“Well, this is awkward.”
“Meaning you’re his wife?”
“In every sense. Legally, at least—I can show you the stamp in my passport if you like. Didn’t bring the certificate, sorry,” the woman replied, one hand resting on her rounded stomach.
***
“Love, I’ll be away next week on a job up north. Signal’s patchy there, so don’t lose touch,” said James Wilson.
“Don’t worry about the cat. I’ll pop by, feed him, clean the litter,” muttered Emily, eyes glued to her phone.
“About the cat…” James hesitated. “Honestly, love, no need to trek across town after work just for that. Mrs. Higgins from upstairs—you know, the one on the landing—she’ll check in on Whiskers now and then.”
“You’re being odd, Dad,” Emily chuckled. “Your neighbour’s a proper saint, then? Feeds the cat, picks up milk, even swings by the chemist after work? Lucky you.”
“Right. Lucky me.”
James suddenly felt a pang of guilt for lying again. His brows furrowed, and he forced his thoughts elsewhere to hide his unease. *She doesn’t suspect a thing. Just having a go at me,* he told himself.
James and Emily’s mum had been divorced for seven years now. They’d parted amicably—no rows, just a quiet acknowledgment that the love had fizzled out. After speaking with Emily, they filed for divorce with clean consciences. She’d taken it in stride, on one condition: family holidays would still be spent together. Everyone agreed.
“So, I’m your neighbour now?” Charlotte smirked.
“Couldn’t think of anything else…” James dropped his gaze, sheepish.
“Calling me your wife was just *too* complicated, apparently.”
“Lottie, don’t take it to heart.”
“I’m a grown woman, Jamie. But how long are we going to keep up this charade?”
“I don’t *know*,” he groaned. “What if she doesn’t understand? When she was little, she’d panic at the thought of either of us leaving. Kept asking if we’d abandon her. Feels like I’m betraying her.”
“Look, I’m not meddling in your relationship with Emily. But in two months, you’ll have *two* daughters. You’ll have to make a decision—a proper one. I’m not forcing your hand, God forbid, but how do you plan to hide a newborn?”
“We’ll figure it out,” James muttered, though he had no clue how.
James had met Charlotte not long after the divorce. One look, and he knew—she was the one. But admitting it to his family? Impossible. He feared Emily would turn away, and his ex-wife would make visitation a nightmare.
First, he’d fretted over the ten-year age gap. Then over the secret wedding. Now, over Charlotte’s pregnancy. But with the due date looming, the truth was about to burst like a boil. *I’ll tell her when the time’s right,* he assured himself.
James had gone to great lengths to hide his new life from Emily—avoiding her visits, meeting on neutral ground. And Emily, like any sharp young adult, needled him endlessly about his “mysterious neighbour.”
The morning James returned from his job, Emily decided to surprise him with a visit. But no one answered the door. Or his phone—not on the first call, nor the tenth. Worried, she stepped outside. She hadn’t misheard: Dad had texted he’d landed at Heathrow, was on his way home, and would call that evening.
Yet he wasn’t home. *He’s an adult. Probably ran errands,* she told herself.
“James was taken to hospital,” an unfamiliar voice cut through her thoughts.
“What? When? Where?” Emily spun around.
The voice came from a first-floor window. An elderly neighbour, peering out, explained she’d seen James return with his duffel bag—likely from his trip—and half an hour later, an ambulance arrived.
“From what I gathered, it’s the cardiac unit. Didn’t look too rough—walked out on his own, thank heavens! No stretcher, so not A&E,” the woman mused. “Knew you straightaway. You’re his girl—always waiting for your cab out front, buzzing his flat.”
“How long ago was he taken?”
“Over an hour now.”
Emily barely heard the rest. Trembling, she racked her brain—where was he? What state was he in? *Cardiology? But he’s never had heart trouble!*
“Ring the ambulance service. They might say which hospital,” the neighbour suggested, as if reading her mind.
Emily dialled with shaky hands, begging for help. Minutes later, the operator directed her to the hospital. She hailed a cab, fighting panic, pushing back dark thoughts. Dad’s phone remained off.
“Please—emergency said my father was brought here!” Emily blurted, voice cracking.
“If he’s been admitted, I’ll check. How long ago?” the receptionist replied, calm as ever.
“I don’t *know*. Half an hour? An hour? The neighbour wasn’t sure. Please, *help*.”
“Hold on. Name and dob?”
“Wilson. James Wilson. 12th March, 1973…”
“Wait in the corridor. I’ll confirm.”
The receptionist disappeared, murmuring into a phone. She returned shortly.
“He’s in cardiology. No visitors allowed—ward’s under quarantine. If you’ve brought anything, staff can collect it. Visiting hours are posted at the main entrance.”
“Thank you, *thank you*.”
Emily bolted outside, scanning for the main doors. *If they said he might come out, it can’t be that bad, right?*
Lost in thought, she barely registered reaching the ward. A nurse checked James’s details, then frowned. “You’re outside visiting hours. And it’s *quarantine*.”
“He’s just been admitted! He’s not answering! I don’t know if he has *anything*! Let me in!” Emily’s voice rose to a shout.
A hand touched her shoulder. She flinched, whirling around—expecting security, but instead finding a pregnant woman, barely older than herself.
“Emily, hello,” Charlotte said carefully.
“Hello. Do I know you?”
“Not exactly. I know *you*—very well. But to you, I’m just the ‘neighbour’ who feeds the cat and nips to the chemist.” She forced a smile.
“I don’t understand. Are you here for Dad? Did he call you? What’s going *on*?”
“I came alone. The hospital rang *me*.”
“Why—you?”
“Because… I’m his wife.”
“*What* do you mean, his wife?”
“In every legal sense. I’ve got the passport stamp to prove it. Left the certificate at home, sorry,” Charlotte said, a hand shielding her belly—instinctive defence. “Let’s step outside. I’ll explain. He’s fine—I’ve brought his things. Come on.”
She guided Emily out, choosing her words.
“How? How long have you been married? Why didn’t Dad *say* anything? And especially about—” Emily’s eyes dropped to Charlotte’s stomach.
“This isn’t how I wanted to meet you. But as they say, want to make God laugh? Tell him your plans. Your dad’s plan was ‘find the right moment.’ Seems life had other ideas.”
“But *why* keep it secret? It’s all so weird.”
“It’s not. He’s terrified you’ll reject him,” Charlotte said firmly, holding Emily’s gaze.
“That’s *mad*! If anything, I’ve been worried he was lonely! And now—a wife *and* a baby?”
“So… you’re not upset?”
“Are you joking? I’m *chuffed*. Bloody ridiculous, honestly. No wonder his heart’s playing up—living a double life!”
“Can I call you Em?” At Emily’s nod, Charlotte continued, “Cardiology’s locked down. They barely let *me* in. If they allow it, come back tomorrow. No food—he’s on a diet. I’ve brought clothes. Tests are pending, but he’s stable. Walking, but needs rest.”
Charlotte studied Emily’s lost expression—the universal look of someone adrift when family’s hospitalised.
“Since we’ve met like this… why not come back to ours? Proper chat, plan how to give Jamie hell—within reason,” she laughed.
“Feels a bit awkward, honestly…”
“More awkward than the baby not recognising family? Come *on*.” Charlotte linked arms with her, steering toward the car. “I’ve a feeling we’ll get on just fine.”
