Dina had always loved having her friends over since she was a little girl. Her mum never minded—she was the same way. As far back as Dina could remember, their home was always full of her mother’s friends, especially on weekends. Birthdays were never quiet affairs either.
Her dad, though, was different—quiet, reserved. He didn’t mind her mum’s visitors, sometimes even joining them for tea and a laugh. But more often than not, he’d tinker in the garage. He didn’t have many friends himself—just the occasional neighbour.
Dina adored the lively energy when her mum’s friends dropped by, even if just for a quick cuppa. They rarely drank wine, saving it for special occasions, preferring tea or coffee instead. Whenever guests were over, her mum was in high spirits—chatting, laughing, sometimes even breaking into song.
“Mum, can Lucy and Emily come round?” she’d ask.
“Of course, love. There are biscuits and sweets on the table—help yourself if you get peckish,” her mum would say before heading off to work.
If too much time passed without visitors, her mum would bake scones and say, “I’ll invite Auntie Sarah and our neighbour Margaret over—Dina, pop round and ask them, would you?”
And so life went on. When Dina started university, she’d come home on weekends with a friend, sometimes even for holidays—her mum never minded. The habit of welcoming guests had rubbed off on her.
She married Oliver, a fellow student, in her final year. They got their own place, and Dina kept up the tradition of hosting friends. At first, Oliver wasn’t keen—his own mother had never been one for entertaining.
“Ollie, we always had people over at home—it’s what I’m used to. You don’t mind if we have friends round sometimes, do you?”
“Where I grew up, guests were rare. Mum wasn’t the hospitable type. If Dad ever brought a mate home after work, it’d cause a row. But if it makes you happy, go ahead.”
Gradually, he warmed to it. They settled into a rhythm, deciding together who to invite, forming a little circle. But there was one friend of Dina’s Oliver couldn’t stand—Tanya. She was a widow, always a bit melancholy.
“Why do you even bother with Tanya?” he’d grumble. “She’s miserable as sin—never cracks a smile. What’s the point of having guests if they don’t laugh?”
“But she listens to me—gives good advice, too. Tanya would never steer me wrong. And she keeps secrets. Sometimes you don’t need jokes—just someone to talk to.”
“Fine. Wallow in gloom if you like.”
Time passed. They bought a bigger house, had a son, and Dina still hosted her friends. Sometimes they’d meet at the park with the kids, but mostly they gathered at hers—plenty of space for the little ones to play.
Two of Dina’s friends lived with their mothers-in-law, which made hosting tricky. Only Liz had her own flat with her husband and son, but she still preferred coming to Dina’s. Occasionally, the husbands would join—have a pint in the garage or the shed—and the evenings passed easily.
One day, Tanya visited and, over tea, said quietly, “Dina… I don’t trust Liz. Be careful—she pays too much attention to Oliver.”
“Don’t be silly!” Dina laughed. “Liz is just friendly—likes a joke.”
But the thought nagged at her.
“Maybe she’s jealous because she doesn’t have a husband,” she mused later. “Mum always said to watch out for single friends. Maybe I should distance myself.”
She even mentioned it to Oliver.
“Told you she was odd,” he muttered.
In the end, Dina cut Tanya out of her life—but nothing really changed. She still saw her friends, still helped out when needed—picking up kids from school if someone was running late.
“Dina, could you grab my little Jack from nursery?” Liz often called. “My Dan’s gone fishing with his mates, and I’m stuck at work. You’d be a lifesaver!”
“Course, Liz. No trouble—they’re in the same class anyway.”
Then, one day, Dina ran into Liz at the nursery. As they walked out, they decided to take the boys to the park. But as they strolled, Jack piped up, “Mum, is Uncle Ollie coming over today? He brought me crisps last time—they were yummy.”
Liz didn’t reply, just flushed slightly. Dina frowned. Her husband’s name was Oliver, too—but he’d been at his brother’s last night, helping with furniture. He hadn’t got back till midnight.
“Plenty of men called Oliver,” she told herself. But it niggled at her—especially since Liz had a husband.
Then Liz fumbled with her phone, muttering it was dead.
“Need to borrow mine?” Dina offered.
“No, it’s fine. I’ll charge it at home,” Liz said quickly.
Suddenly, Liz grabbed Jack’s hand. “Oh, Dina, I’ve just remembered—got to see my mum. Rain check on the park?” And she hurried off, leaving Dina baffled.
All the way home, Dina replayed memories. How Oliver always praised Liz’s baking—her Victoria sponge was his favourite. How he joked with her more than anyone.
“Could there really be something between them?” The idea lodged in her mind.
That night, she rang Oliver’s sister-in-law.
“Katie, did you buy new furniture yesterday? Oliver said he was helping you with it.”
“Oliver? He wasn’t here,” Katie said, puzzled. “We haven’t bought anything.”
Dina’s stomach twisted.
When Oliver got home, he left his phone on the table. A message popped up—Liz’s name. Dina hesitated, then opened it.
*”Jack accidentally told your wife you were here yesterday.”*
She stormed into the garage, phone in hand.
“Explain this.”
Oliver read it, then sighed. “No point lying. I was with Liz.”
Dina froze. She’d expected denial, excuses—not this.
“You—both of you—I never want to see either of you again!” She fled inside.
Later, Oliver followed. “Dina, let’s just forget it. Pretend it never happened. I won’t do it again—and you can cut Liz off. We’ll go back to normal.”
“Normal?” Dina stared. “No. You don’t cheat and pretend it’s nothing. I trusted you. And Tanya was right—I pushed her away for nothing.”
She packed his bags and left them at the door. He didn’t come home that night.
The next day, Liz cornered her at the nursery.
“Dina, please—it’s all a misunderstanding. That text wasn’t for your Oliver—I sent it to the wrong person!”
“Liz, you’re no friend of mine. And Oliver’s no husband of mine. We’re done.”
Liz gaped, then shouted after her, “Fine! And he’ll be mine soon enough!”
Dina didn’t doubt it. Weeks later, Oliver moved in with Liz, raising her son while her own husband was kicked out.
One Saturday, Dina bought a cake and a small gift, then knocked on Tanya’s door with little Steven in tow.
Tanya blinked in surprise. “Dina?”
“Tanya… I’m sorry. You tried to warn me. I was blind. Oliver and Liz… I’ve filed for divorce. He’s with her now.” Her voice broke. “Please—don’t hold a grudge.”
Tanya hugged her. “I’d have done the same in your shoes.”
They laughed over tea while Steven doodled happily. Life went on—because betrayal, heartbreak, they were just part of it. Always had been. Always would be.
