The ex-mother-in-law was coming to visit. She didnt know theyd divorced.
“Can you believe it, Margaret has no idea Oliver and I split up,” said Lydia. “And shes on her way here right now.” She turned off her phone and gave her friend a panicked look.
“Youre joking!” exclaimed Bella. “Here? To this flat?”
“Thats the problem,” Lydia frowned. “Shes convinced her son and I are still together. Says she misses the grandkids.”
“Why are you so scared? Shes nothing to you now. No reason to be afraid.”
“Oh, sure. Easy for you to say. Youve never met her. Shes a force of nature. Do you know the connections she has? Shell think I deliberately hid it from her. Shell suspect something. Then shell make my life hell.”
“Had she not called you all this time? You never saw her?” Bella asked, surprised.
“We fell out. Last time she visited from Manchester two years ago, we had a massive row.”
“Over Oliver?”
“Not just him,” Lydia sighed. “She disapproved of everythinghow we hosted her, how we raised the kids, even… well, everything, really.”
“And?”
“And what? She said her piece. I said mine. One word led to another. She stormed off, told me she never wanted to see me again. Since then, shes only spoken to Oliver.”
“And him?”
“What about him? It suited him just fine. Another excuse to blame me for something. Said if I didnt respect his mum, I didnt love him either. Thats why his career was failing. Then he vanished. Radio silence for a week. Then he rang to say hed met someone else and we were through.”
“So Oliver never told his mother you divorced,” Bella mused.
“Seems that way.”
“And he didnt mention taking half the flat? Or that youre now in a tiny shared place with two kids, a cat, and a dog?”
“Exactly. She thinks were still one big happy family. Said she had urgent business in London and would stay with us for a week.”
“Stay where, exactly?”
“Here,” Lydia said, gesturing around the cramped room.
The doorbell rang.
“Thats her,” Lydia whispered, horrified. “What do I do? How do I explain?”
“Just tell her the truth.”
“Shell blame me. Shell scream. I cantmaybe we just dont answer?”
“Ignoring her would be worse. Then shell *really* think youre hiding something.”
The bell rang again.
“Open it,” Bella said firmly. “And dont cower. Let her shout. Youve done nothing wrong. Im right here.”
Lydia opened the door.
“Hello, Margaret,” she said quietly.
“Why did you take so long?” Margaret demanded, sweeping in with two suitcases. “Hiding someone?”
“No ones here,” Lydia said. “Just talking to my friend.”
“What friend?”
Bella stepped into the hallway.
“Hello,” she said cheerfully. “Im Bella. Lydias friend.”
Margaret gave her a withering look.
“Wheres Oliver? At work?” she asked Lydia.
“Suppose so,” Lydia mumbled.
“*Suppose so?* You dont know where your own husband is?”
Lydia shrugged helplessly.
“Hes not her husband!” Bella cut in, chin raised.
Margarets eyes narrowed.
“Come again?”
“In the literal sense,” Bella said, grinning.
*I always dreamed of saying that to my ex-mother-in-law*, Bella thought. *Shame mine got away. At least I can live vicariously through this one.*
“Lydia and your precious boy divorced a year ago,” Bella said breezily. “They split the two-bed flat they bought together, and Oliver sold his half. So now Lydias stuck in this shoebox with two kids, a cat, and a dog. Any other questions?”
Margaret turned to Lydia.
“Is this true?”
Lydia nodded. “We divorced last autumn.”
“Not that. Did he really take the flat?”
“Yes. He had every rightit was joint-owned. Besides, hes remarried now.”
“*Remarried?*” Margaret repeated.
“Oliver says shes expecting. Asked me not to hassle him for child supportpromised hed pay up later. Claims hes struggling at work.”
“And you believed him,” Bella snorted. “Bless your heart. That man wont pay a penny. His work problems are fiction. No baby on the way, either. Theyre not even properly marriedjust shacked up. The baby story? Pure guilt-trip material.”
“Why didnt he tell me about the divorce?” Margaret murmured.
“Maybe he didnt want to upset you?” Lydia offered weakly.
“Perhaps,” Margaret said, thoughtful. “Perhaps.”
In reality, Oliver had kept quiet for another reason.
*Let her think Lydia and I are still together*, hed schemed. *Better for me that way. Mum loathes Lydia but dotes on the grandkids. And thanks to them, shell help me buy a house.*
So, during their monthly calls, Oliver spun tales of their cramped two-bed flat, sent photos of the girls (knowing Margaret adored them), and sighed about how they were *just* scraping bythough, of course, a bigger place would solve everything.
“Emily starts school soon,” hed say mournfully. “No space for a proper desk. If only we could afford a four-bedbut my salary wont stretch. Pathetic, really. The girls even wrote to Father Christmas begging for a flat near Victoria Park. Sweet, isnt it? They ask about you all the time. Hows Granny? Is she okay? But dont worry, Mum. Well manage. Emily can study at the kitchen table. Right? No, nowell cope.”
Oliver knew exactly what he was doing.
*Shell cave*, he thought. *Shell fix this for me. And to make it easier, Ill give her a nudge.*
“Of course,” hed add, “you could always sell the cottage in the Lakes. Thatd cover a four-bed in Londonmaybe near Hampstead Heath? I checked prices. Itd work. The girls could have their own rooms. Proper space for Emilys desk. But Id never ask you to do that, Mum. Never. I know how much you love that place.”
Now, having travelled from Manchester to London, Margaret saw the truth for herself.
“I see,” she said coolly. “Where are the girls?”
“At nursery.”
“And your job?”
“I work remotely.”
“Who are the neighbours?”
“A lovely woman. Didnt mind the pets. Recently divorced too. Shes at work.”
“Lovely,” Margaret repeated dryly. “Right. Well. Ill be off.”
She walked out.
“Think we got away with it,” Lydia said, sagging with relief as she shut the door. “I was sure shed start shouting.”
Two months passed.
*Should ring Mum*, Oliver thought. *Remind her of my plight.*
“Mum! Hello! Everything good? Brilliant. Listenabout us. Still squeezed into that two-bed. Remember that idea you had? Selling the Lakes cottage? Still think its a winner. We could”
*What do you mean, no cottage?*
His voice climbed.
*It burned down? No? Oh, thank God. Thenyou* sold *it? And the moneys gone? On what? A four-bed? For whom?! The* kids*? But theyre* toddlers*! You cantwait, you* can*? Why would you*
*Why didnt you* discuss *this with me? Yes, I moaned about space! Yes, I said the girls needed rooms! But you couldve asked* me*! Bought it in* my *name, not theirs! You didnt consult me because I wasnt home when you visited? When did you even*
*Wheres the flat? Near Kings Cross? Mum, Iwait, my visionseverythings gone blackno, no, Im fine. Just overwhelmed. Thank you. So much.*
The next day, Oliver showed up at Lydias new flat.
For twenty minutes, he paced silently, inspecting every inch.
*This couldve been mine*, he fumed. *All mine. If not for Lydias* conniving. *How did she even* charm *Mum? Doesnt matter. Not too late. Ill remarry her, then boot her out. Shes got her own roomshe can* stay *there.*
“Now, Lydia,” he said gravely, “after everything, we can start fresh. Mums forgiven youwhy else would she buy this place?”
“She didnt buy it for *us*.”
“What? Then who?”
“The girls.”
“Thats the same thing. And now you *will* marry me again.”
“Will I?”
Olivers glare turned icy.
“You misunderstand. Im not *asking*. Were meeting at the registry office. Day after tomorrow. 10 AM. By the lamp post out frontremember? The one on the right?”
“Of course I remember. Hard to forget.”
“Dont be late. You know how I feel about that.”
“I wont be,” Lydia said.
Naturally, she didnt show. Oliver, seething, called her.
*Forgot*, she said. They rescheduled. She forgot again. Another reschedule. Another no-show.
Six months later, Oliver was still bookingand missingappointments. He stood dutifully by that lamp post in rain, snow, even during a storm that uprooted trees.
The registry staff watched in awe.
“Now *thats* true love,” they whispered. “Rain or shine, hes here. Remember the hurricane? He still turned up! If he ever stops coming, we should erect a statue. A monument to male perseverance!”
