Seasons

It's been five years since Tom moved away and three since he last saw Craig, but given the ease with which they slip back into their usual routine, it could have been just ten minutes.

At half past seven on a Friday night, the pub looks almost exactly as same as it always did. There are still oak fittings, crusted ketchup bottles and a heavily stained carpet. One thing that is missing is the fug of smoke that assaulted the senses as soon as you stepped inside. The smoking ban that came into force while he was away has taken care of that.

Craig's already sitting at their table - the one right at the back, away from the noisy bar and overcrowded booths. They greet each other in the way old friends do. There's an undercurrent of pleasure to the sarcastic words and a slight awkwardness in the warm embrace.

Silence reigns as Craig settles back into his seat and Tom pulls up a chair to join him, both searching for an appropriate opening to their conversation. Eventually a topic is found in the weather. The recent cold snap has made travelling by road treacherous and Tom got off his bus three stops early to walk to the pub. It's only October, but it feels like the middle of winter.

Tom almost wishes it was - he doesn't like autumn. Autumn makes him think of kisses like fireworks, his heart booming in his ears and a riot of colour exploding behind his closed eyelids. He can still feel the long, slow burn of the fire her touch always ignited in the pit of his stomach, and the way her soft fingers licked at his skin like flames.

But the winter frost brings memories of its own, memories which are quick to chill his heart and turn his blood to ice, so perhaps autumn isn't that bad after all.

The flakes of snow still clinging to Tom's hair are melting in the warmth of the bar and he chafes his hands in the hope of speeding up the heating process. Leaving his parents' home without his thick woollen gloves was a mistake but he'd forgotten just how cold it could get in Scotland. When he tells Craig this, his friend laughs and tells him he's clearly been away too long. Tom silently disagrees; now that he's here he thinks it hasn't been long enough.

Not that staying in Australia was a particularly attractive option. In Sydney, it's spring, and he hates spring even more than he hates winter. Spring brings memories to be flicked away like the moths that flood the city and bright sunshine that dazzles him like her smile.

It was spring when Craig got married. Three years on, Tom can remember only snapshots of the day. Specific moments linger, refusing to be banished despite his best efforts. The pale blue of the sky as the wedding pictures were taken. The cool temperature of the platinum circle clenched tightly in his fist. The fizz of the champagne he drank to dull his nerves. The unbelievable beauty of the bride.

After several inconsequential remarks about other things, Tom asks about Ellie. It's an abrupt change of topic rather than the smooth segue he practised repeatedly on the aeroplane, but if it gets a response it will suffice.

Ellie was Craig's high school best friend first, then she was his university sweetheart and now, she's his wife. She used to be Tom's friend too, but she's not any more. If asked, he'd say he hasn't spoken to her since the week before he moved to Sydney, because he doesn't count the times that she answers his calls as conversations. She always hands the telephone to Craig as quickly as she possibly can.

Like the well-trained husband he is, Craig says Ellie is fine and that married life is just great, but the way he hesitates before answering and nods violently for emphasis speaks louder than the words. For some reason Craig is lying, and Tom know that if he is patient enough the truth will inevitably spill out. Craig can't help but betray himself to Tom, no matter how serious the crime. He wonders briefly if Craig remembers drunkenly admitting to stealing their university flatmate's milk, or whether he's told anyone else that he once had sex with his brother's girlfriend during a particularly dull Christmas party.

Tom doesn't judge his friend for either of these acts, or indeed any of his other transgressions. After all, he has a few secrets of his own. Unlike Craig, however, he knows when it's a good idea to keep quiet.

Craig's shrug is surprisingly casual as he admits that actually, they are having problems. The long slug from his bottle indicates a further confession to come and again Tom waits. He would tell himself he doesn't want to know any more – that his friend's marital woes are none of his business – but all that would do is make him as much of a liar as Craig.

It's only when he notices the way Craig's hand trembles slightly as he lifts the beer to his mouth that Tom realises the true nature of the secret. When he takes a sip from his drink he's careful to keep his own hand steady, but he knows his pulse rate is increasing.

Craig's cheating on Ellie. He's met someone else and he's having an affair.

Although he already knew what Craig was going to say, hearing the words said aloud still comes as a shock and Tom's sure that he visibly flinched. He's slightly surprised when Craig makes no mention of it, because the thrill of seeing Tom's reaction was partly why Craig always blurted out his secrets, but perhaps he doesn't notice because he doesn't care what Tom thinks any more. He's too wrapped up in his own thoughts and feelings to play to his audience.

Whenever Tom envisaged talking about Craig and Ellie's relationship – and he imagined exactly that scenario too many times to count during the long hours of his flight home – the pictures in his head bore no resemblance to the scene unfolding before him now. As far as he was concerned theirs was one of the constant partnerships in his life, slotting in nicely alongside things like love and marriage, vodka and tonic and mince and tatties.

Craig's words hang in the air between them, begging to be examined, dissected and discussed. Before he can do that, however, Tom has to take a moment to clarify what he thinks he's heard.

It's not exactly an affair; not yet. They haven't slept together, but they've kissed and held hands and exchanged lingering looks loaded with meaning so really, it's only a matter of time. No one else has ever made Craig feel this way and he just can't help himself. When they're together, they're the only two people on the planet. He feels alive when he's with her. She loves him just as he is, while Ellie doesn't understand him any more. Perhaps she never did. They should never have got married in the first place. He only did it because he was too scared to back out. He knew it was a mistake and now he knows why.

As Tom watches Craig pick at the corner of the label on his bottle and trot out trite cliches without pausing to think about how ridiculous it sounds, he realises he's itching to grab the bottle and smash it over his friend's head. To stop himself, he sits on his hands. He has so many questions he wants to ask - who, when, where, why? - but he won't give Craig the satisfaction. He can't stand how casually Craig is treating his betrayal, because while they may not be friends any more, he still cares about Ellie. Perhaps too much.

He does, however, ask what he's planning to do next. Craig shrugs again and the gesture annoys Tom. He's not sure whether that's irrational or not, but there it is. He's even more irritated when Craig tries again to justify his actions by floating the idea that he's not the only one breaking his marriage vows.

Ellie is in love with someone else.

Of course, Craig admits in the next breath, he has no real evidence of this. But who needs proof when you can feel it in your gut? He peels the sticky paper away from the glass and scrunches it into a tight ball, which he flicks in Tom's direction before meeting his gaze directly for the first time since this particular conversation started. He asks if Tom remembers what Craig told him when he was preparing to propose to Ellie.

Of course he remembers. And that's why his immediate reaction is to scoff at the implication. But Craig is vehement as he shakes his head. It's not a crazy idea. When he came back from six months backpacking in Asia, Ellie was different. She was reluctant to fall back into his arms and was more guarded with her feelings.

Tom is quick to point out that it was only to be expected. In his desire to travel light, a steady girlfriend at home was too heavy a burden for Craig and he broke up with Ellie shortly before catching his flight. And all of his infrequent messages home made it more than clear that he didn't regret it; the same girl's name never featured more than twice.

That's not the point, Craig insists. He knows that Ellie met someone else while he was away - she must have - and that someone broke her heart. That's why she didn't want to rush into another relationship with Craig when he came back. It wasn't Craig's fault at all. Tom was here that summer, and he was in contact with Ellie. Surely he must have known about it? Hadn't she told him anything?

His answer is a vehement no. What does Craig think happened that summer? While Tom has a lot more that he wants to add, by biting down hard on his tongue he manages to stop the words escaping. The questions, however, continue to run freely through his thoughts.

Does he imagine Ellie and her boyfriend taking a day trip to the seaside, building sandcastles and jumping waves? Does he picture them sitting together on the sea wall, eating hot chips doused in vinegar straight from the paper while watching the sun set? Does he see him helping Ellie brush the sand from her legs before allowing his fingers to inch upwards until she laughingly pushes his tickling hands away? Does he see them crowding into the photo booth at the station, Ellie on his knee, their arms around each other, as the camera takes the perfect picture of summer love? Does he think they spent the entire train ride home struggling to be content with only kissing and the entire night making up for it by doing everything else?

Another shrug. Craig hasn't thought about it in that much detail. He just knows that something happened. And whatever it was - whoever it was - it still has a firm grip on Ellie's heart.

It's just nonsense, Tom points out. If Ellie fell hard enough over that summer to still love the man more than five years later, why did she agree to marry Craig? Why was she single when he came home in December?

Maybe the guy dumped her, Craig suggests. Maybe in her heartbroken state, she thought that marrying someone else would be the best revenge of all. If it wasn't her choice to end it, that might explain it, right?

For a moment, Tom sees Ellie standing in the snow with her lover, her smile frozen in place as her anguished protests go unheeded. She begs him to reconsider, her tears reflecting a mixture of sadness and frustration, but his mind is made up.

She doesn't really love him. She can't, because she was never his to keep. Ellie is meant to be with Craig and so she has to be free for his return. He wholeheartedly believes that, no matter what she says. If he didn't, he wouldn't be able to fight past the crushing pain in his chest to prise his hands from hers. It's why he does his best to ignore the twisting in his stomach as he lies to her. Their relationship is nothing more than a summer fling that's lasted months longer than it should have. They're simply not supposed to be together.

If none of that is true, then the guy's a bigger idiot than Craig, and that's saying something.

Tom has had enough. His voice is firm, leaving no room for argument. I'm telling you, it's rubbish. Let's talk about something else now, all right?

And so they do. For the rest of the night they stick to small talk, discussing work and the fortunes of their football team and the celebrities they would have sex with if they ever got the chance. When they finally leave, just after last orders, it's snowing again. Craig is going to meet his girlfriend and Tom can't stomach sharing a taxi and a part in the deceit, so they part ways, promising that they'll be much better at keeping in touch this time. Craig possibly means it; Tom certainly doesn't.

It's a long, cold walk back to Tom's hotel room, but he doesn't notice. Only when he's safely locked inside does he pull out the photographs he still carries in his wallet. He remembers blowing on the pictures after they came out of the machine, keen to make sure they didn't smudge when he tore the strip in half. He took the top two and gave her the bottom two. The ripped edge is badly frayed now and the corners slightly creased, but he's done his best to make sure his frequent handling hasn't had too much of an adverse impact.

He smells again the curious mix of train fumes and suntan lotion that filled his senses that night. Ellie's nose is slightly pink from the sun she'd caught that day, her fingers still sticky from the ice-cream cone they'd shared when she clasps them around his neck. There's the slightest smudge of her lipstick on Tom's cheek and his windswept hair is flecked with sand. With a familiar pang that's only slightly dulled in the intervening five years, he remembers the message he scrawled by the water's edge and the way the waves tried and failed to wash it away.

Tom loves Ellie.

Seasons may change, but some things never do.