— Get Yourself Home! We’ll Talk There! — Max Barked, Not Wanting to Entertain Bystanders with a Scene. “Oh, whatever,” snorted Varya. “Varya, don’t push your luck!” Max threatened. “We’ll talk at home!” “Oh, how frightening!” she tossed her braid over her shoulder and marched toward the house. Max waited until Varya was out of sight, then pulled out his phone and spoke into the microphone: “She’s on her way home! Make sure you welcome her—just like we discussed! And send her down to the cellar to cool her temper! I’ll be there soon.” He pocketed his phone and set off toward the shop, hoping to reward himself for ‘disciplining’ his wife, but a perfect stranger stopped him with an outstretched hand. “Sorry to accost you like this,” the man smiled apologetically. “You were just with a young lady—” “My wife. What about her?” Max frowned. “Oh, nothing!” the man’s smile turned nervous and placating. “Er, by any chance, is your wife called Barbara Melton?” “Barbara, yes. She was Melton before the wedding. Why?” “And is her middle name Sarah?” “Yes!” Max snapped, growing irritated. “How do you know my wife?” “Forgive me,” the man stammered, “but was she born in ’93?” Max quickly did the math and replied: “Yeah. What’s with all the questions—how do you know Varya?” He tensed. She’d moved to their small English village just three years ago, from who-knows-where. Varya once confided her parents had tried to force her into marriage, so she’d run off. Strange enough that someone in their village, where gossip ran faster than the post, suddenly seemed to know all about Varya. “Sorry, I’m not acquainted with her personally!” the man flushed. “Just, well, I’m a bit of a fan!” “A fan?” Max growled, “Fan of what, mate—d’you think you can steal my wife?” “No, no, you misunderstand!” the man waved his hands desperately. “A fan of her skills, you see!” “Varya hasn’t got any special talents,” Max muttered, confused. “To get a lifetime ban from Muay Thai at eighteen for being too brutal—now that takes skill!” the man exclaimed. “A shame she stopped after a few private tournaments. Watching her in the ring was a sight to behold!” Max, his hands shaking, fumbled for his phone. It clattered to the pavement, scattering into pieces. By the time he’d gathered it up, it refused to turn on. Max took off running for home—murmuring under his breath, “Dear God, let me be on time!” When Barbara—Varya—first arrived in their village, Max immediately noticed her. Who wouldn’t? Young, athletic, spirited, and fun. She’d taken a job as a PE teacher at the primary school. People assumed she was just a student on placement, but it turned out she was twenty-five and here for good. When the villagers learned she came alone—well, the gossip brewed. “She’s hiding something!” clucked the old guard. “No family, just turns up out of the blue? There’s a secret, I swear!” “Maybe she’s just had a bad experience with a bloke and came here to mend her wounds,” others suggested. Max was intrigued, but cautious. “Lord only knows what baggage she’s lugging. In time, we’ll see.” Teachers’ lounges in England are hotbeds of personal tales, and within six months, Varya revealed her story: “My parents run a business—a decent family. But when things went bust, Dad decided to marry me off to settle our debts. You should’ve seen the groom! I chose to run.” “So you’re completely alone?” a seasoned colleague shook her head. “People live everywhere,” Varya shrugged, “but I’d rather make my own way than marry someone I don’t love! And I refuse to be some item up for sale.” “You’ll find love here, I’m sure!” her colleagues encouraged. “Small villages can still have decent people!” When the details trickled through the grapevine, Max made up his mind. “She’ll be my wife! The local girls are greedy and bold, but she’s an outsider. And we’ll never have to deal with her family!” That’s what he told his own: his mum, dad, and older brother. “She’s young, healthy, and athletic—teaches PE for a reason! She’ll give us healthy kids and pull her weight at home! How much can there be to do at school?” “A perfect match!” his family agreed. “If she kicks up a fuss, she’ll learn the hard way—our way.” They assumed the wedding was a matter of course. Max was good-looking, had a position as deputy manager at the local produce depot. When directors visited, he was nothing more than a clerk, but always had ideas for rationalising supply and handling stock—so much so, he was promoted. People joked about initiative being punished, but he’d built the entire depot’s success. Workers moaned about his tough discipline—and his brother Nick, as head of security, was a tyrant—but thefts stopped. How could Barbara refuse such a solid man? She accepted his courtship, then his proposal, moved out from her tiny flat, and into Max’s family home. “There’s only one way to live—together, as a family!” his mother declared. “Everything’s shared, everything together! I don’t know what you’re used to, but this is our way.” “I fled my old family ways for a reason,” Barbara replied. “Now I’m here, I’ll learn our new ones.” Her humility was welcomed. “Except I don’t know how to do much,” she admitted shyly, “Back home, our staff handled everything.” “We’ll fix that soon enough!” her father-in-law chuckled warmly. “We’ll teach you!” “I’m willing to learn, but I can’t abide unfairness,” Barbara warned. “My dear,” her mother-in-law interjected, “sometimes fairness is relative! Family has centuries-old rules. Honour your husband and his kin, be respectful, and a gentle woman is a beautiful woman! The men handle the big problems.” “If that’s how it is,” Barbara shrugged, “but I hope you’re not into punishments like the old days?” “No whips, no stables!” her father-in-law laughed. But Varya sensed what was coming. Within a month, her freedoms vanished. Work or shopping only! “Where are you off to? There’s work at home—garden, chickens, ducks!” “Varya! We’re a family! I can’t do it all myself!” her mother-in-law lamented. Truth be told, the men were always at work, from dawn ‘til late. Father-in-law nattered from his chair, but most of the chores fell to his wife and Barbara. Barbara worked hard but insisted on respect in return. If someone got lazy, she spoke up. “Work? Then everyone does their bit. If not, I’m not playing.” Two and a half years passed, and she would not settle. She stood her ground, demanded fairness. “What a handful this Barbara is!” her mother-in-law would exclaim. “If you say one thing, she says five back!” “She doesn’t respect me!” added her father-in-law. “I asked for a cushion, she brushed me off, said she was busy!” “Max, this isn’t right,” Nick said. “She’s disrespectful! Who forgives that?” “I know she’s enjoying herself at our expense! She needs taming—a circus beast needs breaking! And what if we have kids? She’ll take charge, say she’s the mother, and we’ll have no place here!” “We need a plan,” Nick decided. “Take her to the high street, then send her home alone. We’ll be waiting and have a word—or two—with her. If she listens, great. If not, we’ll use force. If she acts up, we’ll lock her in the cellar, say she’s gone on holiday. A month down there will sort her out!” And so they prepared. Max took Barbara for a walk, the family readied themselves, stoked their righteous fury, and waited for Max’s call telling them she was on her way. But Max was too late. The gate was intact; the front door—gone as if it had never existed. In the hall, Nick sat howling, cradling a broken arm. Max grabbed his brother’s phone, dialed for an ambulance, held it to his ear: “Tell them the address!” Nick nodded, writhing in pain. Among smashed furniture, his father lay unconscious. Alive, mercifully. In the kitchen doorway, his mother sat on the floor, a splendid bruise blooming across her cheek, holding a giant rolling pin snapped in two. At the table, Barbara sipped her tea. “Darling?” she looked up at Max, “Have you come for your share?” “N-no,” muttered Max. “Then I don’t know what to offer you,” she pondered. “Maybe a little fairness in our family?” “You should have warned us!” Max exclaimed. “You nearly…” “I know my limits. Everyone got what they deserved. Came at me with something, got it back the same way. Snapped the rolling pin over my own knee! And as for your mother, she ran into the door herself—never laid a finger on her.” “How do we even live together now?” Max asked. “I think, very harmoniously!” Barbara smiled. “And above all, with justice! And don’t even think about divorce—I’m expecting. My child will have a father!” Gulping, Max replied, “Alright, love.” Once everyone had recovered—tempers and bones alike—the family’s rules got a little update. And, from that day forward, there was peace and quiet in their home. And nobody ever dared wrong another, ever again!

Author Mitsuko NagasakiReading 11 minViews 1

Get home! Well talk there! I snapped at Victoria, trying to keep my voice down. The last thing I needed was for passers-by to enjoy a public row.

Oh, fantastic! Victoria huffed, clearly unimpressed. Who do you think you are?

Victoria, dont push your luck, I warned, lowering my tone. Well finish this at home.

Oh, arent you fearsome, she tossed her ponytail over her shoulder and marched off towards the house.

Once she was a good distance away, I pulled out my mobile and muttered into it, Right, shes on her way. Just as we talked about, give her a warm welcome. And you knowdown in the cellar with her, maybe shell come down a peg. Ill be back shortly.

I tucked the phone away and was about to pop into the off-licence for a quiet celebratory pint, when a complete stranger gently grabbed hold of my arm.

Sorry to bother you so directly, he said with an awkward smile. But that lady you were just with

My wife, Victoria. Why do you ask? I replied, not hiding my irritation.

Oh, nothing! Sorry, his smile was all apologies. Tell me, by any chance, is your wifes maiden name Victoria Mills?

Thats right, I nodded. She was Mills before the wedding. Why?

And would her middle name happen to be Jane?

It is, I said, growing impatient. How do you know my wife?

He blushed, Sorry, but was she born in ninety-three, by any chance?

I did the maths and nodded, Yes. Whats with all these questions? Where do you know Victoria from? My nerves were on edge.

Victoria had only arrived in our village three years ago, and before that, nobody had heard a thing about her. Shed said she ran away from home because her family tried to marry her off against her will.

So, this complete stranger in our sleepy English village suddenly throwing out details about Victoria left me unsettled.

Oh no, Ive never met her myself! he said quickly, blushing deeper. I suppose you could say Im a fan, in a way!

Listen, mate, you keep on like that, Ill count your ribs and maybe leave you with a couple for good measure, I threatened. Whats this fan business? Planning to run off with my wife?

No! Absolutely not! He flailed his hands apologetically. Not in that senseIm a fan of her talent, thats all!

Victoria doesnt have any special talents, as far as I know, I muttered, confused.

You dont know? he gasped, then exclaimed, She was banned for life from Muay Thai at eighteen for excessive force! Thats no small feat in the world of combat sports!

He went on, Shame she quit after just a couple of local tournaments. Watching her in the ring was a pure thrill!

My hands shook as I tried to fish my phone out of my pocket; it slipped, shattered on the pavement, and refused to turn on when I put it back together.

I ran for home, muttering desperately to myself, Please, let me not be too late!

When Victoria appeared in our village, Id noticed her at once. Who wouldnt? She was young, athletic, lively, and fun. Shed taken a job teaching PE at the primary school.

Everyone assumed she was a graduate on a teaching placement whod soon move on. But she turned out to be twenty-five and there to stay.

People began expecting her family to join her, but Victoria stayed alone.

Theres something odd about that! whispered the women at the shops. Why would a clever young woman come here on her own? Must be hiding some dreadful secret!

Nonsense! Most likely she had a bad experience with a bloke and came to patch up her wounds, shrugged another.

Or maybe a falling-out with her folks, ran away! You hear about it on telly all the time!

I observed from a distance, not in a hurry to approach.

You never know what baggage she brings, I told myself. Lets wait and see.

Teaching at school isnt just hard graft and endless exhaustion. There are those staffroom chats where everyone bares their soul. Within six months, Victorias tale had made the rounds.

My parents are businesspeople. Decent, good folk. But then their business took a dive when their supplier let them down.

Everything started to unravel. My dad decided my marrying the right man would fix things.

You shouldve seen this so-called catch! I did the sensible thingran for the hills!

And youre completely on your own? a seasoned colleague asked.

Well, there are people everywhere, Victoria shrugged. But Id rather fend for myself than marry someone I dont love! I never wanted to be treated like merchandise.

Youll find love here! colleagues assured her. Our village may be small, but there are decent people yet!

Once Victorias story made its way through the village, I made my choice.

Im going to marry her! The local girls have got greedy and bold, but shes a newcomer, and we wont have her relatives constantly dropping in!

Thats what I said to my lotmy mum, dad, and older brother.

Shes young, healthy, athletic! No wonder she teaches PE! Shell give us strong kids, help out around the househow many lessons can there be, really?

Cracking match! my family agreed. And if she gets uppity, well show her whats what in the good old way.

Why was everyone so sure wed marry? Well, I wasnt just a pretty faceI had a good job as assistant manager at the veg warehouse.

When the big bosses came to inspect, I was just a storeman, but my proper approach and suggestions for improvement got me promoted. Id sorted out the entire warehouse. Sure, I was tough on the staff when neededand my brother, whom Id made security chief, was even tougher. But thefts stopped entirely.

How could Victoria say no to such a responsible chap? First, she agreed to a walk, then let me court her, and before long, shed agreed to be my wife.

I took her from her bedsit straight to our home.

A bride must understandwe live as a big family! Mum started her usual lectures. We do everything together, help each other out! Thats how its always been.

We didnt really have rules in my family, Victoria replied. But since Im married to you now, Ill do my best to live by the new customs.

Her willingness impressed everyone.

Ive got to admit, I cant do much around the house. Back home, we always had help, Victoria confessed awkwardly.

Well sort that out! Dad said cheerily. You seem like a fast learner.

Oh, I learn quickly, said Victoria. But I wont stand for unfairness.

My dear, Mum put in, fairness is a slippery term! There are family rules that go back centuries. Respect your husband and his kin, be agreeable, and all will look after you and the big issues.

If thats how its done, Victoria shrugged. But youre not planning on anything out of Household Managementbeatings and the like?

Dad laughed, No stables, no canes here!

Victoria had a point, though A month after the wedding, her freedom was limited to bare essentials.

She was allowed work and the shops, nothing more.

Where do you think youre going? Theres chores to do! Garden, chickens, ducksthe works! This is a family; I cant do it alone! Mum would shout.

It was true enoughmy brother and I were hardly ever home thanks to work. Dad mostly handed out advice whilst resting his bad back.

But even Mum started struggling now and then, what with her blood pressure or her aching joints. The house work just never let up.

What about a bit of personal life? Victoria asked. Not romancejust simple things, like a film, café, or a walk. I dont have any friends here!

Friends? Married women dont need friends! Take it from me, they cause more trouble than theyre worth. As for cafés and such, talk to your husband. Besides, it looks bad when a woman is out alone. Village gossip will ruin you.

Really? Victoria looked sceptical.

Trust me, love. You grew up in a city, but here, everyone sees everything. Step out of line, and youll be branded for life. Youre a teacher, theyll run you out if theres so much as a whiff of scandal.

Solid logic, but Victoria wasnt about to bury herself under endless chores.

She worked, pulled her weight, and expected the same in return. If people slacked, she let them knowloudly if needed.

Work should be fair! she would say. If people are lying about, I wont have it.

Two and a half years passed since our wedding, but Victoria never so much as settled down. She insisted we all contribute honestly, or she wouldntsimple as.

Oh, that Victorias a handful! Mum would exclaim when Victoria was sent out to the shop. Worse than horseradish! Say a word to her, she gives you five back!

She has no regard for me, Dad grumbled. Ask her to bring a cushion or some water, she waves me off, says shes busy!

Max, this isnt on, said my brother Thomas. Shes disrespecting our parents! Wheres that ever been tolerated?

Shes really winding me up! I admitted. She argues with meand Im her husband! She needs to be put in her place. And imagine if we have kidsshell just take over, and well all be crowded out.

We need a plan, said Thomas. Take her for a walk around the village, then send her home alone. Well be waiting, have a word with her. If she listens, great. If not, well encourage her. If she tries to resist, well lock her in the cellar and tell school shes on holiday for a while. A month there and shell calm down!

Thats what we agreed. While I occupied Victoria, the family geared up, working themselves into a righteous rage, and waited for my signal that Victoria was on her way.

Only I never got the chance.

The gate was where it should be, but the front door looked as if it had never existed. In the hallway, Thomas sat on the floor howling, clutching a mangled arm. I yanked his mobile from his pocket, dialled 999, and pressed it to his ear.

Tell them the address! And ask for two ambulances! I yelled.

Thomas nodded, face twisted in pain.

Dad was unconscious amid the smashed hall furniturealive, though. That was something. In the kitchen, Mum sat on the floor, a spectacular bruise blossoming on her face, grasping the two mangled halves of the rolling pin she used for special occasions.

At the table, Victoria calmly sipped her tea.

Darling? she gazed at me. Come back for your share?

N-no, I stammered.

Well then, Im not sure what to offer you, she pondered. How about a bit of fairness in family matters?

You could have warned us! I exclaimed.

I know my limitseven if some here have too strong opinions, she said. Everyone got a fitting response! Whoever came at me with something, got it right back.

I snapped that rolling pin over my knee! And your mum just ran into the doorwasnt my doing!

And what now? I asked.

I say we start living properlyfrom now on, justly! And dont even think about divorceIm pregnant. Our child will have a father!

I swallowed. Alright, love.

When everyone recovered, our family rules changed rather dramatically. From then on, there was peace in the houseno one ever dared mistreat anyone again.

I’ve learned this much: never try to break someone’s spiritespecially if you don’t really know what they’re capable of. In the end, respect and fairness go further than stubborn tradition.

“How Could She?! Didn’t Ask! Didn’t Even Consult Me! Imagine the Nerve – Waltzing Into MY Flat and Acting Like She Owns the Place! No Respect at All! Lord, Why Do I Deserve This? I’ve Spent My Whole Life Caring for Her, and THIS Is the Thanks I Get? She Doesn’t Even See Me as a Person! – Nina Wiped Away Her Tears – Apparently, My Life Doesn’t Suit Her! She Should Look at Her Own! Sitting Alone in Her Tiny Studio Flat Thinking She’s Caught the Luckiest Break. No Decent Job, No Proper Husband: Just Some Remote Work. How Does She Even Live? Yet She Thinks She Can Teach Me About Life! I Forgot Long Ago What She’s Only Starting to Grasp!” That Last Thought Jerked Nina Out of Her Chair. She Walked to the Kitchen, Put the Kettle On, and Went to the Window. Looking Out Over the Festive, Brightly Lit City, She Began Crying Again: “Everyone Else Is Busy Preparing for New Year, and Me? No Celebration At All… Alone as Can Be…” The Kettle Whistled – Lost in Her Memories, Nina Didn’t Even Notice… She Was Twenty When Mum Gave Birth to a Second Child at Forty-Five. Nina Was Astonished: Why Would Mum Take That On? “I Don’t Want You to End Up Completely Alone,” Mum Explained. “It’s Wonderful to Have a Sister. You’ll See. Later.” “I Get It, Even Now,” Nina Had Said Indifferently, “Just So You Know: I Won’t Be Looking After Her. I Have My Own Life.” “Not Anymore,” Mum Smiled. Her Words Were Prophetic. The Baby Was Only Three When Mum Died… Dad Had Passed Even Earlier. All the Responsibility Fell to Nina, Who Effectively Became Natasha’s Mum. Until She Was Ten, Natasha Even Called Her Mum. Nina Never Married – Not Because of Natasha, But Because She Never Met the One Man Who Could Win Her Heart. And Where Was She Supposed to Meet Him? She Kept to Herself: Home, Work, Sister. Home, Work, Sister… Forced to Grow Up Overnight, Nina Dedicated Her Whole Life to Her Sister: Raised Her, Educated Her. Now Natasha’s an Adult, Living Independently and Engaged to Be Married. She Visits Nina Often: The Sisters Are Very Close, Despite the Big Age Gap and Their Different Personalities and Outlooks. Nina, for Example, Is Extremely Frugal. Her Flat Has Become a Storage Depot for Ancient, Useless Things: The Dressing Gown She Wore Ten Years Ago, Receipts Dating Back to the Early 2000s. Her Kitchen Cupboards Are Full of Cracked Mugs, Chipped Tea Pots, and Lidless Saucepans. She Hasn’t Used Most for Years, but Can’t Bear to Throw Anything Out – ‘What If I Need It Someday?’ She Hasn’t Even Done Minor Decorating in Ages – Not Because She Can’t Afford It, But Because “The Wallpaper’s Still in One Piece.” Her Habit of Sacrificing Her Own Comfort for Her Sister’s Sake Has Left a Mark. Natasha’s the Opposite: Lively, Cheerful, and Practical. Her Flat’s Bright and Minimal, No Hoarding – Only What She Needs. She Even Has a Rule: “If I Haven’t Used Something in a Year, It Goes.” Natasha’s Place Feels Open, Airy, and Light. Time and Again She’d Offer: “Let’s Redecorate Your Place. We Can Even Sort Through Your Things, Before You Run Out of Space for Yourself.” “I’m Not Throwing Anything Out, and I Don’t Want Any Changes, or a New Decor,” Nina Would Reply. “I’m Fine as I Am.” “How Can You Say That? Just Look at Your Hallway! That Wallpaper’s Practically an Exhibit. Walking in Feels Like Entering a Cellar. All This Clutter is Sucking the Life Out of You – You Don’t Realise! It’s Not Healthy,” Natasha Persuaded. But Nina Would Brush Her Off Every Time. So Natasha Took Matters into Her Own Hands – Determined Her Sister Would See the Difference. She Chose to Surprise Her by Redecorating Just the Hallway, the Least Cluttered Part of the Flat. A Week Before New Year, While Nina Was Working a Long Shift (They Had Each Other’s Spare Keys), Natasha and Her Fiancé Replaced the Dingy Wallpaper: The Once Dreary Walls Became a Sunny Green with Gold Detailing. They Put Everything Back, Careful Not to Move Nina’s Belongings, and Left. Nina, Unsuspecting, Returned Home – Then Immediately Turned Around, Certain She’d Gotten the Wrong Flat. She Double-Checked the Flat Number – It Was Correct… She Entered Again. She Understood. Natasha! How Could She?! Nina Rang Her Sister and Let Her Have It. Half an Hour Later, Natasha Arrived. “Who Asked You?!” Nina Barked. “Nina, I Just Wanted to Surprise You. Look How Nice It Is: Clean, Bright, So Spacious!” Natasha Pleaded. “Don’t Ever Take Over My House Again!” Nina Raged, Unable to Stop Herself. A Barrage of Cruel Words Rained Down on Natasha. Finally, Natasha Broke: “Fine. Live in Your Dump if You Want. You Won’t See Me Here Again!” “Oh, Does the Truth Hurt? Running Away?” “I Pity You,” Natasha Whispered, Then Walked Out… She Hasn’t Called in a Week. The Sisters Have Never Stayed Angry for So Long – and With New Year Coming, Might They Have to Celebrate Separately? Nina Sat Down in the Hallway. “But It Really Is Roomier,” She Thought, Imagining Natasha and Sasha Hanging up the Wallpaper, Hoping to Survive Her Reaction. “And Why Did I Blow Up? It’s So Much Better Now. Brighter. Makes Me Happier, Too. Maybe My Sister Was Right?” Suddenly, the Phone Rang… “Nina,” Natasha’s Voice Was Shaky with Tears, “Please Forgive Me, I Didn’t Mean to Upset You. I Just Wanted to Make You Happy…” “Oh, My Darling Girl, I’ve Not Been Angry For Ages,” Nina Started to Sob as Well, “And There’s Nothing to Forgive: You Were Absolutely Right, and the Wallpaper’s Beautiful. After the Holidays We’ll Tackle My Clutter – If You Don’t Mind, That Is.” “Of Course I Don’t Mind! I’ll Gladly Help! And As for Today – It’s New Year’s Eve… I Can’t Imagine Celebrating without You…” “Nor Can I…” “Then Get Ready!” Natasha Chimed In, “We’ve Got Everything Sorted: Real Christmas Tree, Fairy Lights, Candles – Just How You Like It. And Don’t Fuss – I’ve Done All the Cooking. I Was Sure We’d Make Up and See in the New Year Together. Take Your Time – Sasha Will Come for You.” Nina Returned to the Window. Now She Saw the Sparkling City with New Eyes. She Smiled, Thinking: “Thank You, Mum… For My Sister…”

In Pursuit of a Mistress — “Vera, what are you doing?” her husband Roman gaped as she handed him a pair of gym shorts and a T-shirt. — “Nothing much. While you’re lazing about, all the mistresses are being snapped up.” Vera pulled the duvet off him, sending goosebumps racing over poor, defenseless Roman. — “What are you talking about?” — “After the things you said last night, about the day not being far off when you’d get yourself a mistress, I’ve made a decision. The hour is upon us, Roman. It’s half-past five: time to get up and head to your naughty front line.” — “I was joking! We just had a row, remember? I’m sorry, I was out of line.” — “Oh no, you were completely right. It’s me who’s to blame. I let the fire of passion between us fizzle out. Used up all the petrol myself. Now there’s nothing but ash — can’t even grill a potato, let alone ignite a flame. I am rectifying this. Up you get.” — “Are you kicking me out?” — “I’m whipping you into shape. You’ll work out every day until you shake that spare tyre off. A mistress isn’t a wife — she won’t keep a Michelin mascot by her side. Up, I said!” Accepting he was beaten, Roman dutifully rolled out of bed and, in penitence, wriggled into his shorts over his boxers. — “Remind me to get you some proper trunks. In those parachutes, I’m afraid a single gust will carry you right off the lover’s bed.” After ten minutes jogging round the house under his wife’s beady eye, a breathless Roman collapsed indoors and, gripping the floor with his teeth, began to drag himself towards the sanctuary of his bed. — “Where are you slithering off to?” Vera blocked his path. — “I want to die on the mattress, in my sleep.” — “No dying, we’re looking for a mistress, not a coroner. Off to the shower. Twice a day, minimum. You couldn’t spare me, so for heaven’s sake, spare your new friend your natural aromas. And from now on, you brush morning and night!” came her voice, already halfway to the bathroom. “Scrub your head well — we’re off to the photo studio today.” — “Why?” — “To get a proper photo for the dating site. I can’t take it myself, I know you too well — the lens would still see a rigger, the king of pints, and a connoisseur of fried pasta with butter. We need a shot of an alpha male.” — “Vera, seriously, can we stop now?” — “Don’t waste all that wordplay — save it for the ears of tender young damsels. Now, let’s pick a candidate.” Roman perked up — he enjoyed browsing profiles as a harmless fantasy, and now, officially allowed, he could do so with impunity. He began pointing. — “How about her?” — “Are you joking?” — “What’s wrong?” — “Roman, I’m supposed to feel ashamed of myself next to your mistress, not for you. Just look! Even your old Mini looked better before trade-in. She’d need a sign: Caution, Facade Elements Prone to Detach.” — “Then what about her?” — “Her? Oh heavens, Roman! What will people think if my husband cheats with anyone he can get? Now this — this is a good option!” — “No way, she’d never answer me…” — “Honestly… Remind me, how did I fall for such an insecure guy? What was it that kept us together for fifteen years?” — “My sense of humour?” Roman ventured. — “Let’s be honest — if laughter truly extended life, your jokes would’ve widowed me on the honeymoon. Let’s not tempt fate finding out. Come, we’ll buy you a suit — we’ll fish for a mistress bait-and-tackle style.” — “Enough, Vera, can’t we just make up?” — “Where do you see a fight? Having a mistress is a sign of success. And being the wife of a successful man is a status. Frankly, one mistress won’t be enough…” In the shopping centre, Vera steered Roman to the priciest shop and emptied all the mannequins en route. — “Vera, these trousers and this jacket cost as much as winter tyres,” he protested as she pushed him into the fitting room. — “Don’t worry — we’ll get you rubbers at the pharmacy too, any kind you want, summer or winter, and with double protection. I don’t want any stray bouquets in this house.” — “Vera!” — “What, Vera? Safety above all! We’re not picking a scooter here — it’s the hypotenuse for our obtuse triangle.” — “Have you called your boss?” — “About what?” Roman asked, wrestling his arm into the blazer. — “Financial matters, obviously. You’ll need a raise now. How else will you support two ladies? I’m fine with cabbage soup, but a mistress? There’s a formula: one dinner out, three glasses of wine, five stars in the hotel — skimp on anything and the whole foundation collapses.” Roman finally straightened his tie. — “Handsome — just like our wedding day,” sniffed his wife. — “It suits you,” confirmed a neighbouring customer. — “Are you taking him? He’s on the hunt for a mistress.” — “No thanks, I’ve already got three,” she smiled wickedly. — “Don’t even think of picking her, Roman,” Vera warned, “We need someone loyal — like a debit card to another bank: safe for a discreet transfer. Now, to the perfume counter, let’s give you a few spritzes before you’re released into the wild.” They wandered the mall another hour before Vera nodded with satisfaction. — “All right Roman, you’re ready. Even without a photo. Now go and remember everything I taught you — be as suave and confident as you were when you sold the Mini.” Vera went home to make soup. Roman set off in search of the mistress for whom he’d trained all day. An hour later, the intercom buzzed at Vera’s flat. — “Good afternoon, my sweet lady. Is your husband at home?” The velvet, smouldering voice was unfamiliar but thrilling. — “Oh!” Vera gasped, as the ladle slipped from her hands. “No, he’s gone to his mistress.” — “May I come up? I have something rather special to propose.” From the suggestive tone, Vera’s temperature soared then plummeted — she nearly reached for the Night Nurse, but instead, buzzed the visitor in thrice. Within three minutes, Roman appeared at the door holding a lush red bouquet, ushering Vera by the waist. The little hallway suddenly felt very warm. — “Were you crying?” Roman asked, noticing her red eyes. — “A little. Thought I’d mucked things up but turns out, they were just what we needed — for the fire.” — “So, are you up for an evening with a charming, witty companion?” Roman’s eyes burned with hunger and possibly 50ml of brandy’s courage. “I’ll take you to a restaurant and tell the dazzling story of your beauty. True-life narrative — you’ll love it.” — “I w-w-want to,” Vera stammered, joining the game. “Just let me take my soup off the stove and fix my lashes.” — “I’ll call us a cab,” Roman winked. — “Where shall we go?” Vera grinned from ear to ear. — “Five-star restaurant!” — “There aren’t any here — just a ‘Five Cheese’ pizzeria.” — “Then pizza it is! Only the best for my mistress.” — “What if your wife gets jealous?” — “We’ll do our utmost to make sure she does,” Roman winked mischievously.

There’s Still Work to Be Done at Home… Granny Val trudged to the rusty garden gate, fumbled with the ancient lock, and finally stepped inside her chilly old cottage, settling wearily on a chair beside the cold hearth. The house, closed up for three months, smelled unlived-in—dusty ceilings strung with fresh cobwebs, a mournful creak from the antique stool, the wind howling down the chimney—her old home seemed to complain: Where have you been, mistress? Who did you leave in charge? How will we get through the winter? “Wait a bit, my dear. Let me catch my breath, I’ll light the fire and we’ll be warm again…” Just a year ago, Granny Val bustled around: touching up the paint, fetching water, bowing before her icons, tending the stove, and whirling through the garden, planting and watering. The house had come alive with her—floorboards chirping under her brisk steps, doors and windows springing open to her touch, the oven working overtime baking delicious pies. They were happy together: Val and her old cottage. She’d buried her husband early, raised three children on her own, saw them all educated and settled. One son was now a sea captain, the other an army colonel, both living far away, seldom visiting. Only her youngest, Tamara, stayed nearby in the village, serving as chief agronomist—always at work, popping by on Sundays for quick visits and a taste of Val’s famous pies. Her granddaughter, Svetlana—sworn by all the village as a true beauty, with striking grey eyes and long, golden, wavy hair—was her greatest comfort. Svetlana studied in the city and returned as an agricultural economist, married the local vet, and with a special social programme, moved into a sturdy new brick house—a veritable manor by village standards. But while Val’s garden flourished, Svetlana’s was bare—she wasn’t made for growing things, kept too gentle by her grandmother, and soon the arrival of a son, Vasya, left no time for gardening. Svetlana urged her grandmother to move in with them: the new house was modern, no stove to light, plenty of room. At 80, Val’s once-nimble legs finally faltered, and she agreed. But after a while, Svetlana despaired: “Granny, I love you—but you’re always sitting! I’d hoped you’d help me around the house!” “My legs aren’t what they were, dear…” “Strange, you only got ‘old’ when you came to me!” So, not living up to expectations, Val was sent back home, disheartened and sick from guilt over failing her beloved granddaughter. Now even shuffling between bed and table was a struggle; going to church was impossible. Father Boris, who’d long depended on Val’s help at the historic village church, began visiting her at home. Spotting her shivering in an old cardigan and scuffed slippers, he sighed—Granny needed looking after. He recruited Anna, a sturdy neighbour, and soon the cottage warmed up—Father Boris fetched wood, made tea, wrote her sons’ addresses on envelopes when her shaky hand couldn’t. Her letters boasted, “I’m doing very well, my dear son. Thank God, I have everything I need!” But the pages were smeared with teardrops. Life adjusted. Anna checked in, her husband old sailor Pete ferried Val to services. Svetlana, heartbroken, fell seriously ill and within months, cancer claimed her. Her husband took to her grave, leaving four-year-old Vasya neglected and hungry, until Tamara intervened. But with work and little time, Vasya was set for a local boarding school—well run, but no substitute for home. That’s when Granny Val turned up, delivered by sailor Pete. “I’ll take Vasya,” she declared. “Mum, you can barely walk! You can’t manage a child!” “While I’m alive, he’s not going to an orphanage.” The usually gentle Val’s firm words left Tamara no argument. Neighbours whispered, “She must be losing her mind—she needs looking after herself, and now she’s taken on a child!” Father Boris visited, fearing the worst, but found warmth and laughter: Vasya, clean and content, listened to tales on the old gramophone, while Grannie Val, lively and quick, whipped up curd buns just as she once did. Back at home, Father Boris relayed the miracle to his wife, Alexandra, who responded with a story of her great-grandmother Vera: on her deathbed, Vera overheard her newborn great-granddaughter cry and, against all odds, got up, cared for the baby, and lived ten more years, “because there was still work to be done at home.” As the old song goes: “It’s not our time to go—there’s still work to be done at home!” And Father Boris smiled in agreement.