“What Do You Mean You Won’t Take Care of My Son’s Child?”: When Mother-in-Law Loses Her Temper and a Family Dinner Turns into a Showdown over Boundaries, Responsibility, and a Few Moscow Flats

Author Wanda MirandaReading 10 minViews 1

How can you say you arent going to help care for my sons child? my future mother-in-law finally burst out, unable to contain herself.

Firstly, Ive never turned my nose up at little George, I reminded her, quite matter-of-factly. Lets not forget that its me who rushes home from work every evening and puts in a second shiftcooking, cleaning, and generally keeping the place decent, as any respectable wife and mother would. Im happy to help or offer advice, but I wont be taking on full parental responsibility for him.

What do you mean, you wont? How hypocritical! she snapped.

Oh, hush, Claire, came the sharp retort from Sophie, as we sat in the corner at our old classmates gathering. Sophie, of course, hadnt lost the habit of commenting on everythingand everyone.

But it had been years since I was left floundering for a comeback. These days, I could stand up for myself, and this time I wasnt going to let Sophies sharp tongue get the better of me.

Just because youre constantly worried about scraping together enough pennies doesnt mean everyone else is in the same position, I said lightly, giving a little shrug. I inherited two flats in London from my father.

One of them where we lived until he and Mum divorced, the other came through from my grandparentsfirst to him, then to me. The rent you can get round those parts isnt at all what it is around here. So, yesI earn my keep and still have plenty to live comfortably. That means I can look for jobs I actually want, rather than just ones that pay.

Isnt that why you switched from being a nurse to working at the chemists? I added quietly.

That was meant to be a secret, reallyId promised not to mention it. But if Sophie wanted to keep things hush-hush, she should have thought twice before calling me names in front of everyone.

Did she really think Id let that slide? If so, it certainly wasnt me who was the fool.

A shop assistant? Seriously?

You promised youd keep it quiet! Sophie yelped, her face crumpling as she grabbed her handbag and hurried out of the pub, only just holding in her tears.

Well, she had that coming, Andrew observed after a pause.

Definitely. Shes been getting on everyones nerves for ages. Who even invited her? Tanya asked.

That was me, collecting everyone together, said Anna, whod been the form monitor back in school and now seemed to organise our little reunions. I mean, yes, Sophie wasnt exactly a darling back then, but people change. Or so they say. Some people do, anyway.

But not always, I shrugged.

The laugh we all shared at that was genuine. Then, thankfully, everyone turned to asking me about work.

Their curiosityas in, genuine curiosity, not disguised jabswas perfectly reasonable. After all, not many people know much about my field, and to be honest, most wouldnt want to. Its surrounded by all kinds of half-truths and myths.

I did my best to clear some of those up for my old school friends as we talked.

So why do you bother treating them at all, if theres no hope? someone asked.

Who said there isnt hope? I replied, leaning in. Take one of the boys I look afterfive years old. Something went wrong during birth, didnt get enough oxygen, and now hes a bit behind in his development. But you know, compared to other cases, hes doing really well. Didnt speak until he was nearly three, so now his parents have to cart him round to speech therapists and doctors. Still, theres every chance that when school starts, hell go along with everyone else, and get on just fine in life.

But if theyd just shrugged and done nothing, things could have ended up very differently.

I see. Basically, you dont have to chase every pound, so youve decided to do something worthwhile, Val summarised.

After that, the talk moved on to everyone else and their families.

But for the rest of that evening, I kept feeling that someones eyes were on me. For a second, I brushed it off as nerves, but the sense returnedlike a prickling at the back of my neck. When I glanced round, though, there wasnt a soul staring my way. No suspicious strangers, no uninvited attentions. I put it out of my mind and soon forgot all about it.

A week passed after that school reunion.

One morning, when I went down to the car park, I found someone had boxed my little motor in. I called the number left on their dash, and the voice on the other end was all apologies, promising to come down straight away and move the car.

Terribly sorry, said the young man, sheepish but charming, as he jogged over. I just had to come round for some errandsI couldnt find a single free space, and, well… My names Matthew, by the way.

Emma, I replied. There was something about himhis easy manner, his clothes, even his aftershavethat was instantly likable. So, when he asked me out for coffee, I accepted.

One date led to another, then another, and before long, three months had come and gone. I could hardly imagine my days without Matthew.

His mother and his son from his first marriage quickly welcomed me into their fold. Young George was a special boy, but thanks to my training, I found the right way to talk to him, and even suggested some new techniques to help Matthew connect and support his son better.

By the end of our first year together, wed moved in. I packed up and let out my own flat through the same agency that handled my London properties, and settled into their home.

Thats when the first warning signs began to appear. At first it was just, Could you help George get ready? or Would you mind keeping an eye on him while I nip to the shops?

I didnt mind, seeing as George and I got along, and as long as I wasnt tied up with other things. But the requests started to pile up, becoming more and more of a burden.

Eventually, I had to have a frank discussion with Matthew. His son, I reminded him, was his primary responsibility. I was happy to pitch in where I could, but I wasnt obliging myself to take on most of the workafter all, George wasnt my child, and my job took enough out of me when it came to working with special children.

Matthew seemed to understand, but before our wedding, he and his mother began discussing Georges rehabilitation programme in a way that made it clear they expected me to run things in my spare time.

Hold on, everyone, I interrupted, unmoved. Matthew, you and I agreedGeorge is your son, and youre the one who takes the lead with him. I dont ask you to pop round and do my mothers cleaning, paint her walls, or solve her house problems. I handle those myself, as far as I can.

Thats hardly the same, his mother sniffed. Mothers are different. Theyre grownups, they live on their own. Children, on the other hand, are children. Are you seriously telling me youll carry on ignoring George after the wedding?

For one thing, I dont ignore George. Id remind everyone that in this house, its me who gets in after work and sorts tea, does the laundry, and leaves everything tidy. Im happy to help and offer guidance, but Im not here to take over Georges rehabilitation. Hes your son first and foremost, Matthewits your job, not mine.

How can you say that? Yet you tell those stories to your friends about your jobthe sort of tales that put you on a pedestal. When it comes to really looking after the boy, though, youre suddenly nowhere to be found.

Where is all this coming from? I asked, genuinely puzzled.

Then it struck meMatthews mother had been working part-time at the very pub where our school reunion was held.

It didnt take long to piece things together.

Ah, right. So this was all a set-up, was it? You wanted me around so you could hand over Georges care to me?

You think I fancied a woman like you for any other reason? Matthew snapped. If it werent for George and your line of work, Id never have looked at you twice

Is that so? Well then, dont look, I said coldly, pulling off my ring and tossing it at him.

Youll be sorry, Matthew and his mother snapped together. No real man wants a dull little mouse like you, with your dead-end job and no prospects.

Ive got two flats in London, so Im not short of a few quid, I replied with a smirk, and left to pack my bagsmaking sure to enjoy the look on their faces as I did so.

Of course, they tried to make amends right awaypromising Matthew would manage Georges needs himself, swearing hed never speak to me like that again, that hed been tired and overworked, and that he truly couldnt help loving me so much.” But Id learned my lesson, and I had no intention of being taken for a mug. I laughed to myself, thinking how Matthew had let his little mouse slip through his fingers, and didnt look back.

Later, when I told the tale to my old classmates, we all had a good chuckle. I still hope, one day, I might find someone who loves me not for my money or my skills, but simply for who I am.

For now, my rewarding work, my friends, and perhaps a new cat will do just fine. After all, a cats far easier to train than some men I could mention.

GRANNY, MY GUARDIAN ANGEL Lena never knew her parents. Her father abandoned her mother while she was pregnant, and Lena never heard from him again. Her mother passed away from cancer when Lena was just a year old. Lena was raised by her grandmother, Nana Dorothy, her mother’s mother. Dorothy’s husband died when she was young, so she devoted her entire life to her daughter and granddaughter. From Lena’s earliest days, she and her grandmother shared a deep spiritual bond. Nana Dorothy always seemed to know what little Lena wanted, and the two understood each other perfectly. Everyone loved Nana Dorothy, from neighbours to Lena’s teachers at school. She often brought baskets of homemade pastries to school meetings, believing nobody should sit hungry after a long day’s work. She never gossiped or judged, and people often came to her for advice. Lena felt incredibly lucky to have such a wonderful grandmother. But Lena’s own romantic life never seemed to take off. School, university, work—she was always busy, always rushing. She’d dated a few men, but nothing ever seemed right. Nana Dorothy often worried about this. “Oh, Elena, why are you still single? Isn’t there a decent young man out there? You’re so beautiful and clever!” Lena would laugh it off, but inside, she knew she was ready for a family—after all, she was thirty now. When Nana Dorothy passed away suddenly in her sleep, Lena was devastated and numb with grief. She kept going to work and running errands, but at home, only her cat, Maisie, awaited her. She felt unbearably alone. One day, while riding the train and reading a book, Lena met a well-dressed, pleasant man in his forties named Alex. He struck up a conversation about books, and they hit it off right away. When Alex invited her to a nearby café, Lena was delighted. Soon, they were swept up in a passionate romance. Though she didn’t know much about Alex—he avoided questions about his past and family—Lena felt truly happy for the first time. Then, one night, Alex invited her to a fancy restaurant, hinting that the evening would be special. Lena suspected he would propose, and she was over the moon. She would finally have a husband, children—a family of her own. If only her grandmother could have seen this day. Later, as Lena scrolled for the perfect dress online, she dozed off and dreamt of her grandmother. Nana Dorothy, in her favourite dress, sat beside Lena and gently stroked her hair. “Gran, how are you here? You’ve gone,” Lena whispered. “I never left, darling, I’m always nearby. Please, don’t see this man. He’s not good for you. Listen to your grandmother,” Dorothy replied, then faded away. Lena woke up shaken, unable to shake the feeling of unease. Why would her grandmother warn her about Alex? The big day arrived, but Lena, clouded by her dream, couldn’t settle on anything to wear and felt unsettled throughout dinner. When Alex went down on one knee and presented a ring, Lena was overcome by a vision of her grandmother looking in the window. “I’m sorry, Alex. I can’t,” Lena blurted out and rushed away. Alex chased after her, his gentle mask slipping as he hurled insults and stormed off. The next day, Lena asked her old school friend Andrew, now a detective, to check on Alex’s background. Soon after, Andrew called: “Lena, I’m sorry—you dodged a bullet. Alex is a con artist. He marries single women, convinces them to sign over their flats and take loans for his ‘business,’ then dumps them and disappears after emptying their savings. He’s already been convicted multiple times. You were lucky to get out in time.” How could her grandmother have known any of this? Miracles happen, Lena thought, grateful her granny was still watching over her. She picked up groceries and cat food for Maisie, heading home with a lighter heart, knowing she was never truly alone. They say the souls of our loved ones watch over us—our guardian angels, keeping us safe from harm and heartache… And sometimes, you just have to believe it’s true.

JUST IN CASE After Vera glanced indifferently at her weeping colleague and turned back to her computer, OIga, the department head, called out, “Heartless as ever, Vera.” “Me? Why do you say that?” Vera replied. “Just because your personal life is all sunshine, doesn’t mean others have it so easy. Can’t you see the girl’s heartbroken? Maybe give some advice, share a bit of your experience, since everything’s so perfect for you.” “Me? Share my wisdom? With her? I doubt Nadine would appreciate it. I tried, you know, five years back when she came to work with a black eye — said it helped her see the road home. It wasn’t her bloke, though; no, she did it herself, just a bad fall. When he left, the bruises disappeared. Third chap to bolt, by the way. I tried to help, share my story. Ended up the bad guy, apparently — just the jealous destroyer of Nadine’s happiness. Now she’s all modern, does therapy instead of spells. Still, it’s the same old cycle, just swapping names. So excuse me if I won’t be weeping and offering tissues this time.” “Still, Vera, it’s not right.” At lunch — everyone round the same table — the only topic was Nadine’s ex, the louse. Vera ate in silence, poured herself a coffee, and retreated to a quiet corner, scrolling her phone, trying to switch off. “Vera,” came the voice — bubbly Tanya, usually all sunshine, but today her face had clouded up. “You really don’t feel even a bit sorry for Nadine?” “Tanya, what do you all want from me?” “Oh, lay off her,” chimed in passing Irene. “She’s got her precious William — living the life of Riley, she’ll never get how it is to be left alone with a kid, fending for yourself. Try getting child support out of that so-called dad now.” “Shouldn’t have bothered having his kid in the first place,” piped up Mrs Taylor, oldest of the lot, whom everyone called Granny Taylor behind her back. “Vera’s right — how many times has Nadine blubbed over some fella? Even when she was expecting, he was already doing her head in. Before that — don’t get me started…” The circle of women gathered around the ever-crying Nadine, each offering advice. What was the point? Strong, independent Nadine was determined to bounce back: called her mum from the countryside to help with her son and that ungrateful ex, then tried to move on — had a new fringe, had her brows microbladed, stuck on eyelashes, almost got a nose ring, but the whole office talked her out of it. And off she went. “It’s nothing, Nadine — he’ll regret it, you’ll see!” “No, he won’t,” Vera muttered, more to herself than anyone, but the tipsy girls overheard, demanding an explanation. “He won’t. He won’t cry, and he won’t regret it. And Nadine? She’ll just meet another one, just like before…” “Easy for you to say, with your William, must be perfect, eh?” “Perfect… my William is golden — doesn’t hit, doesn’t drink, doesn’t chase women, loves me to bits.” “Oh come on, they’re all the same. Watch out, Vera, someone might nick him from you!” “Never — he won’t stray.” “I wouldn’t be so sure.” “You should be.” Fueled by wine and mischief, the girls start teasing: “Let’s all go see if your William can resist our charms! Bet you won’t invite us round. Afraid one of us will snatch your Mr Perfect?” “Alright, let’s go,” Vera grinned. “Right! To Vera’s house, girls! Granny Taylor, are you coming?” “No, girls, my Michael’s waiting at home. Off you pop!” A rattling, giggling crowd descended on Vera’s place; they bustled about the kitchen, laughing while they cooked. “Let’s whip up a dinner for William — I take it he’s out? He’ll be back to a lovely spread.” “Don’t put yourselves out; he’s fussy, barely eats, but yes, he’ll be home soon.” The excitement faded, and soon everyone drifted home, except Nadine, Olga, and Tanya. They sipped tea in Vera’s cosy kitchen, awkward, curious about the mysterious William. The front door opened. “William, my darling, you’re home!” crooned Vera. The women straightened up, suddenly nervous as a tall, handsome young man walked in. Ah, they all thought, so that’s the secret — her husband is much younger! “Girls, meet my Dennis.” Dennis? But… what about William? “My son, Dennis. So, how’s William, Denny?” “Fine, Mum. He just needs rest. He’ll be running about in a couple of days. Just don’t let him lick…” The women blushed. “We… should probably go?” “Wait — you haven’t met William! Quiet now; he’s just had surgery, Dennis and his girlfriend took him in, poor thing was marking the curtains… come meet him.” “There he is, my William, fast asleep.” Stifling laughter, the ladies dashed out. “Vera! It’s a cat!” “Of course it’s a cat. What did you think?” “But… your husband?” “Never had one. You all made that up — I mentioned my perfect William, and you filled in the gaps. First marriage was young and dumb, had Dennis, split up quick. Parents helped. Second time, I almost believed in fairy tales, but he wanted me to ship Dennis off to boarding school. Sent him back to his mum. Third bloke… well, he gave me a black eye, and I gave him the boot. Dennis grew up, got married, I got William. We get along. Movie nights, holidays — nobody owes anybody. Sometimes I cook a fancy dinner, he pops round; everyone’s happy.” Dennis never did get it. Asked why I didn’t live with William. Why? Separate lives, separate habits. If we’d met young, maybe — like my brother and his wife, married thirty years. But me? Nah, no need to fake it for the sake of a title. Me and William, we’re just fine. Right, lovey? Open those pretty eyes.” Home they all trudged, deep in thought — Nadine most of all. But Nadine couldn’t do as Vera did. Within a month, she was gushing over a new love, showing off bouquets at the office. Vera and Granny Taylor just smiled quietly. “How’s your Michael, Granny?” “He’s good, Vera, all healed up. Grandkids wanted him in a dog show — can you imagine? We’re happy enough without all that.” “Some get pets, some get husbands…” “Well, that’s how it goes. Maybe Nadine’s luck will change this time?” “Here’s hoping…” “What are you two whispering about?” “You, Nadine, just hoping things turn out better for you.” “I know how it looks, girls, but I just can’t do it alone, I swear.” “That’s none of our business — don’t apologise, everyone’s got their own way…” “Vera?” Nadine caught her as she walked to her car. “If you ever have tips about cats — which is better, boy or girl?” “Go on, don’t keep them waiting… we’ll see! Just in case…”

Strangers in Our Flat Katya was the first to open the door and froze on the threshold. From inside the flat came the sound of the television, voices chatting in the kitchen, and a strange smell. Behind her, Maksim nearly dropped his suitcase in shock. “Quiet,” she whispered, extending her arm. “Someone’s here.” On the beige sofa—their favourite—lounged two total strangers. A tracksuit-clad man clicked through the channels on the remote, beside him sat a plump woman knitting. Cups, plates with crumbs, and various medicines littered the coffee table. “Sorry, who are you?” Katya’s voice trembled. The strangers turned, completely unfazed. “Oh, you’re home,” said the woman, not even pausing her knitting. “We’re Lida’s relatives. She gave us the keys and said there were no owners here.” Maksim blanched. “What Lida?” “Your mum,” the man finally stood. “We’re from Bristol—here with Misha for his check-ups. She put us up here, said you wouldn’t mind.” Katya walked slowly to the kitchen. At the stove, a teenage boy of about fifteen was frying sausages. The fridge brimmed with unfamiliar food. Dirty dishes were piled on the table. “And you are?” “Misha,” he turned. “What, can’t I eat? Grandma Lida said it was fine.” Katya returned to the hallway, where Maksim was already pulling out his phone. “Mum, what on earth are you doing?” His voice was quiet, but angry. From the phone came his mother’s breezy voice: “Maksim, you’re back? Did you enjoy your trip? Listen, I gave the keys to Svetlana, she and Vitya are in London, had to take Misha for some doctors. Thought, well, your flat’s empty, no point letting it go to waste? They’re just here for a week.” “Mum, did you ask us?” “Why ask? You weren’t there. Just tell them I’m responsible for the flat, so they’ll tidy when they leave.” Katya snatched the phone: “Lydia Petrovna, are you serious? You just let strangers stay in our home?” “What strangers? That’s my cousin Svetlana! We shared a bed as kids.” “And I’m supposed to care who you shared a bed with? This is our flat!” “Katya, don’t get worked up. Family, that’s all. They’re quiet, won’t break anything. Their boy’s sick, they needed help. Or are you that stingy?” Maksim took the phone back: “Mum, you’ve got one hour to come and take them out. All of them.” “But Maksim, they’re meant to stay until Thursday! Misha’s got tests, they needed the consultations. They booked a hotel, I just helped them save money.” “Mum. One hour. If you’re not here, I’ll call the police.” He hung up. Katya sank down onto the hall stool, face in her hands. Suitcases stood unpacked. The television murmured in the lounge, sausages sizzled in the kitchen. Two hours ago, they were on a plane, dreaming of being home at last. Now, she felt like an unwelcome guest in her own flat. “We’ll get ready,” the woman from the lounge appeared, sheepish. “Lida thought you wouldn’t mind. We would have asked, but didn’t have your number. Lida suggested, and we agreed. Thought we’d stay a week, do the hospital stuff.” Maksim stood silently by the window, tension written in his back. Katya knew it meant he was furious at his mother, but couldn’t say so out loud. “Where’s our cat?” she burst out, suddenly panicked. “What cat?” “Murzik. Ginger. We literally left keys for him.” “No idea,” Svetlana shrugged. “We haven’t seen him.” Katya combed the flat. She found the cat wedged under the bed, fur bristled, eyes wide. When she tried to coax him out, he hissed. “Murzik, darling,” she lay on the floor. “It’s me. It’s okay.” He watched her warily. The room reeked of strangers. Unfamiliar pills cluttered her nightstand, the bed was made differently, someone else’s slippers littered the floor. Maksim squatted beside her. “Sorry.” “For what? You didn’t know.” “For my mum. For her being like this.” “She thinks she’s right.” “She always does,” he fumed. “Remember when we first moved, she barged in unannounced? I thought I’d explained—turns out not.” Voices echoed from the hallway. His mum had arrived. Katya stood, smoothed her hair, went out. Lydia Petrovna stood, indignant: “Maksim, are you mad?” “Mum, please, sit in the kitchen.” “Sit? Svetlana, Vitya, start packing, they’re kicking us out. We’ll go to mine.” “Mum, sit. Please.” She noticed his expression and finally fell silent. They all moved to the kitchen, where Misha finished off sausages. “Mum,” Maksim sat opposite her, “explain how you thought it was okay to let people in our flat without asking?” “I was helping! Svetlana phoned, crying—Misha’s ill, needed to come to London, nowhere to stay. Your flat was empty.” “Mum, it isn’t your flat.” “How’s it not mine? I’ve got keys.” “The keys—so you could feed the cat, not run a B&B.” “Maksim, it’s family! Svetlana’s my sister, we’ve always been close. Vitya’s a good lad, hard-working. Misha’s sick, needs help. And you’d turf them out?” Katya’s hands shook as she poured herself water. “Lydia Petrovna, you didn’t ask us.” “Why would I? You weren’t home!” “Which is exactly why you should have!” Maksim was raising his voice now. “We have phones! You could have called, texted—asked. Then we’d have decided.” “So you’d have just said no?” “Maybe. Or agreed for a couple of days, with conditions. But we’d have known. It’s called respect.” Lydia stood up: “Always the way. I try to help and get it thrown in my face. Svetlana, get your things; we’re off to mine.” “Mum, you’ve only got the one-bed. You said yourself it’s too small for four.” “We’ll cope. Better than with the ungrateful.” Katya set down her glass. “Lydia Petrovna, please. You know perfectly well you were wrong. Otherwise, you’d have phoned us.” Her mother-in-law stopped dead. “You knew we’d say no, that’s why you presented it as a fait accompli. You figured we’d come back, see them already here, and just put up with it. Right?” “I only wanted to help.” “No. You wanted it your way. That’s different.” For the first time, Lydia looked lost. “Svetlana was crying. Misha was really suffering. I felt sorry for them.” “And that makes sense,” said Maksim. “But it wasn’t yours to offer. Mum, how would you feel if I let my mates stay in your flat while you were away—without asking?” “I’d be furious.” “Exactly.” They sat in silence. In the lounge, the family started packing. Svetlana cried quietly, Vitya packed bags, Misha hovered at the kitchen door, eyes downcast. “Sorry,” mumbled the boy. “I thought it’d be okay. Grandma said.” Katya looked at him: just a scared kid. None of this was his fault. “You haven’t done anything wrong; go help your parents.” Lydia pulled out a handkerchief. “I really thought it was for the best. Didn’t cross my mind to ask. You’re my children, I’ve always done everything for you so I just thought…” “We’re not kids anymore, Mum. We’re thirty. We have our own lives.” “I understand,” Lydia stood. “Do you want your keys back?” “Yes,” Katya nodded. “Sorry, but we’ve lost trust.” “I get it.” Svetlana’s family left quickly, with long, awkward apologies. Lydia took them to hers, assuring them they’d squeeze in somehow. Maksim closed the door behind them and slumped against it. They wandered through the flat in silence. Fresh sheets were needed, the fridge had to be cleared out. Signs of other people everywhere: forgotten things, moved furniture, dirty dishes. Murzik still cowered under the bed. “Do you think she understood?” Katya asked, opening the kitchen window. “Don’t know. I’d like to think so.” “And if not?” “Then we’ll be firmer. I won’t let this happen again.” She hugged him amid the mess that wasn’t theirs but in their own home. “The worst bit?” she stepped back. “The cat. We did all this for him, and he’s been starving and terrified through this whole circus.” “Do you think they even fed him?” “Doesn’t look like it. His bowl’s empty, water filthy. Probably forgot about him.” Maksim knelt by the bed: “Murzik, I’m sorry mate. Mum’s not getting those keys again.” The cat cautiously stuck out his head, then crept out to rub against Maksim’s legs. Katya fetched some food, which he devoured like he hadn’t eaten in days. They set about cleaning. Threw away the strangers’ food, changed the bedding, washed up. Murzik ate and curled up asleep, flat once again their own. That evening, Lydia called. Her voice was quiet, apologetic: “Maksim, I’ve been thinking. You were right. I’m sorry.” “Thank you, Mum.” “Is Katya angry with me?” He looked at his wife, she nodded: “She is. But she’ll forgive you. In time.” Afterwards, they sat for a long time, drinking tea in silence. Twilight thickened beyond the windows. The flat was clean, quiet, theirs again. Their holiday had ended, suddenly and brutally.

The Only Man in the House Over breakfast one morning, Vera, the eldest daughter, glanced at her phone and asked, “Dad, have you seen today’s date?” “No, what’s special about it?” She turned the phone to show the string of numbers: 11.11.11 – November 11th, 2011. “It’s your lucky number, Dad – 11, and today there are three in a row. You’re going to have an amazing day.” “From your lips to God’s ears,” Val chucked. “That’s right, Dad,” Nadya chimed in, her eyes never leaving her screen. “Horoscopes say that Scorpios are due for a life-changing gift today!” “Brilliant. Probably some rich unknown relation in America or Europe just died and left everything to us… Millionaires, no—billionaires!” “Come on, Dad, you’d need to dream bigger!” Vera joked. “Imagine what we could do with all that money—buy a villa in the English countryside, or a place on the Cornish coast? Then a yacht…” “And a helicopter!” Nadya squealed. “I want my own helicopter!” “Sorted. One helicopter for you. And for you, Vera?” “I want to act in a BBC drama with Benedict Cumberbatch!” “No problem, I’ll call someone at the Beeb, sort it out… All right, daydreamers, finish up—we need to head out.” “Aww, can’t we dream a bit longer?” Nadya sighed. “Dreams are important,” Val smiled, finishing his tea, “but don’t forget you’ve got school.” That morning chat popped into Val’s mind at the end of a very ordinary, not-so-lucky day. He was packing groceries into bags at Sainsbury’s, exhausted after staying late at work—no sign of good fortune, no life-changing meetings, let alone gifts. “Happiness just flew over, like a paper plane past the London Eye,” he snorted to himself as he left the shop. By his battered old Vauxhall, a scruffy boy loitered, shouting with everything about him that he was homeless: torn clothes, mismatched shoes—one worn-out boot, one odd sneaker with a frayed lace tied with blue electrical wire. On his head, a greasy winter hat, one earflap half-burned. “Mister, I… I’m hungry—could you spare some bread?” the boy asked in a stilted, rehearsed voice. It wasn’t the boy’s pitiful look, nor the Dickensian phrase, that struck Val—it was the way he said it. Val, who’d once trained with the local am-dram, recognised the telltale pause of an actor pretending. The boy was lying. All of it, a performance. Val nearly smiled. “All right, let’s play your game. My daughters love a detective story…” “Bread won’t fill you up. How about soup, then roasties with a bit of kipper, and pudding—apple crumble, perhaps?” The boy flinched, not expecting the offer, then returned to his part, eyes narrowing. Val dragged out the moment, fiddling with keys and the shopping, waiting to see if the lad would run—with real homeless kids, their exit instincts were strong. This one stayed, clutching the bag. “Right, into the car you get, dinner’s on.” Val’s home was a cottage just outside a quiet market town where he worked as a gas repair engineer—a single dad with no close family but heaps of love for his girls, and a special soft spot for kids in need, being an orphan himself. The girls dashed out to meet them, goggling at their father’s new companion. “Is this our life-changing gift?” Nadya asked, peering under the boy’s hat. “Dad, are you sure he’s our present and not someone else’s—a faulty one at that?” The siblings whisked the boy inside, falling immediately into a game of “good cop, bad cop.” In the kitchen, the mask finally cracked. The boy washed up, stripped of his disguise, revealed his name—Spartacus Bull—his ginger hair wild and clear blue eyes nervous yet honest. Over dinner, the tale spilled out. His father had died a hero’s death, his mother lost in heartbreak, and Spartacus and his little sisters had survived together thanks to his eldest sister, Sophie. Now Sophie, at 23, was smitten—with none other than Val. She was scared, worried her brood might put off any man. Spartacus, the “only man in the house,” had staged his orphan street act to see for himself if Val and his daughters would welcome his beloved sister. Would they love her—and her “bunch of kids”—as family? The family, in true English spirit, roared with laughter at the boy’s cheek—and, in the next moment, warmly welcomed both Spartacus and the prospect of a bigger, rowdier, perhaps even happier blended family. As Nadya declared, “See, Dad, you were granted the best gift after all—a big, brilliant, loving family—just like you always wanted.”