David sat on an old bus, rattling along country roads toward his parents’ house on the outskirts of Manchester. His chest tightened with dread. He’d come to deliver news that would upend their world—his divorce from Emily. But what he heard inside their home struck him like a lightning bolt. His elderly parents, whom he’d always seen as the picture of a strong marriage, announced their own divorce. The shock eclipsed everything he’d meant to say. Now David stood frozen, faced with a choice that could change his life, his heart storming with fear, guilt, and confusion.
The thought of admitting his split from Emily had weighed on him. He could’ve stayed silent, but gossip in their small village spread fast. Emily might’ve called his parents out of spite, or his brother or sister might’ve let it slip by accident. David decided honesty was best—no apologies later. Life was unpredictable, and mistakes happened.
He climbed the familiar steps and rang the bell. His father, Arthur Wilson, opened the door with a scowl, as if he already knew why his son had come.
“Hello,” Arthur muttered. “About time you showed up. Come in.”
“Hi, Dad,” David replied, but unease prickled his skin. Had someone already told them? “Is Mum home?”
“Oh, she’s home,” Arthur snapped. “Where else would she be? Sat there like Lady Muck.”
“What’s that mean?” David frowned. “What’s wrong?”
“I’ve had enough, that’s what!” Arthur suddenly shouted, turning away in a huff before storming into the living room.
David followed, bewildered. His father slumped onto the sofa, arms crossed. His mother, Margaret—usually knitting in her armchair—was nowhere in sight. He peeked into the bedroom and found her by the window, her face like thunder.
“You’re here,” she said coldly. “Have you left Emily, or are you just thinking about it?”
“How d’you know?” David’s stomach dropped. “Why are you asking?”
“Because I need to know if you’ve rented a flat yet!” she shot back.
“What flat?” he stammered.
“The one you’ll need after the divorce!” she said sharply.
“Haven’t rented anything,” David admitted. “But how did you hear about the divorce?”
“We heard,” Margaret muttered. “Well, son, better start looking. I’m moving in with you!”
“What?” David stared, disbelief ringing in his ears.
“No!” Arthur bellowed from the living room, appearing in the doorway, red-faced. “I’ll be the one living with David! You stay here—the house is in your name!”
“Over my dead body!” Margaret shrieked. “I’m not staying in this place another minute with your stubbornness soaking the walls!”
“Stop!” David looked between them. “What are you on about? Where are you planning to go?”
“Wherever you go!” Arthur declared. “Good on you, son, for thinking of divorce! Bloody brilliant timing!”
“Why’s it brilliant?” David felt the ground vanish beneath him.
“Because your mother and I are splitting too!” Arthur blurted.
“What?!” David gaped. He’d expected lectures, not this bombshell.
“Enough!” Arthur went on. “You’re grown. I don’t owe anyone anything. Your mother and I are sick of each other, just like you and Emily. I’m moving in with you. Lads’ life—just us!”
“No, our son’s taking me!” Margaret cut in. “I’m no use to you, but I’ll help him. Without a wife, he’ll be lost. I can still cook. Right, Dave? You love my roast, don’t you?”
“And I can’t cook?” Arthur scoffed. “I’m better than any chef! Full English, shepherd’s pie—name it!”
“Ha!” Margaret smirked. “When’s the last time you cooked? Back when Thatcher was in office?”
“So what? Men can manage just fine! All we need’s a washing machine, microwave, and a big fridge to stock up for the month!” Arthur retorted.
“Is this what you’re teaching him?” Margaret gasped.
“Enough!” David roared. “Have you lost the plot? You’re nearly eighty, acting like kids! Look at yourselves!”
“Look at you!” they shouted in unison. “Nearly fifty, moping like a schoolboy! Don’t you dare scold us! Just pick who you’re taking to your new place!”
“Who says I’m moving out?” David snapped. “Emily and I have our own house!”
“What?” Margaret blinked. “But you’re divorcing!”
“Who told you that?” David demanded.
“Emily did! Your sister said you called her and told her everything,” Margaret said.
“I’m not divorcing her!” David said firmly. “It was a joke!”
“A joke?” Arthur faltered. “Your mother and I were all set for a fresh start, making plans… and you’re joking?”
“Yeah, Dave,” Margaret grumbled. “Not funny, winding us up like that. Got us all excited for change, and now—just a joke? Fine, we’ll stick it out a little longer.”
“But remember, son,” she added, “if you change your mind and do divorce, your dad and I are first in line to live with you. Understood?”
“Understood,” David muttered. He knew now—any thoughts of divorcing Emily were done. “I’m off.”
“Where?” Margaret frowned. “You didn’t come for no reason. Fancy some dinner?”
“No,” he waved her off. “Just wanted to check on you. Clearly, I was right to. Stop the bickering. You’re supposed to be our example. And you two… Christ. Right, bye.”
The moment the door shut, his parents exchanged glances and sighed in relief.
“Did it work?” Arthur asked.
“Think so,” Margaret said uncertainly. “Long as Emily doesn’t drag her feet making up.”
“She won’t,” Arthur said. “Your sister said the divorce was Dave’s idea. Means he’ll be the one crawling back.”
“God willing,” Margaret whispered, picking up her knitting. “Off you pop, then.”
“Where?” Arthur frowned.
“Kitchen. You bragged you’re the better cook. Prove it. Fry up some chips—haven’t had yours in ages.”
“Right,” Arthur grinned. “I’ll make ‘em so good, you’ll beg for more.”
As David walked home, a thought nagged him: *Did they stage all this to keep me with Emily?* His parents’ love—their cleverness, their care—had given him a chance to rethink. But fear lingered: what if he lost his family anyway?
