**A Fiery Surprise: How Derek Nearly Burned the House Down for Mother’s Day**
The peace of Emma’s flat was shattered before she even stepped inside. Smoke curled up the stairwell, soapy water dripped down the steps, and the air hung thick—as if it were whispering, “Turn back… better walk away.” But Emma, a hardened corporate director, wasn’t one to retreat.
She shoved the door open, tossed a bouquet from the office banquet onto the hall table, kicked off her heels like shedding the weight of the day, and shoved her feet into slippers. Though, given the flood in the hallway, wellies might’ve been wiser. Inside, something growled, hissed, and smoked. And in the corner, the cat howled like a banshee.
“Derek?! What in God’s name is going on?!” she barked, wading through steam and the stench of burnt grease.
Her husband emerged from the depths of the flat. Barefoot, in his pants, face smeared with soot and a blooming shiner, a tea towel wrapped around his head like some desert nomad. He looked less like a man preparing a surprise and more like a soldier who’d gone toe-to-toe with a flamethrower.
“Em, love… Thought you’d be later. Office do, you’re usually the last to leave…”
Emma didn’t even blink. She sank onto the footstool, closed her eyes, and said flatly, “Report. Everything. And skip the ‘darling’ and ‘don’t worry.’ I worried when the firm nearly folded in the recession. Worried when the bailiffs came knocking. I don’t panic anymore. Now—what did you do?”
Derek swallowed.
“Wanted to surprise you. You deserve it, love. Thought I’d tidy up, do the laundry, roast a joint, scrub the floors—”
“A joint of beef?” she clarified.
“Not the beef… The washing machine. It leaked. Not right away, mind. I put the beef in the oven first, then nipped to the loo, then the washing machine. And then—the cat.”
“The cat’s alive?”
“Course he is!” Derek huffed. “Just a bit damp. And… wound up. Swear on me life, he wasn’t in there when I started it. Must’ve… slipped in after.”
“Slipped into a *closed* washing machine?!”
“Well, seeped, maybe—”
Emma buried her face in her hands. “Right. Go on. But show me the cat first. Need proof he’s still breathing.”
“Er… He’s in the lounge. Tied up. For his own good. And to dry off.”
“All paws attached?”
“All four. Just… immobilized. Temporarily.”
“And then?”
“Went to check the laundry, smelled burning. Opened the oven—beef was charcoal. Tossed in some oil for the gravy, and *whoosh*—eyebrows gone. Cat starts yowling. Dashed to the washer, but the door’s stuck. Cat’s behind the glass, eyes like Satan’s, screeching! Me, stuck between hell in the oven and hell in the machine. Grabbed a crowbar. Smashed it. Cat shot out like a rocket, and then—”
“Christ,” Emma muttered.
“He knocked over your Nan’s vases, ruined the rug, shredded the curtains, clawed the wallpaper, smashed the champagne. Neighbors threatened to call the police *and* an exorcist. So I tied him up. Drying him off. Was all for you, love…”
Emma stood, marched to the lounge. The scene would’ve given a fainthearted woman a coronary, but not her. The cat—tethered to the radiator, muzzle wrapped in a scarf, smoke hanging in the air, puddles, broken glass. Like a war documentary. Derek trailed after her, babbling:
“He wouldn’t sit still! Was worried he’d catch a chill. And the noise—had to muffle him. But he’s fine!”
Emma freed the cat, toweled him dry with Derek’s tea towel, and cradled him.
“You idiot, Derek. He could’ve suffocated. Though after the washing machine, I doubt much frightens him now.”
Sinking onto the sofa with the cat, she leveled a look at her husband. “Well?”
“Well what?” he mumbled. “Should I hang myself now or after tea?”
“Congratulations, numpty. It’s Mother’s Day.”
Derek’s eyes lit up. He bolted, then returned a minute later, dropped to one knee, and clasped his hands behind his back.
“Emma, my sunshine. Thirty years with you, and I’m still in awe. You’re strong, gorgeous, patient, and loved. Happy Mother’s Day!”
He produced a ring box and a battered bouquet.
“Flowers were proper nice… till the cat… you know.”
Emma sighed, sniffed the roses. “They even smell like roses. Miracle of miracles—not smoke. Derek, no more experiments. Just flowers. Just a hug. Just *don’t burn the house down*. Deal?”
“Just wanted it special. You get fancy gifts at work. I wanted it real. Heartfelt. With a bit of spark. And, well… got the spark.”
“You did,” Emma smiled. “Heartfelt. Sparky. Nearly arson. Come on. Let’s save the flat. Apologize to the neighbors. Before they *do* call a witch. Though she’s probably got her own Derek. Equally… inventive.”
The cat yawned, looped his tail around Emma’s leg, and—as if in solidarity—gave Derek a pointed snort. Mission accomplished. A day to remember. Forever.
**Lesson learned:** Sometimes, the best surprises are the ones that don’t involve fire. Or washing machines. Or cats. A simple “I love you” goes a long way.
