He Pulled You Out of the Mire

Author Harlan CovingtonReading 9 minViews 1

Son, explain what you saw in her? Evelyn Harts voice sliced through the kitchens hush. A girl from the back of beyond, no schooling, no prospects. You could have chosen anyone, yet you brought this

Molly froze in the doorway of the sittingroom. Heat rose to her cheeks, a blaze of shame and fury. She wanted to storm the kitchen, to spill the storm inside her, but she was only a guest in this house, a stranger.

Mum, please, Alex Turners weary tone floated up. I asked you not to start this.

Whats there to hide? What didnt Mother say? The facts speak for themselves. John, tell him!

Molly slipped back to the sofa, sinking onto its edge. The soft upholstery offered no comfort, only the sensation of a cold tide.

They had met half a year earlier at a country fair, when Alex had driven into a Yorkshire hamlet to visit distant relatives. He fell for her at first sight, he later claimed, kissing her fingertips and promising to whisk her away to a new life. Molly believed him.

John Harris and Evelyn Hart hadnt welcomed her at once. From the first glance, Molly read cold contempt in their eyes, a wish to erase her from their sons world. They showed no pretense of politeness. At family lunches they remained mute, addressing her only through Alex, as if she were a phantom or didnt understand English.

Its just a phase for him, Evelyn said over tea one afternoon, when Molly slipped into the bathroom and overheard their conversation through a cracked door. Hell play games and then leave.

Molly kept quiet then, and the next day, and the week after, when the motherinlaw spat another poisonous jab about her rural manners. There was nowhere to go. Living apart was impossible; she loved Alex.

Despite the familys fierce opposition, Alex married Molly in August. A modest ceremony, a handful of friends, her own mother arrived from the village in the only decent dress she owned. Alexs parents deliberately stayed away, sending a terse note that they disapproved and washed their hands of the union.

The first months after the wedding drifted in strained silence. Alex tried to bridge the gap, ringing his mother, but Evelyn answered with frosty monosyllables. Molly did not block the dialogue after all, it was his family, his right to try to keep peace. She kept to the side, arranging their tiny rented flat, hunting for work.

When the motherinlaw finally agreed to meet, Molly wore her best blouse, brushed her hair, even bought flowers. Evelyn received the bouquet with a look as if a rotten fish had been thrust at her, and promptly shoved it into the nearest empty vase.

So, have you found a job? the motherinlaw asked, settling at the head of the table.

Not yet, but I wont give up, Molly replied, steadying her breath. Im thinking of enrolling in a distancelearning course. I want an education.

How noble, Evelyn cooed. Alex will have to work twice as hard!

Molly clamped her teeth, but said nothing. Alex cleared his throat awkwardly, eyes flickering between his mother and his wife.

She did start the distance course a month later not to win Evelyns approval, but for herself. To prove she was more than a village lass, a person with ambition. Molly landed a clerical job at a small firm, handling paperwork while buried in textbooks. She grew weary, fell asleep over her notes, but pressed on.

Alexs parents grew more active in spring. Evelyn called, her voice sugary as she asked for help in the garden.

We need seedlings, we need the beds turned, she explained. Alex cant do it alone, and you grew up on a farm, right?

Molly held her silence, irritated by the tone.

Ill think about it, she managed, hanging up.

What? Alex called.

I wont be bending over in their garden, she said firmly.

Theyre my parents, Molly. Cant you at least lend a hand?

Helping is one thing. Using me as free labour is another. They see me as a country girl who must labour in their plot? Let them dig themselves or hire someone.

Alex sighed, saying nothing. He knew he would later phone his mother and apologise on Mollys behalf. And he did that night he locked himself in the bathroom, murmuring apologies into the wall.

The motherinlaws demands grew relentless. Calls came weekly: Come wash the floors, Launder the curtains, Run to the shop.

Have you lost your mind? Molly finally snapped. Youre healthy adults; hire a maid if you cant manage.

How dare you speak to your elders like that! Evelyn shrieked. Alex, do you hear how your wife insults me?

Alex shifted, muttering about compromise and respect.

I wont be a servant, Molly declared, her voice ringing. Remember that. Im your daughterinlaw, not your maid.

She turned and left the room, the door slamming behind her. Alex lingered, his futile attempts to please everyone hanging in the air.

Work took off unexpectedly fast. Molly earned a promotion, her pay rose a few quid, projects became interesting. Alex seemed to cheer, but his words were strained, a polite applause rather than genuine joy.

Sometimes Molly imagined escape. She lay awake at night, replaying breakup scenes. Yet there was nowhere to go her mother lived in a tiny cottage back in the village, and Molly had no savings for her own flat. She was trapped like a fly in a web.

The next family dinner came in June. Alex coaxed her to attend, promising his parents had softened, wanted peace. Molly consented reluctantly, donned a stiff dress, gathered her hair into a low bun.

From the first bite, peace was a phantom. Evelyn set the table with a grimace as if each movement caused her pain. John sat at the head, dark and silent, casting heavy glances at Molly now and then.

So youll keep hanging on your sons coat? the fatherinlaw barked after the salads. Youre earning pennies, studying, and squeezing the last of my sons money?

I earn more than Alex, Molly replied calmly. And I pay for my own tuition.

John smirked.

Of course you think Ill believe that? A provincial girl outshining my son?

Dad, enough, Alex muttered.

Im speaking the truth. I brought you a I thought shed be obedient and grateful. Instead she lifts her nose, wont tend the garden, wont hand over money.

Because Im not your servant, Mollys voice trembled with tension. If you need help, ask properly, like humans. But youre used to ordering and humiliating.

How dare you speak to my husband that way? Evelyn snapped.

As he deserves! Molly shot back, head held high.

John rose slowly, his face flushing, veins bulging in his neck.

If it werent for my son, he roared, youd still be in your smelly village, turning cows tails! He pulled you from the muck, and you now swing your legs here!

Molly also rose, her heart thudding in her throat, but her voice steadied.

No decent woman would endure a petty, contemptible man like you. Apparently, Evelyn enjoys living with a tyrant!

A heavy silence fell, thick as fog.

How dare you! Evelyn leapt, chair toppled. Leave this house at once! And never return! Alex, until you divorce her, dont call us! Understand? Out!

Molly gathered her bag, slipped on her cardigan.

Alex, lets go.

He rose without a word, following her like a shadow.

After the break, Alex changed. He returned late one night, lay on the sofa with his back to Molly, saying nothing. Days passed in that mute pattern until he began to snap.

You destroyed everything, he blurted one morning, coffee spilling. Because of you I lost my family.

Because of me? Molly asked, incredulous. Seriously?

You couldnt stay silent, couldnt endure. You had to be cheeky.

They insulted me and you kept quiet, Molly moved closer, staring into his face. You never defended me, not once in our whole marriage.

Its my parents! What could I have done?

Stood by my side. But you chose the sidelines, as always.

Alex turned away. For months he remained sour, making sharp comments about a good wife respecting elders, forgiving, compromising. Molly listened, feeling the love burnt to ash, leaving only ash and bitterness.

One night she could bear no more.

Your parents are petty, vicious people. And youve become like them. A worthy son

Alex exploded, hurling his mug against the wall; shards rained across the kitchen.

If it werent for me, he screamed, his voice foreign and angry, youd still be rotting in your village! I pulled you out, gave you a chance at a proper life! Ungrateful!

Molly saw in his eyes the same contempt as Johns.

Leave, Alex hissed. Now.

She didnt argue. From the loft she fetched an old suitcase, packed in silence, swift as a gust.

Molly called a taxi, hauled the suitcase to the door, turned back once:

Youre weak, Alex. Pathetic. Youre a perfect copy of your parents.

Six months drifted in fog. A cramped council flat, neighbours smells, arguments through thin walls. Molly worked herself to exhaustion, saved every penny, filed for divorce in court. Alex signed the papers without a word, perhaps tired himself.

By autumn she scraped together enough for a proper rental a onebedroom on the outskirts, hers alone, free of strangers and memories. Molly stood in the empty, bright room, looked out at the grey sky, and for the first time in ages smiled. Life went on. Without Alex, without his parents, without the humiliations. Just on, and it was beautiful.

We’re Moving Into Your Flat — Polly’s flat is great, right in the city centre. Freshly renovated — just move in and enjoy! — It’s perfect… for a single girl, — Rusty smiled patronisingly at Anna as though she were a clueless child. — But we’re planning two, maybe even three kids. Straight away, one after another. The city centre’s noisy, there’s no fresh air, nowhere to park. Plus, it’s only got two bedrooms. You lot have three here, plus it’s quiet, with a nursery just outside. — Oh, it really is a lovely area, — agreed Serge, still unsure where his future brother-in-law was going with all this. — That’s why we settled here. — Exactly! — Rusty snapped his fingers. — I keep telling Polly: why struggle with less space when there’s a ready-made solution? There’s too much room for the three of you and your daughter. What do you need all that space for? You don’t even use your spare room — it’s just storage. For us, it would be perfect. Anna was wrestling an unwieldy vacuum cleaner into the tiny hall cupboard. The hoover protested, snagging its hose on coat hangers and absolutely refusing to fit in its allotted space. — Serge, give us a hand! — she called out towards the living room. — Either the cupboard’s shrunk, or I’ve forgotten how to put things away. Serge poked his head out of the bathroom — he’d just finished fixing the tap. Calm, always a bit slow, Serge was Anna’s complete opposite. — Don’t worry, Ann, I’ve got this. Pass it here. He smoothly shifted the heavy thing and tucked it out of sight into the corner of the cupboard. Anna exhaled and leaned against the doorframe. — Tell me again, why do we never seem to have enough space? This flat’s big, three bedrooms and all, but the minute we start cleaning it’s as if our whole life’s overflowing into the street. — That’s because you’re a chronic hoarder, — Serge chuckled. — Why do we have three dinner sets? We only use one, twice a year. — Let them be, they’re memories. It was Gran’s flat, after all. After the wedding, Serge’s parents split the inheritance fairly: their son got this spacious three-bedroom flat in a quiet area — Gran’s flat — and his sister Polly got the two-bedder right in the city centre, in the “golden square”. It worked out roughly the same value. For five years, everyone got along famously, no hard feelings on either side. Anna naively thought it would always stay that way, but… *** They finished tidying, sorted the mess, sat down for a breather. No sooner had they turned on the telly when the doorbell rang. Serge went to open it. — Sis and her fiancé are here, — he called to his wife after peering through the peephole. Polly flitted in first, followed heavily by Rusty. Anna had only met him a couple of times before — Polly found him at the gym about six months back. Anna didn’t like Rusty from the start — too pompous, a bit condescending. He always looked down his nose at both Serge and her. — Heya! — Polly kissed her brother and hugged Anna. — We were just passing, thought we’d pop in. We’ve got news! — Well, do come in, if you’re just passing. News is always good, — Serge gestured towards the kitchen. — Tea? — Just water, thanks, — Rusty traipsed after the host. — We need a proper chat, Serge. Actually, we weren’t just “passing”. It’s about something important. No need to fuss or make tea. Just come sit. Anna suddenly felt anxious — she didn’t like Rusty’s tone one bit. What’s all this about? — Go on, spit it out, — Serge shrugged. Polly pretended not to be in the room at all — engrossed in her phone, leaving Rusty to speak for them. Rusty cleared his throat. — Here’s the thing. Polly and I have set a date. Wedding in three months. Naturally, I have serious plans for us. A family, a long, happy life together. We were talking about our living situation and… We’re moving in here, and you two can swap into Polly’s flat! Anna was gobsmacked. She looked at her husband, then at Polly — but Polly kept on scrolling, as if none of this had anything to do with her. — Rusty, I don’t get it, — Serge frowned. — What are you getting at? — I’m not getting at anything, I’m offering a constructive solution. Let’s swap! We move in here; you lot take Polly’s flat. Pol’s completely on board, we both reckon it’s the fair thing. Anna was gobsmacked all over again. — Fair? — she repeated. — Rusty, are you serious? You waltz into our home and suggest we move out because you’ve decided it’s time for children? — No need to be so dramatic, Anna, — Rusty grimaced. — I’m being realistic. You’ve one child and, as far as I know, no plans for more. So why stretch out in all this extra space? Not practical. Whereas we… we’ve got big plans. — Big plans, have you! — Anna leapt up. — Serge, you hearing this rubbish? Serge raised a hand, signalling for Anna to hold her tongue. — Rusty, maybe you’ve forgotten, but my parents gave me this flat. Just like Polly’s got hers. We spent five years making this place a home, picked out every skirting board ourselves. Our daughter’s growing up here. She’s got her own room, routines, friends in the building. And you think we should up sticks and move to the city centre just because it suits you better? — Come on, mate, — Rusty leaned back insolently. — We’re family. Polly’s your flesh and blood. Doesn’t your sister’s future matter to you? Besides, I’m offering you equal value. You’d get a place in a prime location. Actually, you’re winning out pricewise. I did the maths. — Funny, that, — Serge snorted. — You’re not even married to my sister yet and you’re already eyeing up my flat! Finally, Polly looked up from her phone. — Oh, come on, — she whined. — Rusty just wants the best for us. We’ll be really cramped in my place if we have kids. And your hallway is big enough for five-a-side! Mum always said family comes first. Remember, Serge? — Mum said family should help, not chuck each other out of their homes! — Anna snapped. — Do you even realise what your Rusty’s suggesting? — What’s so bad about it? — Polly batted her eyelashes. — He’s being reasonable. We need it more. You’re not even using your extra room. — It’s not spare! — Anna nearly shouted. — That’s my study! I work in there, have you forgotten? — ‘Work’… — Rusty rolled his eyes. — You post pictures on the internet? Polly says that’s just a hobby. You could perch at the kitchen table with your laptop, it’s not like you’re Lady Muck. Serge stood slowly. — Right, — he said in a low voice. — That’s enough. Time for you both to leave. — Serge, come off it, — Rusty didn’t budge. — We came here to have a sensible, family discussion. — Sensible? — Serge stepped up to the table. — You come here demanding my flat, insulting my wife, deciding where my daughter should live? Do you have any shame at all? — Shame? Serge! — Anna stood at her husband’s side. — It’s sheer greed. The bloke doesn’t even have a ring on your sister’s finger and he’s already divvying up her assets. Polly, do you even realise who you’ve brought into the family? He’ll chuck you out of your own place first chance he gets! — Don’t speak about him like that! — Polly shot up, too. — Rusty cares about me! About ‘us’! And you lot… just greedy, clinging onto your precious rooms. And you call yourselves family! — I’ll tell you who’s greedy — your future husband, — Serge pointed sternly towards the door. — Once and for all: get out. And forget about any flat swap. If I hear about it again, we’re done. No contact, ever. Rusty rose, straightening his shirt collar. Not a flicker of embarrassment — only annoyance. — Suit yourself, Serge. I thought we could be reasonable. But if you want to be stubborn… Polly, come on! Once the door slammed behind them, Anna collapsed onto the sofa. She was shaking. — Did you see that? Did you hear that? — she stared at Serge, wide-eyed. — The nerve! Who even is that guy? Serge was silent, standing at the window, watching Rusty open his car like he owned the place, barking something at Polly. — You know what’s worst? — Serge said at last. — Polly actually thinks he’s right. She’s always been… a bit away with the fairies, but this? — He’s brainwashed her! — Anna burst out. — Serge, ring your mum. Your parents need to hear what their future son-in-law’s really like. — Wait, — Serge pulled out his phone. — I’ll call my sister first. One-to-one. Without the peacock. He dialled. The call rang for ages before Polly, crying, picked up. — Hello, — came the muffled voice. — Polly, listen to me, — Serge’s tone was hard. — Are you with him, in the car? — What does it matter? — If he’s there, put me on speaker. He can hear this too. — I’m not. — Polly sniffled. — He dropped me outside and sped off. Said he needed to clear his head, because my family are all selfish. Serge, why are you all like this? He just wanted everything to be perfect… — Polly, wake up! — Serge almost shouted. — Perfect? He came here to wrangle my flat out of us! Did he even discuss this ‘swap’ with you beforehand? Silence. — No, — Polly whispered at last. — He said he had a surprise for everyone. A way to make things better for all of us. — Some surprise. He decides what’s best for you and me — never even asked. Polly, do you even realise who you’re marrying? He’s a gold digger. Today it’s our flat, tomorrow your car’s too small, and next he’ll be hinting your parents need to give up their cottage so he can get some ‘fresh air’. — Don’t say that… — Polly’s voice shook. — He loves me. — If he did, he wouldn’t be kicking off scandal for no reason. He’s just played us off against each other! Anna’s still in shock. Don’t you see? He wanted to turn us against each other. — I’ll talk to him, — Polly said uncertainly. — Do. And think hard before you head down the aisle. Serge hit disconnect, tossing his phone onto the sofa. — What did she say? — Anna whispered. — Said she didn’t know — Rusty had planned his ‘surprise’. Anna gave a bitter laugh. — Picture it: struts in thinking he owns the place, shifting people like chess pieces. Flats here, people there. Ugh. Makes my skin crawl. — Never mind, — Serge put his arm around his wife’s shoulder. — We’re not giving up our home. End of. But I feel sorry for my sister. She’s going to regret him. *** Serge and Anna’s worst fears didn’t come true — the wedding never happened. Rusty dumped Polly that very night. Polly, in tears, turned up at her brother’s later and told them what had happened. Rusty had returned immediately and started packing. Polly panicked, asking what was going on. Rusty declared he wasn’t about to become related to such selfish people. — Said he doesn’t need relatives like ‘that’, — Polly sobbed. — Said he can’t count on you. Said you wouldn’t even babysit for us when we need a weekend off. And you wouldn’t give us any money, even if we asked. — Oh, Polly, don’t let it get to you! — Anna protested. — You’re better off without him! You can’t count on someone like that. He’ll never care about anyone but himself. Forget him! Polly was upset for a couple of months, but she got over it. She realised the truth in time — and how had she not seen her fiancé’s rotten side before? If she’d married him, she’d have been miserable forever. She’d dodged a bullet — truly.

LIFE BACK ON TRACK “Lada, I forbid you from speaking to your sister or her family! They have their life, we have ours. Did you call Natasha again? Complain about me? I warned you. Don’t blame me for what happens,” Bogdan snarled, gripping my shoulder painfully. As always, I silently retreated to the kitchen, bitter tears stinging my eyes. No, I had never burdened my sister with complaints about my life—our conversations were simply about our elderly parents and family matters. That infuriated Bogdan. He hated my sister Natasha; her family enjoyed peace and comfort, unlike us. When I married Bogdan, I was the happiest girl in the world. Swept up in his whirlwind of passion, I didn’t care that he was a head shorter or that his mother arrived at our wedding barely staying upright. I later learned she was a long-time alcoholic. Love blinded me to everything, but after a year, I started doubting my happiness. Bogdan drank heavily, stumbling home drunk, then came the string of affairs. My salary as a nurse wasn’t great, but Bogdan preferred spending his time with fellow drinkers, never caring to provide for me. Where once I had dreamed of children, now I contented myself with caring for our prize pedigree cat. I no longer wanted a child with an alcoholic. Still, I loved Bogdan. “You silly girl, Lada! There are so many men around you, and you obsess over that little man! What do you see in him? You’re always covered in bruises from his beatings. Think nobody notices your black eyes under makeup? Leave before he kills you,” my friend and coworker would warn me. Bogdan’s anger often became physical—one day he beat me so badly I couldn’t make my shift, locking me in the flat as he left. After that, I lived in fear of him, my heart racing whenever his key turned in the lock. It felt as though he was punishing me for not giving him a child, for being a “bad wife,” for everything. Why did I still love Bogdan? His mother, witch-like, used to admonish, “Lada, obey your husband, love him with all you have, forget your family and friends—they’ll bring you no good.” And so I withdrew from loved ones and submitted entirely to Bogdan. I lived for his tearful apologies, when he begged forgiveness at my feet, showered our bed with rose petals (stolen from a mate’s wife next door). These reconciliations felt magical, lifting me to the clouds—until the cycle of violence resumed. I might still be trapped if not for a twist of fate—a stranger appeared: “Leave Bogdan, I have his son. You’re barren; let me give my child happiness.” I screamed at her to leave, but Bogdan couldn’t deny her claim. When I demanded the truth, he was silent—and I understood everything. “Lada, you never seem happy. Is something wrong?” asked the head doctor at my hospital, Mr. Herman Lyon, previously aloof. “I’m fine,” I stammered. “It’s a blessing to have your life in order. Then the world is beautiful,” he replied, his simple words piercing my soul. I realised my life was chaos—and time, running out, wouldn’t pause for me to sort myself. Eventually, I left Bogdan and moved back in with my parents. Mum was shocked: “Lada, has your husband thrown you out?” “No, Mum. I’ll explain everything later.” Bogdan’s mother called to hurl insults and curses, but I felt free and new, thanks to Mr. Lyon. Bogdan raged, stalked, threatened—but he never guessed he’d lost all hold over me. “Bogdan, don’t waste your time—I’ve moved on. Your son needs you. I’ve turned a new page. Goodbye.” At last, I returned to Natasha and my family. I became myself again, not someone’s puppet. “You’ve changed, Lada—you’re glowing, so full of life, you look like a bride!” my friend exclaimed. Mr. Lyon proposed: “Lada, marry me! I promise you won’t regret it. But please, just call me by my name—save the formalities for work.” “Do you really love me, Herman?” I asked, stunned. “Oh, forgive me—women want to hear it. I suppose I do love you. But I believe in actions more than words,” he answered, kissing my hand. “I will, Herman. I’m sure I can learn to love you,” I beamed. Ten years flew by. Every day, Herman proved his love—no empty words, no lies, just caring and generosity. We never had children of our own, but it never bothered Herman. “We were meant to be just the two of us, and that’s enough,” he always reassured me. His daughter gave us a beloved granddaughter, Sasha, who became the joy of our lives. As for Bogdan, he eventually drank himself to death before he turned fifty. His mother still glares at me if we meet, but her malice no longer touches me. I only pity her. And with Herman, life truly is back on track. Life is beautiful…

We’re Moving Into Your Flat — Olivia’s got a gorgeous flat in the city centre. Just had a makeover, it’s a dream place! — Perfect for a single girl, — Rustam smiled patronisingly at Anna, as if she were a child. — But we want a big family — two, no, even three kids. One after another, if possible. It’s noisy in the centre, there’s no fresh air, no parking. And the worst part — only two rooms. But here — three! Quiet neighbourhood, plus a nursery right in the courtyard. — It is a wonderful area, — agreed Sergei, still not quite grasping where his future brother-in-law was going with all this. — That’s why we settled here. — Exactly! — Rustam snapped his fingers. — I keep telling Olivia: why cramp ourselves when there’s a perfect solution right in front of us? The two of you and your daughter have too much space here. What do you need all these rooms for? You barely use one of them — it’s a glorified storage cupboard! For us, though — it’s ideal. Anna tried to wedge the vacuum cleaner into the impossibly narrow hallway cupboard. The vacuum battled back, snagging its hose on hangers and steadfastly refusing to fit in its designated home. — Sergei, help me out, will you! — she called toward the next room. — Either the cupboard’s shrunk or I’ve forgotten how to pack things away. Sergei poked his head out from the bathroom — he’d just finished fixing the tap. Calm, a bit slow-moving, he was everything his sprightly wife wasn’t. — Give it here, Anna. We’ll sort it out. He deftly grabbed the heavy machine and slotted it effortlessly into a corner. Anna gave a sigh of relief and leaned against the doorframe. — Tell me, why do we always run out of space? Three rooms, feels like a mansion, but every time we tidy up, it looks like we should just haul everything outside. — It’s your hoarding tendencies, love, — Sergei grinned. — Why do we need three dinner sets? We only use one and a half per year. — Leave them. They’re keepsakes. It’s grandmother’s flat, after all. After the wedding, Sergei’s parents split the inheritance fairly: He got this spacious three-bed in a quiet spot — granny’s old place; his sister Olivia the chic two-bed smack in the “golden square” of the city centre. Moneywise, it balanced out. Five years, everyone got on; nobody was jealous. Anna had naively thought it would always be this way, but… *** Spring-cleaning finished, chaos conquered, they slumped on the sofa. The TV went on. The doorbell rang almost instantly. Sergei went to answer. — It’s my sister and her boyfriend, — he called over his shoulder. Olivia flitted cheerfully through the door; behind her, lumbered Rustam. Anna had only met him twice: Olivia had picked him up at the gym six months ago. Rustam had never impressed — pompous and faintly disdainful. He always looked down his nose at both Anna and Sergei. — Hiya! — Olivia pecked her brother’s cheek and hugged Anna. — We were just passing and thought we’d pop in! And, big news! — Well, don’t just hover in the hall. News is always good, — Sergei gestured kitchen-ward. — Tea? — A glass of water, if that’s okay, — Rustam plodded in. — We’ve got something important to discuss, Sergei. They hadn’t just been ‘passing’. There was an agenda. Skip the tea — let’s get to business. Anna’s stomach knotted at Rustam’s tone. What is he up to? — Go on then, — Sergei said, shrugging. Olivia busied herself with her phone, left the talking to her fiancé. Rustam cleared his throat. — Here’s the thing. Olivia and I are engaged. Wedding’s in three months. It’s serious. Family and all that. We’ve taken a hard look at our living situation… We’ll move in here, and you can move into Olivia’s flat! Anna was gobsmacked. She stared at her husband, then at her sister-in-law, who kept scrolling as if the conversation had nothing to do with her. — Rustam, I’m not sure I follow, — Sergei frowned. — What exactly are you suggesting? — I’m not suggesting, I’m offering a practical, constructive solution. Let’s swap! We move here; you move into Olivia’s flat. Olivia’s on board with this — we both think it’s only fair. Anna was gobsmacked all over again. — Fair? — she repeated. — Rustam, are you serious? You waltz into our home and suggest we move out, just because you want to have kids? — No need to overreact, Anna, — Rustam grimaced. — I’m being realistic. You have one child, and as far as I know, you’re not planning on any more. So why cling to all this extra space? It’s wasteful. And we — we have plans. — Plans! Did you hear that? — Anna leaped up from her seat. — Sergei, he expects us to just uproot our life because it suits him! Sergei held up his hand for quiet. — Rustam, maybe you’ve forgotten that this flat was a gift from my parents, just as Olivia’s was for her. We spent five years doing it up, every skirting board picked by us. Our daughter’s growing up here — her room, all her friends. And you want us to just pack everything up and move to the centre because it’s more convenient for you? — Come on, mate, — Rustam slouched back in his chair. — We’re family. Olivia’s your blood sister. Aren’t you even a tiny bit concerned about your sister’s future? I’m offering an equal swap — you’d have a flat in a prime location, probably more valuable, actually. — This is a laugh, — Sergei snorted. — You’re not even married to my sister yet and you’re already after my flat! Olivia finally looked up from her phone. — Oh honestly, — she whined. — Rustam’s only thinking of what’s best. We really will be cramped in my place with kids around. And you’ve got that huge corridor — big enough for a football pitch. Mum always said, ‘Family comes first’. Did you forget? — Mum said ‘help each other’, Olivia, not that one should chuck the other out of their home! — Anna snapped. — Do you even hear yourself? — He’s got a point, — Olivia batted her lashes. — We’d make better use. — It’s not spare! — Anna nearly yelled. — That’s my office! I work in there, remember? — Work, — Rustam snorted. — Uploading pictures to the internet? Olivia told me, that’s just a hobby. Just use the kitchen table. Not like you’re some CEO. Sergei stood up, slow and steady. — That’s enough, — he said quietly. — Please see yourselves out. Both of you. — Sergei, calm down, mate! — Rustam didn’t budge. — We’re just trying to talk things through, like a family. — Family? — Sergei stepped forward. — You stroll in here asking for my flat, insult my wife, and presume where my daughter should grow up? Do you even hear yourself? — Oh please, Sergei! — Anna moved to stand by her husband. — He’s not thinking about anyone but himself. Barely put a ring on Olivia’s finger and already carving up the inheritance! Olivia, do you realise the sort of bloke you’ve brought home? He’ll be the first to kick you out of your own flat! — Don’t talk about him like that! — Olivia barked back. — Rustam cares about our future! And you two… you’re just obsessed with your precious flat. So selfish. Some family! — The only selfish one here is your fiancé, — Sergei jabbed a finger at the door. — Let me spell it out: out. And forget the whole swap idea — ever bring it up again, and we won’t be talking at all. Rustam stood up, straightened his collar. Annoyed, not embarrassed. — Big mistake, Sergei. I thought we could do this sensibly. Clearly you’re not open to reason… Olivia, let’s go. When the door slammed, Anna flopped onto the sofa, shaking. — Did you see that? Did you? The nerve! Who does he think he is? Sergei said nothing. He stood at the window, watching as Rustam strode to his car, barking irritably at Olivia. — The worst bit? — he said eventually. — Olivia honestly thinks he’s right. She’s always been a little… naive. But this? — He’s got her totally brainwashed! — Anna shot up. — We need to ring your mum. Your parents need to know what their future son-in-law’s up to. — Wait, — Sergei pulled out his phone. — I’ll ring Olivia. Just her, no peacocks hovering behind. He called, rang for ages, then Olivia answered — crying. — Hello, — she sniffed. — Olivia, listen carefully, — Sergei’s voice was cold. — Are you in the car with him now? — What does it matter? — If he’s with you, put me on speaker. I want him to hear too. — He’s not. He dropped me off at the flat and drove off. Apparently my family are “selfish to the core”. Sergei, why can’t you just help us? He only wants what’s best… — Olivia, wake up! — Sergei nearly shouted into the phone. — He tried to blackmail us out of our home! Did you even realise this is your inheritance, your home? And he’s already making plans for it. Did he even mention this swap before today? Silence. — No, — she whispered. — He just said he had a surprise for everyone, a brilliant solution. — Some surprise. Decided your future for you—without even asking. Olivia, do you know what you’re getting yourself into? He’s a total freeloader. Today it’s your flat; tomorrow it’s your car’s too small, and by next week, he’ll want your parents’ holiday cottage signed over, because “he needs fresh air”. — Don’t say that… — Olivia’s voice shook. — He loves me. — Love? He just tried to turn us all against each other! Anna’s still in shock. He played us off; that’s what he did. — I’ll talk to him, — Olivia said uncertainly. — You do that. And think seriously before you walk down the aisle. Sergei hung up and tossed his phone onto the sofa. — What did she say? — Anna whispered. — She didn’t know. It was all Rustam’s “surprise”. Anna gave a bitter laugh. — Typical. Comes strutting in, shuffling people around like chess pieces. Flats here, people there. Ugh, makes my skin crawl. — Don’t worry, — Sergei assured her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. — We’re not giving up this flat. Not a chance. But I feel bad for my sister. She’s heading for a train wreck. *** The worst didn’t happen. The wedding never came to be. Rustam left Olivia that very evening. Tear-stained, she showed up at Sergei’s in the night to explain. He’d come over, packed up, and announced he wasn’t marrying into a family of “misers”. — He said, “those kind of family aren’t worth having,” — Olivia sobbed. — Said we’d never help with the children or watch them on weekends so they could get a break. And we wouldn’t give them money if they asked. — Oh Olivia, don’t waste a tear, — Anna protested. — You don’t need a man like that! He’d never put you first. Family means nothing to him unless he gets something out of it. Good riddance! Olivia moped for a few months, then seemed to move on. Hindsight kicked in later. How had she not spotted her fiancé’s true colours sooner? If she’d married him, she’d have been miserable for life. Clearly, fate was looking out for her.