Diane had always loved inviting her friends over. Her mum never minded—she was just the same. For as long as Diane could remember, their house was always full of her mother’s mates, especially on weekends. Birthdays were never quiet affairs either. Her dad was different, more reserved. He didn’t mind her mum’s friends popping round—sometimes he’d even join them for tea and a laugh. But usually, he’d tinker in the garage. He didn’t have many mates himself, just the neighbours.
Diane loved it when her mum’s friends dropped by unannounced. They rarely drank wine—only on special occasions—but tea and coffee were always on the go. The mood lifted whenever they visited, filling the house with laughter and even the odd singalong.
“Mum, can Lizzie and Becky come over?” she’d ask.
“Of course, love. There’s biscuits and sweets on the table—help yourself if you want anything,” her mum would say before heading off to work.
If too much time passed without visitors, her mum would bake a pie and say, “I’ll invite Nancy and Auntie Sue from next door. Diane, pop round and ask them over, will you?”
And so life went on. When Diane was at university, she’d come home on weekends, sometimes bringing a friend along for the holidays—always with her mum’s blessing. Her mother’s welcoming nature had rubbed off on her.
She married her uni mate, Oliver, in her final year. They moved into their own place, and Diane kept inviting friends over. At first, Oliver wasn’t keen. But he soon realised how much it meant to her.
“Ollie, we always had guests growing up—it’s just how I am. You don’t mind if friends come round sometimes, do you?”
“Hardly anyone ever visited us. My mum wasn’t the hospitable type—didn’t like people dropping in. If Dad ever brought a mate home from work, it’d turn into a row. But fine, if it makes you happy.” And eventually, he got used to it.
They settled into a routine, choosing together which friends to invite. There was one Diane’s mate Oliver didn’t like—Tanya. She was a widow, always a bit melancholy.
“Why do you even bother with Tanya?” he’d grumble. “She’s so glum—like getting blood from a stone. What’s the point if she doesn’t even laugh?”
“But she talks to me—gives good advice, too. I trust her. She listens and never gossips. Sometimes you just want a proper chat, not jokes and noise. She doesn’t complain, just supports me. Friends like that matter.”
“Fine, whatever. Just don’t expect me to entertain her.”
Years passed. They built a bigger house, had a son, and Diane still met up with her friends. Sometimes they’d take the kids out, but usually, they stayed in—there was plenty of space.
Two of her mates lived with their in-laws, so they couldn’t relax much there. Only Lizzie had her own place with her husband and son, but she still preferred coming to Diane’s. Occasionally, the husbands would join—have a beer in the garage or the shed. That’s just how they rolled.
One day, Tanya visited and, mid-conversation, said quietly, “Diane… I’d be careful with Lizzie if I were you. She pays your Oliver too much attention.”
“Don’t be silly,” Diane laughed. “She’s just friendly—loves a joke.”
But the words lingered. Maybe Tanya was jealous—no husband of her own. Diane’s mum had always warned her about single friends, too. Perhaps it was time to distance herself.
She even mentioned it to Oliver.
“Told you she was odd. There’s something off about her.”
Diane cut Tanya out, but nothing else changed. Life rolled on. Their group still met up, helped each other out—picking up kids from nursery when someone was busy.
“Diane, could you grab my Mikey from nursery?” Lizzie would often call. “My Alex is out fishing with his mates, and I’m stuck at work. Can you help?”
“Course, no problem. Our boys are in the same nursery anyway.”
Then one day, Diane went to pick up her Stevie and ran into Lizzie. They decided to take the boys to the park. On the way, Mikey suddenly asked, “Mum, is Uncle Oliver coming over today? He brought me crisps yesterday.”
Lizzie went red and said nothing. Diane’s stomach lurched—her husband was Oliver. But he’d been at his brother’s the night before, helping move furniture. He’d got back late, near midnight.
“Loads of men are called Oliver,” she told herself. But then—Lizzie had a husband.
Then Lizzie reached for her phone, but it was dead.
“Need to borrow mine?” Diane offered.
“No, it can wait,” Lizzie said quickly.
They never made it to the park. Lizzie grabbed Mikey’s hand. “Actually, I forgot—I need to see my mum. Rain check?” And she hurried off, leaving Diane baffled.
All the way home, Diane couldn’t shake the thought. Then she remembered—Oliver always praised Lizzie’s baking. Whenever the girls visited, Lizzie brought her famous honey cake.
“Lizzie’s cakes are incredible,” Oliver would say, right in front of her. Lizzie would beam.
“Your husband’s so lovely,” she’d sigh. “Alex never compliments me.”
And then it hit her—Oliver always joked the most with Lizzie.
Was there something between them? No, impossible. But the seed was planted.
She didn’t confront Oliver. Instead, she called his brother’s wife, Kate.
“Did you buy furniture yesterday? Oliver said he was helping you move stuff.”
“Oliver? He wasn’t here,” Kate said, confused. “We didn’t buy anything—we’ve got all we need. Why?”
“Oh… must’ve got mixed up,” Diane mumbled, hanging up.
Her heart pounded. She waited for Oliver to come home. He ate, then went to the garage, forgetting his phone. A message popped up. From Lizzie.
*”Mikey accidentally told your wife you were here yesterday.”*
Fury erupted. She stormed into the garage, shoving the phone at him. “Explain this.”
Oliver read it, then met her eyes. “Fine. I was there. No point lying.”
Diane froze. She’d expected denial, an excuse. Not this.
“You traitor. And her—both of you. I can’t even look at you.” She fled inside.
Later, Oliver followed. “Diane, let’s just forget it. Pretend it never happened. I admitted it—won’t do it again. Just… don’t see Lizzie anymore. We’ll go back to normal.”
“*Normal*?” She laughed bitterly. “No, Oliver. You cheated. I don’t trust you. And Tanya was *right*. But I cut her off.”
She packed his bags and left them by the door. That night, he stayed at his mum’s.
Next day, Lizzie waited at the nursery. “Diane, please—it’s a misunderstanding. That text wasn’t for *your* Oliver—wrong number!”
“Lizzie, we’re done. And so are Oliver and I. I’m filing for divorce. Goodbye.”
Lizzie gaped, then shouted after her, “Fine! Your husband’s mine now anyway.”
Diane didn’t doubt it. Sure enough, Oliver moved in with Lizzie, playing dad to Mikey. Lizzie kicked her own husband out.
One Saturday, Diane bought a cake and a small gift, then went to Tanya’s with Stevie.
Tanya blinked in surprise. “Diane… come in.”
“Stevie, go play in the living room—there’s toys and crayons,” Tanya said. “We’ll call you for tea.”
Once he’d gone, Diane hugged her. “Tanya, I’m so sorry. You tried to warn me, and I… Well, you were right. Oliver and Lizzie were sneaking around. I’m divorcing him. Please forgive me.”
Tanya sighed. “I’m not angry. I’d have doubted it too.”
They chatted over tea, Stevie making them laugh.
Betrayal—by a husband, by a best friend. It happens. Always has, always will. That’s life.
