Harlan Covington, Author at Trending Link

And Then She Realised Her Mother-in-Law Wasn’t Nearly as Difficult as She Had Thought All These Years

One more thing she realised her mother-in-law wasnt as bad as shed thought all these years.

“Mum, I’m Ten Now, Aren’t I?” Little Michael’s Quest for a Dog and the Promise His Parents Would Rather Forget

Mum, Im ten already, arent I? said Charlie suddenly as he came in from school. So what? Mum looked up

The Only Man in the House Over breakfast, Vera, the eldest daughter, peered at her phone and asked, “Dad, did you see today’s date?” “No, what’s special about it?” Instead of answering, she turned her phone to him: on the screen— a row of numbers: 11.11.11, that is, the 11th of November 2011. “That’s your lucky number, Dad—eleven. And today you get three in a row. It’s bound to be an amazing day.” “If only your words came with honey,” Valery chuckled. “Yes, Daddy,” chipped in younger daughter Nadya, eyes glued to her mobile, “Horoscope says Scorpios should expect a pleasant encounter and a lifelong gift.” “Brilliant. Perhaps some distant relative in Europe or America we’ve never met has passed away, and we’re the only heirs—millionaires…” “Billionaires, Dad,” Vera laughed. “Millions would be petty for you.” “Honestly, even billions—what would we do with all that? Buy a villa in Italy? Maldives? A yacht next?” “And a helicopter, Dad,” Nadya squealed, “I want my own helicopter!” “No problem, sweetheart, you’ll have a helicopter. And you, Vera?” “I want to star in a Bollywood film with Salman Khan.” “Oh, that’s easy! I’ll call Amitabh Bachchan, we’ll sort it out…Anyway, dreamers, finish up, we’ve got to leave for school.” “Oh, we’re not even allowed to dream?” Nadya sighed. “Not true—dreaming is a must,” said Valery, finishing his tea and standing up from the table. “Just don’t forget about school…” This morning chat came back to him in the supermarket as he loaded groceries into bags. The day was almost done, and it hadn’t turned out special at all. More work, overtime, and tired as a dog. No magical encounters, let alone a lifelong present. “Happiness just flew past, like plywood over Paris,” Valery grinned to himself as he left the shop. By his faithful, twenty-five-year-old British banger, a boy was loitering. Obvious down-and-out. His clothes a patchwork of rags; on his feet one unlaced trainer and a battered boot, held by a blue electrical wire. His hat was an old beat-up earflap cap, with the right flap half-burnt. “Please, sir… I’m hungry… could I have some bread?” the boy rasped as Valery approached the car. It was the slight, very real hesitation in his voice that struck Valery—his years at the local am-dram theatre had taught him to spot truth from acting. This boy was faking. The mask, the shabby look—all a performance, but why? If there’s a sixth sense, Valery felt it now—it was all for his benefit. “Alright, mate, let’s play your game. My girls will love it—they absolutely live for detective stories.” “Bread won’t fill you up,” Valery said to the kid. “How about a bowl of stew, some potatoes with herring, and plum compote with a couple of hot Chelsea buns?” For a moment the boy froze, not expecting this. Then he nodded, clutching the grocery bag handed to him. This was Valery’s test. True runaways always legged it with the food. Not this lad. He stood, fidgeting, but didn’t run. “Come along, sir,” Valery beckoned, holding open the car door. “Your carriage awaits. Spuds are on the boil, soup is warming.” The journey home was quiet. Valery, a welder for over a decade, lived with his daughters in a village outside the county town. Himself a care-leaver, he’d always tried to help unfortunate children, taking them in until new families were found. If it weren’t for the idiotic rules and frozen-hearted officials, he’d have adopted every single one. “Material conditions, single father, already two kids”—as if loveless state care beat a family home where love overflowed. But the system thought otherwise… Arriving home, the girls ran to meet the car. When they spotted the boy: “What’s this, Dad?” “This?” Valery grinned, “This is that pleasant acquaintance and lifelong present you predicted, remember?” “Awesome, Dad,” Nadya said, peering under the boy’s hat. “Maybe you took the wrong one—it looks second-hand.” “If only—he latched on to my leg, wouldn’t let go!” “What’s his name?” Vera asked, dragging the bags inside. “No label, no price tag.” “Shame. Dad, you got a defective one…” The boy grew tense again; Nadya, noticing, clamped him by the shoulder, patting his cap. “Hello? Anyone home?” The boy buried his head turtle-like inside his coat. “Signal’s bad out here,” Vera mimed, “let’s try indoors.” The three of them bustled into the house, the boy squeezed between them “like he was in a vice,” bags in hand—while Valery parked the car and grinned over their antics. Soon, Nadya exploded back in: “Dad, he’s lying!” “How do you know?” “Elementary, Watson—he doesn’t even smell like a street kid! Just… home!” “You sniffed him?” “I did. Want a guess what it is?” “I give up—a bun? Baby soap? Clotted cream?” She held out her hand with black smudges. “Makeup?” “Prize for Dad—it’s theatrical makeup. He slathered it on so we’d think he was a poor, dirty waif.” “He said his name’s Bull,” Nadya carried on, “but it’s an obvious street nickname, like ‘Ox.’ I asked Google, it means ‘breeding bull’…” “…Fat chance, we’ll plump him up and cash in…” “Dad, get serious!” Nadya exclaimed, dropping the jokes. “I’m sure he targeted you on purpose. Dressed up, caked on makeup—theatre of one actor. Why?” “…He’s hiding something, playing a role,” agreed Vera. “Let’s see if we can crack him.” Inside, Valery finally saw the boy cleaned up: about ten, flaming ginger hair, blue eyes, striped vest with “UK” stencilled across it, ripped jeans, bare feet hidden under the chair. He sat at the table, spine straight, shoulders back, as if among family, not strangers. The change was remarkable. After a bit of banter, the pressure was too much for the boy. He admitted the truth. It turned out his name was Sam Buckley; he was only a day older than Nadya—also eleven. His father had died in service overseas, and his mother passed in childbirth. He and his sisters were raised by his eldest sibling, nearly an adult herself, who fought tooth and nail to keep the family together. They muddled through alright, growing up fast together. A while ago, Sam’s sister Sophie had fallen for someone but was too shy to admit it—even to herself. Eventually, Sam found out the chosen one was Valery Boris Zvyagintsev—sober, gentle welder, single father of two. Sam knew Valery sometimes fostered lost children. That inspired his idea: to dress as a vagrant, infiltrate the Zvyagintsevs’ home, investigate them from the inside, and see if they were good enough for his big sister. “I really like you lot, I do. Vera, Nadya, you’re wonderful. Mr. Zvyagintsev, please marry my sister. She’s lovely, you’ll love her—she’s good, kind, just like my mum… She wanted to speak to you herself but was scared you wouldn’t want her because… well, because she’s got a few kids in her care…” “Pfft!” scoffed Vera. “Don’t be daft—‘a few kids.’ Honestly, you need raising properly!” “We’ll sort that,” Nadya announced. “Dad, stop gawping—do we have a deal? Are we going to propose, or not?” Valery smiled. “You know, I noticed Sophie myself… I hesitated—remarriage is a big step. My first wife bailed after two kids; Sophie’s young, with a houseful…” “She’s twenty-three, Dad!” Sam broke in. “That’s not so much older than you, Dad,” Nadya added. “Exactly—you’re experienced, she’s kind, we’ll all help.” “I agree!” Sam said. “Say yes, Dad?” his daughters pleaded, squeezing in tight. Valery grinned through tears. “Alright—let’s go meet the bride…” “Sophie says yes!” Sam shook his hand, pulling him into a hug, “As the only man in my family, I give Sophie’s hand to you…” The girls cheered, Valery hugged Sam, and their new, big, boisterous family began—exactly the lifelong gift they’d been hoping for. The Only Man in the House

The Only Man in the House 11 November 2011 Breakfast always brings chatter, but this morning stood out.

GRANDMA, MY GUARDIAN ANGEL Lena never knew her parents. Her father left 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. From then on, Lena was raised by Granny Dot—her mum’s mum—who had lost her own husband young and devoted her life entirely to her daughter and granddaughter. From Lena’s earliest days, she and her grandmother shared a unique, unbreakable bond. Granny Dot always knew exactly what Lena needed, and there was nothing but understanding between them. Everyone loved Granny Dot, from the neighbours to the teachers at school. She would often attend parents’ evenings bearing a basket of homemade scones—after all, nobody should sit hungry at meetings after a long day’s work. She never gossiped or spoke ill of others; people regularly came to her for advice. Lena felt so lucky to have such a wonderful grandma. Lena’s own romantic life, however, wasn’t so fortunate. School, university, and work kept her constantly rushing about; she dated now and then but never found the right person. Granny Dot worried about it: — “Why are you still single, darling? Surely there’s a nice lad out there for a beautiful, clever girl like you!” Lena would laugh it off, but deep down, she knew it was time to settle down—she was nearly thirty, after all. Then, suddenly, Granny Dot was gone: her heart simply stopped one night as she slept. Lena was beside herself, unable to accept what had happened. She went through the motions—work, shopping—on autopilot, and at home, only her cat Molly awaited her. The loneliness was sometimes unbearable. One day, on the train home, Lena was reading a book when a pleasant-looking, well-dressed man about forty sat opposite her. He watched her for a while, and, strangely, she didn’t mind. Eventually, he struck up a conversation about books—something Lena could discuss for hours. It felt like a scene from a romantic film. When her stop came, the man—Alex—invited her for coffee. Lena agreed, heart fluttering. Thus began a whirlwind romance. They spoke on the phone and messaged every day, though met in person less often because Alex was always busy with work. He never spoke about his past, family, or job, but Lena didn’t mind—she’d never been happier with a man. One day, Alex invited Lena to a fancy restaurant and hinted at a special occasion—surely, he was going to propose! Lena was thrilled. Finally, she was about to have the family she’d always wanted. If only Granny Dot were there to see it. That night, browsing online shops for the perfect dress, Lena fell asleep. In her dream, Granny Dot appeared, dressed in her favourite frock, and gently stroked Lena’s hair. — “Gran, you’re gone… how are you here?” — “My sweet Lena, I never truly left. I’m always by your side, seeing and listening, even if you can’t see me. I’ve come to warn you: don’t see this man again—he’s not good for you. Please, trust your granny.” Then she vanished. Lena woke, unsettled, but decided it was just a dream—though a niggling worry remained. Why would Granny Dot warn her about Alex? Granny had never met him. Still, she couldn’t decide what to wear for the big day; everything seemed to go wrong. Saturday came, and Lena arrived at the restaurant in an old dress, feeling flat. Alex noticed at once and tried to cheer her up. At the end of the meal, like a scene from a film, he got down on one knee and produced a sparkling ring. Suddenly dizzy, Lena thought she glimpsed Granny Dot’s reflection in the window—watching intently. This was the sign she needed. — “I’m sorry, Alex, I can’t…” — “But why, what have I done?” — “Nothing. I just… always trusted my granny.” She rushed out. He followed, enraged, and shouted, “Fine! Stay with your precious cat, then—nobody else will have you, you silly thing!” and stormed off. Lena was reeling. How could this smart, loving Alex turn into someone so cruel? The next day, she visited her old classmate Andy—now head of the local detective unit—and asked him to run a check on Alex. A day later, Andy called: — “Lena, I’m sorry, but your Alex is a serial conman. He befriends lonely women, marries them, gets them to put him on the property deeds or take out massive loans for his ‘business’, then tosses them out and divorces them. He’s got several convictions. You had a lucky escape.” Lena was stunned. How could Granny Dot have known Alex wasn’t right? It was a miracle—perhaps she really was watching over her. Lena bought groceries and cat food on her way home, walking briskly with a newfound confidence. She knew she wasn’t alone: Granny Dot would always be nearby. People say lost loved ones become our guardian angels, watching and protecting us from harm. And perhaps—just perhaps—they’re right.

GRANDMA MY GUARDIAN ANGEL I never really remembered my parents. My father left my mum while she was still

“Lydia, Have You Lost Your Mind in Your Old Age? Your Grandkids Are Already at School—A Wedding Now?” That’s What My Sister Said When I Told Her I Was Getting Married. But Why Wait? Next Week, Tony and I Are Registering Our Marriage. My Sister Lives Across the Country, She Won’t Come, and at 60, We’re Not Throwing a Big Do with People Shouting ‘Speech!’—We’ll Get Married Quietly, Just the Two of Us.

Linda, have you completely lost your senses in your old age? Youve got grandchildren in secondary schoolwhat

JUST IN CASE Vera glanced at her tearful colleague, turned indifferently back to her computer, and began typing rapidly. “You’re heartless, Vera,” came the voice of Olga, their manager. “Me? What makes you say that?” “Well, just because your personal life is all sunshine and rainbows doesn’t mean it’s the same for everyone else. You see the poor girl’s beside herself—you could at least show a bit of sympathy, offer some advice, maybe share your experience. Things are going so well for you, after all.” “Me? Share my experience? With her? I doubt our dear Nadia would appreciate that. I did try, you know—about five years ago, when she started showing up to work with black eyes ‘to help her see the road in the morning,’ as she claimed. You weren’t here yet back then. And no, it wasn’t her boyfriend beating her up—she just had a knack for ‘falling over’ at just the right angle. Funny thing, once he rode off into the sunset, the bruises vanished, and he was the third guy to do so. That’s when I decided to try supporting her, to offer a bit of wisdom, as it were. And guess what? I was the villain in the story. Later, my other colleagues clued me in—supporting Nadia is a lost cause. She always ‘knows best’ and hates anyone who meddles in her happiness. She used to run to fortune-tellers, casting love spells; now she’s moved with the times and goes to therapists to ‘work through her trauma.’ She doesn’t realize she’s living the same story over and over—only the names change. So please forgive me, but I won’t be weeping or passing out tissues.” “Still, Vera,” Olga said, “that’s not right.” At lunch, as everyone sat around the same table, all anyone could talk about was Nadia’s ex—the rogue, the cheater. Vera quietly ate her lunch, poured herself a coffee, and retreated to a corner, scrolling through her socials to clear her mind. “Vera,” cheerful, plump Tanya sidled up, her usually bubbly face looking glum today, “don’t you feel even a little bit sorry for Nadia?” “Tanya, what do you want from me?” “Oh, leave her be,” said passing Irina, “Vera’s got her dear Vasily, lives like a queen—she wouldn’t know what it’s like to be left alone with a child, to have no help from anywhere, to fight tooth and nail just to get child support from some deadbeat dad.” “Well, she shouldn’t have had a kid with God-knows-who at her age, pardon me girls,” chimed in Tatiana Ivanovna, the eldest at the office, known as Granny Tanya. “Vera’s right, Nadia’s cried over that guy for ages, he made her life hell even when she was pregnant.” The women all circled the ceaselessly sobbing Nadia, offering every kind of advice under the sun. So, our strong, independent Nadia decided to turn things around. She summoned her mother from the village to help with her son—and her ‘thankless’ ex. Nadia began to heal: she grew bangs, microbladed her eyebrows, glued on lashes, nearly got a nose ring but was talked out of it by the whole department. And suddenly, she was back. “It’s alright, Nadia,” her colleagues cheered, “he’ll regret it, he’ll cry soon enough!” “He won’t cry at all,” Vera muttered, hardly above a whisper, but the tipsy girls heard her. “What do you mean, he won’t cry?” “He just won’t. And he won’t have any regrets. As for Nadia, she’ll find another just like him before long.” “That’s easy for you to say, your Vasily is probably nothing like that…” “Nothing like that. Vasily is the best man in the world—doesn’t cheat, drink, or raise a hand, adores me to bits.” “Yeah, right. All men are dogs.” “Careful, Vera, or we’ll steal him.” “No chance, he wouldn’t go anywhere.” “I wouldn’t be so sure.” “You should be.” Wine-fueled, the girls soon argued as fiercely as wildcats. “Let’s go round to yours and see if Vasily can resist all this beauty! Bet you wouldn’t dare invite us—you’re scared one of us will steal your precious.” “Alright, let’s go.” “Alright, girls, let’s go to Vera’s and see if we can win Vasily over! Granny Tanya, you coming?” “No, I’ve got Mikhail waiting for me at home… You go ahead,” grinned Tatiana Ivanovna. Off they trooped to Vera’s, laughter filling the kitchen as they bustled about. “Let’s whip up something quickly for Vasily. He’s out now, right?” “He’s picky with food and won’t eat much—but yes, you’re right, he’ll be home soon.” The bravado faded, everyone remembered their chores and left, except Nadia, Olga, and Tanya, who stayed for tea and girl chat, feeling awkward while waiting for the mysterious Vasily. At last, someone arrived. “Vasily, my darling boy!” crooned Vera as she went to the hall. The women fell silent, shuffling awkwardly, when in strode a tall, handsome young man. Ah, so that’s it—they all realized at once. Vera’s man was much, much younger. “Ladies, meet my son, Denis. How’s Vasily, Den?” “He’s fine, Mum—just needs some rest after the op. He’ll be running around tomorrow. Don’t let him lick his…” The women blushed. “We… we’ll be off then?” “Wait, you haven’t met Vasily yet—shh, he’s just had surgery. Denis and Lena took him while I was at work… for his, um, snip, since he kept spraying the curtains. Come on in.” Here he is—my Vasily, fast asleep. The ladies nearly burst out laughing—it was a cat. “Vera—it’s a cat!” “Of course it’s a cat—what did you think?” “But… your husband?” “Oh, I’ve not got one. You all leapt to conclusions when I once said I had a wonderful man in my life called Vasily—you made up the rest all by yourselves. I got married young, first love, all that—dropped out of college, had Denis. Three rough years, and we split. Parents helped out as much as they could. Married again closer to thirty—a nice, stable man, made big plans. Wanted an heir, a princess… as for Denis, oh, send him off to military school or dump him on my mum. Sent that husband back to his mother soon enough. She blamed me for being a fool, said, ‘No one wants someone else’s child’—pretty rich coming from a woman whose husband wasn’t Denis’ father, either. Back to just Denis and me. Third time, I knew the odds were against me. ‘Third time lucky,’ as they say. But early on, this one blackened my eye—all in the name of passionate love, apparently. Luckily, Denis took up martial arts at six and I often sparred with him; I learned a few things. Gave that Othello a taste of his own medicine, and that was that. Denis got married, I got bored—so I got myself Vasily the cat. It’s great: I have company for the cinema, for holidays, and no one owes anyone anything, no one nags or demands. Sometimes I cook a nice dinner and invite Denis—he leaves happy, and there’s no drama. Denis used to ask why we didn’t live together. I told him: we’re adults, with our own lives and habits. If we’d been together since youth, like my brother or my parents—maybe. They’ve fused into one after thirty years. I didn’t, so why should I force myself, just to say ‘I’m married’? No, thanks. Vasily and I do just fine. Right, darling, open your eyes—like I warned you, keep on yowling and spraying, and you’ll lose more than dignity.” The girls left deep in thought, especially Nadia. But Nadia couldn’t do it Vera’s way. Within a month, she was gushing about her new beau, accepting bouquets at work. Vera and Granny Tanya quietly smiled. “How’s Mikhail? How’s his leg?” “All healed, Vera, thank goodness—a splinter, most likely, but he’s back to normal. My grandkids said we should show him at dog shows, but why torture him? We’re happy as we are… Looks like things have worked out with Nadia, too.” “Yes, Tatiana Ivanovna—some get a pet, some get a husband…” “Well, everyone to their own.” “Maybe she’ll have better luck this time?” “Let’s hope so.” “What’s all the whispering?” “About you, Nadia—we’re hoping for the best.” “Girls, I know how it looks, but I just can’t be alone, honestly.” “That’s your business—stop making excuses. Everyone has their own life…” “Vera,” Nadia called, catching up to her at the parking lot, “if I need tips on looking after cats, will you help? Which is better, a tom or a queen?” “Go on, they’re waiting for you… We’ll see about that if the time comes…” Vera laughed. “I just want to know—just in case.”

JUST IN CASE Sarah glanced at her sobbing colleague, turned back to her computer with barely a shrug

Granddaughter. From the Moment She Was Born, Little Olivia Was Unwanted by Her Mother, Dumped at Her Granny’s Country Cottage by a Taxi, and Raised with Tenderness She Never Knew Before—Now an Aspiring Medical Student, Olivia Must Defend Her Inheritance and the Loving Home Her Grandmother Built, as Her Estranged Father Returns with His New Family, Determined to Leave Her With Nothing but Memories

Granddaughter. From the very beginning, little Emily was an inconvenience to her mother, Rachel.

God’s Gift… A Gloomy Morning Brings the First Spring Storm and New Hope for Sasha and Vicky, as After Years of Heartache They Open Their Hearts to Adoption; Together They Brave Difficult Choices, Embrace a Little Girl with Special Needs, and Discover Joy, Healing, and Unexpected Blessings in Their New Family in England

A Blessing from Above… The morning is overcast; heavy grey clouds trail low across the sky, and

The Mother-in-Law Times Two: When Ewan’s Quiet Holiday is Turned Upside Down by Granny Valentina’s Unannounced Visit, Her Colourful Past, a Stray Kitten, and Unexpected Family Revelations

Well, this was a surprise! That was the first thing I blurted out as I opened the door and saw a petite

Different People Igor Ended Up with a Rather Unusual Wife: Beautiful, a Natural Blonde with Dark Eyes, Curvy, Long-Legged—a Firecracker in Bed. At First There Was Only Passion, Then Came Pregnancy, Marriage as Expected, and Their Son: Blonde and Dark-Eyed Just Like Her. Everything Seemed Normal—Nappies, Baby Steps, First Words, and Yana Was a Typical Young Mum… Until Their Son Became a Teen and Yana Obsessed Over Photography, Always Off on Courses with Her Camera, Never Watching TV with Igor or Discussing Anything Together. Instead, She Travelled to Exotic Places, Quit Her Lawyer’s Job, Held Her Own Exhibition, Earned Enough from Photos to Buy Igor a Car—Which Only Made Him Uneasy. He Tried to Control Her, Even Lashing Out, Only for Her to Fight Back; She Loved Cats, Kept Rescuing Them, Grieved Deeply When One Died—So Much, Igor Didn’t Understand. Friends and His Wife’s Girlfriends Sided with Him; So He Sought Comfort with Their Neighbour, Yana’s Childhood Friend Irka—Easy, Straightforward, Always Ready for Sex and a Drink. Igor Waited for Jealousy, for Drama, for a Scene—But Yana Stayed Silent, Distant Even in Bed, Moving Into Another Room. Their Son Grew Up—Just Like her: Blonde, Dark-Eyed, And Odd. He and Yana Understood Each Other Perfectly; Igor Only Felt More Alone, Found Himself Drawn to Irka Again and Again. Eventually, Yana Found Out. She Calmly Told Igor To Leave. He Went to Irka, Waiting for Yana to Call Him Back, But When She Finally Did, It Was Only to Arrange Their Divorce. Their Son Was Already at University, and Yana Planned to Move to London for a Big Project with Another Photographer—Someone She Admitted She’d Long Loved and Was Deeply Interested In. “We’re Just Different People, That’s All,” She Said. “I’ll Be Happy, and So Will You. You Marry Irka, and I Wish You Well.” Igor Protested, But Yana Was Already Gone. From Then On, He Heard Nothing More—Except Once a Year: A Short WhatsApp Message, “Happy Birthday! Wishing You Health and Happiness. Thank You for Our Son.”

DIFFERENT PEOPLE Grahams wifeCharlottehas always been a bit of an odd one. Beautiful, yes: a natural