Long ago, when I was just a girl, my mother taught me something I’d never forget. “If ever you’re in trouble and can’t speak,” she said, “use the code word.”
It was a silly little phrase—*apple crumble*—but to us, it meant everything. A secret plea for help when words were too dangerous. I never imagined I’d need it again. Not until sixty days ago.
Sixty days. That’s how long I’d been away, nursing my mother after her hip operation. I scarcely left the hospital, surviving on tepid tea, stale biscuits from the vending machine, and fitful naps in chairs no one could call comfortable. I ached for my own bed, my proper pillow, the familiar scent of home. But most of all, I missed Edward—my husband.
Edward and I had been wed for four years. We weren’t perfect, but we had our way of things—takeaway on Fridays, Sunday trips to the market. Being gone so long left a hollow feeling. He sent sweet notes, rang me every other evening, and swore he was keeping the flat tidy (though I knew his idea of tidiness). Still, even from afar, his presence soothed me.
The day I finally returned, it was as if I could breathe properly again. I took the longest bath of my life, wrapped myself in my cosy dressing gown, and twisted my damp hair into a towel. Just as I reached for the sherry, I heard it—the front door unlocking.
I stilled. At first, I thought Edward had forgotten something. But then—no sound of his motorcar outside. I stepped into the hall, pulse quickening.
There, in the doorway, stood a young woman I’d never laid eyes on.
She was smartly dressed in heeled boots and a tailored jacket, keys in hand. She stared at me, baffled, almost cross.
“Who are *you*?” she demanded, as though *I* were the outsider.
I arched a brow. “Who am *I*? I live here. Who might *you* be?”
She scowled. “Never seen you before.”
“Well, I’ve been away two months,” I said, crossing my arms. “How’d you get keys to *my* flat?”
“Edward gave them to me,” she said, careless as you please. “Told me to drop by whenever.”
*Edward. My Edward.*
My stomach lurched.
I steadied myself. “Did he, now?” I said, measured. “Funny, as I’m his *wife*, and this is the first I’ve heard of it.”
Her eyes went round. “Wait—he said he wasn’t married.”
“I’ll bet he did,” I muttered.
She glanced between me and the keys. “I ought to go.”
“Not just yet,” I said, firm. “Come with me.”
She wavered, then followed me inside.
Edward sat at the kitchen table, spooning cereal straight from the box. His hair was tousled, and he wore my favourite jumper—the one I’d been itching to reclaim.
“Who’s *that*?” the woman asked, pointing.
“That’s Edward,” I said. “My husband.”
Her frown deepened. “That *isn’t* Edward.”
I looked between them. “What d’you mean?”
Edward paused mid-bite. “Now I’m lost.”
The woman pulled out her mobile and tapped on a dating app. After a moment, she thrust the screen forward.
It wasn’t Edward.
It was *Henry*.
Edward’s younger brother. The one who’d left university twice. The one who’d “borrowed” Edward’s motorcar and got it clamped. The one with grand schemes and no follow-through. And now, apparently, the one pretending to be Edward whilst using our flat as his courting parlour.
Edward groaned. “Bloody hell. He kept asking when I’d be home. Thought he was just being odd again.”
I turned to the woman, who now looked as though the pieces were slotting into place. “Let me guess—he never let you visit when I was here?”
“No,” she said, voice unsteady. “Always said his flatmate was about. Thought it was some overbearing friend.”
Edward sighed. “I’ll throttle him. Or make him scrub the loo. Either works.”
The woman nearly smiled. “Can’t believe I bought it. He swore he was a barrister. Should’ve known when he called it ‘barrister’s chambers’ like it was a pub.”
I laughed. “Let’s begin again. I’m Beatrice.”
She shook my hand. “Margaret.”
Edward clapped his hands. “Right. What now?”
Margaret squared her shoulders. “I want vengeance.”
Edward grinned. “I like her.”
Fifteen minutes later, we had a scheme.
Edward texted Henry:
*“Roast dinner tonight. Come round.”*
Henry replied at once:
*“Brilliant! Be there in twenty.”*
We set the table proper, like a Sunday supper. Margaret freshened her lipstick. I warmed a pre-made roast Edward had fetched. Edward uncorked a bottle of claret and poured us each a glass.
Right on time, Henry sauntered in, grinning.
“Smashing! Where’s my sweet—”
Then he saw Margaret.
“Oh! Love! What a nice surprise!”
Margaret folded her arms. “Spare me, Henry.”
Henry glanced at Edward. “Mate?”
Edward stood. “We know everything, ‘Edward.’”
Henry froze.
Then Margaret, with flawless timing, snatched up her water glass and dashed it in his face. Water dripped from his chin onto the rug.
Henry blinked. “Right. Fair enough.”
“You’re covering rent this month,” Edward said.
“*What?*” Henry spluttered.
“And returning whatever Margaret gave you,” I added.
Henry winced. “Even the wireless earbuds?”
“*Especially* those,” Margaret said.
Henry slunk out, sulking all the way.
Once the door shut, we howled with laughter.
Margaret dabbed her eyes. “Better than a session with the vicar.”
Edward raised his glass. “To roast beef and retribution.”
Margaret clinked hers with ours. “Just tell me there aren’t more brothers.”
I smiled. “Only a tabby who despises all equally.”
And so, dear reader, that’s how I returned after two months, exposed my rogue of a brother-in-law, made a fine new friend, and at last had a proper meal. Life may be unpredictable, but sometimes, it spins a tale worth telling.
