The Fate of Two Souls

Sam had always been a ghost in his own classroom. It wasnt that he tried to melt into the wallpaper; he was clever, with neat features that could have sparked a string of compliments if anyone ever bothered to look. Yet the Year10 form simply passed him by, each pupil clustering in little cliques of shared interests, and Sam fit into none. No one bullied him, but he never had friends either.

He was a lone wolf by default, it seemed, his world limited to the school canteen, the classroom, the house. He didnt particularly long to mingle with his peers.

Then she arrived.

A new girl.

Her story was a fragment: no parents, a grandmother who barely needed her. She, too, was solitary, but not aloof more wilted, as if the light had dimmed around her.

When Sam saw her, the monochrome world hed known burst into colour. Love, at first glance.

Hello, he said, drifting to her desk after the bell.

He hadnt expected to speak to anyone, honestly. The other pupils slipped out of the classroom as if the walls were breathing.

Emily closed her textbook, lifted her gaze.

Hello, she replied.

Im Sam. And youre Emily, I think Ive got it, he stammered, already sensing his clumsy approach.

Right, Emily, she said.

So how are you finding the form? I saw you left the maths test blank all clear? he asked.

Emily admitted she hadnt written a thing. She wanted to make a good impression on the new teachers, after all.

Its odd. Im a bit behind, but Ill catch up, she said.

I could have asked someone for help, Sam offered.

Ask? That sounds easy, Emily laughed, then stood. Im not great at meeting people.

I get it. Im not much of a chatterbox either. If you need anything, just shout. I know this school well I mean, I study well. Not that youre abnormal.

Got it, she smiled.

Thus their friendship began.

With a purpose finally found for his dreary school days, Sam started not only to befriend Emily but to hover close. He was the goto for maths, literature, even PE, where he somehow covered for her.

Youre brilliant, Sam! Emily would coo over her notebook. How do you get it? Im lost. Without you Id never finish this place.

She exaggerated, but it pleased Sam, a tiny flattery.

Its just formulae. Youll learn soon enough, he said.

Its not as quick for me, she replied. Sometimes I dont get it at all.

Its not a race. Ill explain again, a hundred times if I must. Just sit with me a while longer.

In the eleventh year Sam prepared to confess his feelings at the right moment, but the moment never arrived. Emily, now more confident, drifted toward other classmates, charming them as if shed discovered a sudden talent.

Sam cheered her successes, though something inside him turned sour.

While Sam plotted how to win her back, Emily reached for Tom. Tom was loud, always centrestage, the sort of boy who filled any room. Emily began to orbit him, and Tom quickly assessed the scene.

Sam watched Emily move her seat nearer to Toms desk.

One afternoon in the park, when Tom had wandered off with his mates, Sam asked, Emily whats going on with Tom? You didnt turn up yesterday like wed arranged

Sorry, we got carried away. Sam, I think Im in love, she said, eyes distant.

Sam froze, then, out of duty, asked, Is he a good sort?

Hed known Tom since primary school, so the question felt odd.

Hes easy to be with, Emily replied.

And with me?

Emilys glance flickered. Sam, youre my best mate. Friends are easy. A boyfriend thats always messy. But I think well manage.

Sam understood. He would remain a friend the best friend, but just a friend.

School ended, and with it the carefree days of watching Emily through imagined excuses. Emily now dated Tom, and occasionally met Sam in the park when she remembered.

Tom and Emily married almost immediately. Sam stood at the wedding, playing the part of a friend to the very end, smiling, congratulating, snapping countless photos among the crowd. He kept wondering why they had rushed the marriage, a question Emily never answered.

Later he learned the reason: Emily was pregnant soon pregnant. The explanation struck Sam like a cold wind. All hope evaporated.

Ah, thats why they hurried, Sam thought. Not romance, but the plain prose of life: responsibility, fatherhood, a desire for stability.

Sam realised there was nothing left for him to catch. They would have a child.

He tried, truly. He dated, went to university parties, tried to blend in, but his heart was a ghostly, fixed imprint of Emily, even the Emily who now lived a very different life.

Emilys marriage to Tom proved no ticket to bliss. Instead of a new happy home, she found herself in Toms mother Maggies house. Maggie made clear who ruled the roof. Emily, once a young, pretty bride, became a servant.

This is mine, Maggie snapped when Emily reached for a candy jar.

May I have one? Emily asked timidly.

Fine, have one, Maggie replied.

Emily had only lived with her grandmother before. Now everything was sudden, harsh.

Emily gave birth on schedule, but they gave her no respite.

When will you start work? Maggie barked, eyes sharp. Were not a restaurant, nor a shelter. Everyone must pull their weight.

What about Kolby? Wholl look after him? Emily pleaded.

Ill raise my own, Maggie retorted. Youll do both. Good luck juggling night shifts and a baby.

She never mentioned that Toms father often stayed late at night, while Tom himself refused to help.

Tom drifted, spending weekends drinking with his mates, leaving wife and mother to clash.

Emily, what can I do? You women… you understand each other, Tom mumbled one evening, halfinjoke.

Sometimes Emily had no one to talk to. Sam tried to keep in touch, but even he found it hard to pierce the walls around her.

Emily endured, because where else could she go?

Years rolled on, carving lines on faces and scars in souls. Sam was twentyfive, his career thriving, his personal life as barren as his school days. He remained the same solitary figure, now more wary.

He saw Emily rarely; meeting her alone felt like a New Years gift from Father Christmas. Wherever he spotted her, Maggie was there too.

Emily! he called, catching her at a bus stop.

They hadnt spoken in almost a year.

Sam. Its been ages, she said, smiling faintly.

Almost a year, actually she shrugged.

Time slipped away, Sam replied, studying her face. Hows life work?

Work was just work. She managed to get Kolby to nursery, and the occasional sick pay.

Everythings fine, as you can see, she said.

Sam sensed something off. Beneath a thin layer of foundation, a bruise lingered on her cheek.

Did Tom do that? Sam asked, halfwhispering.

Emily flinched, then snapped, Thats none of your business, Sam. Stay out of it.

His attempts to help fell flat; nothing he did could change her world.

Emily

Goodbye, she muttered, wiping makeup, revealing the bruise fully. She stared at herself in the shop window.

What happened to me? she whispered to her reflection.

A sudden shout from Maggie cut through. Who saw you today? How many times must I shield you from your own son? You know what will happen if he finds out!

Emilys voice faltered. With Sam were just school friends. We met by chance.

Maggie sneered, Ah, the Sam you used to run to in the park. Hes still a sh, and Tom tolerates you because he drinks because of you

The argument swelled, a relentless chorus of blame, as Toms drunken nights drummed on the roof.

Maggie announced, Were moving to the village. City flats are too pricey. A house out there will be cheaper.

Finally, Tom said, indifferent, I dont care where I work.

No one asked Emily.

On the eve of the move, Emily slipped away to see Sam, who looked at her as if at a funeral.

Emily, this is a huge mistake. The move you wont escape the town. Youll be trapped there. Where are you going? Sam pleaded.

You dont get it, Sam. No one asked me.

The choice is always yours, he insisted. Its just sometimes a hard one.

And who needs me besides them?

Me. Stay. Come to my place. You, Kolby, and me.

His words fell on deaf ears.

The village was a cottage with no modern comforts. The nearest neighbour was a distant silhouette. Tom, now a permanent drunk, vanished for days, returning like a squeezed lemonsour and empty.

Maggie, instead of easing Emilys burden, intensified her oversight.

Emily! Slice the sausage, peel the potatoes, then vacuum. Who will do all that?

Kolby, absorbing his fathers habits, slouched around.

Kolby, tidy up! Emily snapped when tea spilled.

Do it yourself, then, he retorted. Why do you even exist here?

Emily, drained by his insolence, looked to Tom for a flicker of support, but he only smirked.

Right, son. From childhood you must be stricter.

Later Emily tried to teach Kolby a lesson; he nodded politely, only to repeat the same commands a week later.

Tom wandered home, bruised and bloodied, the nights chaos evident.

Youve ruined my son! Maggie shrieked, whispering darkly, You always had a sidewoman. Think thats why Tom drinks? Because he cant cope with divorce?

Emily stayed silent. What could she say? That Tom roamed, drank, avoided her? He never admitted any past with her, or he would have left.

Kolby grew, becoming a mirror of his father: unemployed, drifting, returning home drunk.

Mom, can you spare five hundred pounds? he asked. Dad said.

Emily sighed. Arent you and your dad going to look for work?

What jobs decent around here? Ill apply.

One night, pressure snapping like a taut rope, Emily could bear no more of Maggies monologues on her uselessness. She fled to the city, seeking Sam.

It felt like a revelation. With Sam, everything might be different.

She arrived at the address she remembered from better days, sat on a bench until darkness fell, too shy to ring the flatbell. The buildings intercom crackled.

Madam, well be over the weekend, a voice said, a woman Toms mother holding a handclasped mans arm, the mother of Sam perhaps, waving goodbye. The scene unfolded like a surreal tableau: doors closing, some never to open again.