew softer and happier, and Ivan was genuinely glad for her, as only a true friend could be. The balance was upset when Vera barged into their close-knit world… …Chris’s sister appeared at their flat’s doorstep a month ago, eyes puffy, determined to start afresh. Divorce had wrung her dry, leaving bitterness and a gaping emptiness where there’d once been a semblance of stability. That first evening, when Ivan dropped by for their traditional games, Vera looked up from her phone and studied him appraisingly. Something clicked in her brain, like a rusty mechanism springing to life. Here was a man — steady, kind eyes, a smile you couldn’t help but answer. — This is Ivan, my friend from school days, — Alena introduced. — And Vera, Chris’s sister. — Lovely to meet you, — Ivan offered his hand. Vera held his hand a moment longer than etiquette called for. — Likewise. From that point, Vera’s “accidental” appearances became routine. She popped up at their café sessions precisely when Ivan and Alena were there. She waltzed in with a plate of biscuits just as Ivan arrived. She sat at the game table so close their shoulders touched. — Could you pass me that card there? — Vera leaned across his arm, her hair “accidentally” brushing his neck. — Oh, sorry. Ivan shifted politely away, mumbling something courteous. Alena exchanged looks with Chris, who shrugged — his sister had always been a bit much. The flirting grew more obvious. Vera held Ivan’s gaze, paid him compliments, found reasons to touch him. She laughed so loud at his jokes that Alena’s ears rang. — You have such lovely hands, such elegant fingers, so aristocratic, — Vera remarked one evening, catching his hand atop the game tokens. — Play an instrument? — Er… I’m a software developer. — Still, very nice hands. Ivan gently extricated himself and feigned intense concentration on his cards. His ears turned pink. After the third invitation for “just a friendly coffee chat,” Ivan relented. He liked Vera — she was vibrant, exuberant, alive. Maybe, he thought, if they dated, she’d stop looking at him like a starving wolf at every encounter, and things would go back to normal. Their romance began well enough. Vera glowed with happiness, Ivan relaxed, family game nights became family game nights again. But then Vera noticed what she wished she hadn’t. She saw how Ivan lit up when Alena arrived. How his face softened, became warmer. How easily they picked up each other’s jokes, finished one another’s sentences, shared a bond she couldn’t reach. Jealousy blossomed inside Vera, poisonous and wild. — Why are you always with her? — Vera blocked his way to the door, arms crossed. — She’s my friend, Vera. Fifteen years. That’s… — But I’m your girlfriend! Me! Not her! The arguments came in waves. Vera sobbed, accused, demanded. Ivan explained, placated, reassured. — You think about her more than me! — Vera, that’s absurd. We’re just friends. — Just friends don’t look at each other like that! Ivan’s phone rang every time he met Alena. — Where are you? When will you be home? Why aren’t you answering? With her again? He learned to put his phone on silent, but Vera started tracking him. She’d appear at the café, in the park, outside Alena’s house — wild-eyed, tearful with rage. — Vera, please, — Ivan rubbed his temples, weary. — This isn’t healthy. — What’s not healthy is you spending more time with someone else’s wife than with your own girlfriend! Alena grew tired too. Each meeting with her childhood friend became a test. How long before Vera showed up, with what accusations, what scene this time? — Maybe I should see you less— — Alena began once, but Ivan cut her off: — No. Absolutely not. You’re not changing your life over her tantrums. None of us will. But Vera had made her decision. If honesty won’t work, then maybe dishonesty would… Chris was on the kitchen when Vera glided into the room. — Hey, big brother… I need to tell you something. I didn’t want to, but… you deserve the truth… …Bit by bit, she spun her lies, punctuated with practiced sobs. Secret meetings. Lingering looks. How Ivan held Alena’s hand when he thought no one was looking. Chris listened silently, without interrupting, his expression unreadable. When Alena and Ivan returned an hour later, the atmosphere in the lounge was thick as molasses. Chris reclined in his armchair like a man awaiting a gripping show. — Sit down, — he said, gesturing at the couch. — My sister’s just shared a fascinating story about your secret affair. Alena froze mid-step. Ivan’s jaw clenched. — What the— — She claims she’s seen some pretty compromising things. Vera hunched down, refusing to meet anyone’s gaze. Ivan spun towards her so sharply that Vera recoiled. — That’s enough, Vera. I’ve put up with your drama way too long! His face blanched with anger. The patient, kind Ivan was gone — in his place stood a man at boiling point. — We’re done. Right now. — You can’t— This time, her tears were real. — It’s her! — Vera jabbed a finger at Alena. — It’s always her! You always pick her over me! Alena paused, giving her sister-in-law time to empty her venom. — You know, Vera, — she said evenly, — if you hadn’t tried to control every second of his life, if you hadn’t created drama out of nothing, none of this would have happened. You destroyed what you were trying to save all by yourself. Vera snatched up her bag and stormed out, slamming the door behind her. Chris laughed — genuine, from deep in his chest, head thrown back. — Thank God, at last. He stood and pulled Alena close, wrapping her in his arms. — You didn’t believe her, did you? — Alena asked with her face against his neck. — Not for a second. I’ve watched you two for years. It’s like seeing brother and sister argue over who ate the last chocolate. Ivan exhaled, the tension finally leaving him. — Sorry for dragging you into all this circus. — Nonsense. Vera’s a grown woman — her choices are her own. Now let’s eat. The lasagne’s getting cold and I refuse to reheat it just because of someone else’s drama. Alena laughed softly, relieved. Her family was whole. Her friendship with Ivan was unbroken. And her husband had once again proven his trust was stronger than any rumour. They headed into the kitchen, where the lasagne’s golden crust gleamed in the light, and life took its usual, comforting shape again.

Are you really planning to waste your Saturday rummaging through junk in your dads garage? The entire day? Emily prods a forkful of cheesecake and raises a sceptical eyebrow at the tall, auburn-haired lad across the table.

James leans back in his battered armchair, warming his hands on a mug of cooling cappuccino.

Em, its not junk. Its treasures from my childhood. Somewhere in there is my collection of Love Hearts sweet wrappers, Ill have you know. Imagine the fortune!

Oh, I can just imagine. You actually kept sweet wrappers? Since when, pray tell?

Emily snorts, her shoulders shaking with a quiet giggle she tries to suppress. This little café, with its threadbare plum-coloured sofas and perpetually misted-up windows, has long felt like their private spot. The waitress, Sarah, no longer needs to ask what theyre having she simply brings over a cappuccino for him, a latte for her, and the days dessert for sharing. After fifteen years of friendship, their routine is as ingrained as breathing.

Alright, I confess, James raises his mug in salute, the garage can definitely wait. And so can the so-called treasures. Chris did invite us round for a BBQ on Sunday, by the way.

I know. He spent three hours last night looking up new barbecues online. Three hours, James. I nearly died of boredom.

Their laughter blends with the hiss of the coffee machine and the low murmur of nearby conversation

There are never awkward silences, never words left hanging between them they know one another as well as the backs of their own hands. Emily remembers how skinny, tousle-haired James was the first to chat to her when she joined their year at school. James remembers how she, the only one in the class, didnt tease him for his chunky glasses.

Chris has always accepted their friendship without questions or misgivings, from the very first day they met. He watches his wife and her childhood friend with the easy equanimity of a man confident in himself and those he loves. On their regular Friday evenings of Monopoly and Uno, Chris laughs the loudest, especially when James manages to lose spectacularly to Emily at Scrabble, and hes always topping up everyones tea while those two bicker over the rules to Charades.

He cheats, and thats why he wins, Emily insisted, once tossing playing cards at her husband.

Thats strategy, my dearest, Chris replied serenely, gathering the scattered cards with a grin.

James always observes them with a fond smile. He likes Chris solid, reliable, that wry sense of humour that makes you pause and wonder if hes joking. Emily positively flourishes with him, her edges softening, happiness radiating, and James is nothing but genuinely thrilled for her, the kind of joy only true friends feel.

Their equilibrium shifts the day Faith barges into their settled circle

Chriss sister appears at their flats door a month ago, eyes red from crying, determined to start her life fresh. The divorce has wrung her out, leaving only bitterness and a gaping void where steadiness used to be.

The first evening James pops round for their usual games night, Faith lifts her head from her phone to give him a once-over. Something stirs in her expression, like an old clock spring winding after years of rest. Standing before her is a gentle man with kind eyes and a lopsided smile you cant help but mirror.

This is James, my old school friend, Emily introduces. Faith, Chriss sister.

Lovely to meet you, James says, extending a hand.

Faith grips his ever so slightly longer than politeness dictates.

The pleasures mine.

From that moment, Faiths coincidental appearances spiral into regularity. She happens to be at the café precisely when James and Emily are. She floats into the lounge with a plate of biscuits just as James drops by. Whenever they play games, she sits so close her shoulder brushes his.

Could you pass me that card, right over there? Faith leans across his arm, her hair accidentally running across Jamess neck. Oh, sorry!

He shuffles away, quietly murmuring some excuse. Emily catches Chriss eye, but he only shrugs his sister has always been a bit much.

The flirting grows less subtle. Faith watches James a bit longer, gives him compliments, finds excuses for fleeting touches. She laughs at his corny jokes with such volume that Emilys ears ring.

You have such elegant hands, James, those long fingers like an artist, Faith says once, catching his hand above the pile of game tokens. Are you a musician?

Er a programmer, actually.

Theyre still lovely.

James carefully withdraws his hand, suddenly fascinated by his cards, a faint blush climbing his ears.

By the third just a friendly coffee to chat, James gives in. He does like her Faith is vibrant, emotional, full of life. Maybe, he thinks, this will finally curb those intense stares and things will go back to normal.

Those first weeks together are good. Faith is radiant, James relaxes, their family evenings simply become just that again.

And then Faith sees it what shed rather ignore.

She catches how James lights up when Emily walks in. How his face opens up, warmth shining through. How easily they share jokes, finish each others sentences, how they have an invisible thread connecting them, one that doesn’t include her.

Jealousy takes root in Faiths heart, growing like brambles.

Why are you always with her? Faith stands between James and the hall door, arms folded.

Because shes my friend. Fifteen years, Faith its

Im your girlfriend! I am! Not her!

Arguments roll in one after another. Faith sobs, accuses, demands. James tries to explain, to reassure, to calm her.

You think more about her than about me!

Thats just not true, Faith. Were just friends.

Just friends dont look at each other that way!

Jamess phone blares every time hes out with Emily.

Where are you? When are you coming back? Why dont you answer? Are you with her again?

He starts turning his ringer off, but Faith begins turning up at the café, in the park, outside Emilys house distraught, tears of anger in her eyes.

Faith, please, James rubs his temples, weary. This isnt normal.

Its not normal for you to spend more time with someone elses wife than with your own girlfriend!

Even Emily grows exhausted. Every catch-up with her old friend becomes a test, waiting to see what scene Faith might cause next.

Maybe I should see you less Emily ventures, but James cuts her off.

No. Absolutely not. You are not changing your life because shes having a meltdown. None of us should.

But Faith is done waiting for fairness. If she cant win honestly, shell do so otherwise.

Chris is sitting in the kitchen when Faith glides in.

Brother I need to tell you something. I never intended to but you deserve to know the truth

She serves up the lie in measured doses, sniffing at just the right times. Secret meetings, stolen glances, how James supposedly held Emilys hand when no one was watching.

Chris listens in silence, not interrupting, not questioning. His face gives away nothing.

Emily and James enter an hour later, finding the living room atmosphere thick with tension. Chris sprawls in his chair, looking for all the world like hes about to watch a play.

Take a seat. He gestures at the sofa. My sister has just told me a fascinating tale about your secret affair.

Emily freezes mid-step. James grinds his teeth.

She says shes witnessed some rather compromising things.

Faith pulls her shoulders up, unable to meet anyones eyes.

James spins to face her, so abruptly Faith recoils.

Thats enough, Faith. Ive tolerated your antics for far too long.

His face is white with rage. Easygoing, patient James has disappeared, and in his place is a man whos finally reached breaking point.

Were finished. Right now.

You cant

At that, Faiths eyes fill with tears proper ones this time.

Its her! Its all her fault! she cries, jabbing a finger at Emily. You always pick her. Always her!

Emily waits, letting Faith spit her poison.

You know, Faith, she finally says, calm as ever, if you hadn’t tried to control every moment of his life, if you hadn’t made scenes out of thin air, none of this would have happened. Youve destroyed what you wanted to keep.

Faith grabs her bag and bolts, slamming the door behind her.

Chris immediately bursts into laughter real, full-bodied, tipping his head back against the chair.

Oh, thank heavens for that.

He gets up and wraps his arm round his wifes shoulders.

You didnt believe her, did you? Emilys words are muffled against his neck.

Not for a second. Ive been watching how you and James get on for years. Its like observing siblings squabbling over who nicked the last chocolate.

James exhales, relief washing over him.

Sorry for dragging you into this circus.

Dont be, Chris waves it off. Faiths a grown woman. Shes responsible for her own messes. Now dinner. The lasagnes almost cold, and I wont be reheating it for anyones drama.

Emily laughs softly, relief in every note. Her family is intact. Her friendship with James endures. And her husband, yet again, proves that his trust stands firmer than any wild accusations.

They move into the kitchen, the golden crust of the lasagne shimmering under the evening lights. The world, finally, clicks gently back into place around them.