Mother-in-Law Squared: When Eccentric Granny Valentina Drops In Unannounced, Yegor’s Holiday Takes a Hilarious Turn with Impromptu City Tours, Singing by the Barbecue, an Unexpected Kitten, and Heartfelt Family Secrets

Author Mitsuko NagasakiReading 7 minViews 3

Good heavens! I exclaimed, barely believing my eyes as I opened the door and found a petite, spry old woman in faded jeans, her lips pursed in a sly grin. Her bright, mischievous eyes twinkled through narrowed lids.

Marys grandmother, Edith Wilkinson, I realised suddenly. But what on earth brought her here, and without so much as a telegram or phone call?

Hello, young man! she said with that same wry smile. Will you let me in then?

Oh, of course! I stammered, hastily stepping aside.

Edith tugged her wheeled suitcase across the doorstep and into our hallway.

A strong cuppa for me, thank you, she instructed as I poured the tea. So, Marys at work, little Alice is at nurseryand what about you? Why are you lounging about?

They’ve put me on leave, I replied gloomily. Two weeks, work-related. My dreams of a lazy fortnight vanished like mist. I eyed my guest hopefully. Will you be with us long?

She nodded, shattering my hopes. Spot on. Ill be here a good while.

I sighed again. I barely knew Edith. Id only glimpsed her once, at our weddingshe had travelled from another city just for the day. Yet Id heard plenty. My father-in-law, whenever he mentioned his mother-in-law, would lower his voice and look nervously around, as if summoning a ghost both feared and revered.

Do the washing up, she now commanded briskly, and then get yourself ready. Ill be acquainting myself with this fine city, and youll be my guide.

Arguing never occurred to methe way she spoke reminded me of my old army sergeant, Sergeant Pritchard: it was wiser to fall in than question.

Youll show me the riverside promenade, Edith declared. Whats the easiest way there? She locked her arm through mine without hesitation and, with a purposeful stride, surveyed the street.

By taxi, I said with a shrug.

Without warning, Edith puckered her lips and gave an astonishingly shrill whistle. A cab braked sharply at the curb.

Was there any need to whistle like that? I scolded as she clambered into the front seat. What will people think?

Theyll think its you being a bit uncouth, she replied cheerily. The cabbie erupted in laughter; he and Edith exchanged an enthusiastic high-five, as if sharing a secret joke.

Youre a well-mannered lad, Edith said as we strolled along the riverside path. Your grans probably the dignified, proper sort. Not so with me! Marys grandadGod rest himhe never knew what hit him when I swooped into his life. He was all books and quiet corners, but I dragged him up hills and taught him to parachute! Never did get him on a glider, mind youhed wait on the ground, looking after our Mary, while I did circles over his head.

My curiosity grew with every tale. Mary had never told me her gran was such a whirlwind, and it suddenly all made sense. Edith fixed me with a stern glance.

Have you ever parachuted yourself?

In the armyfourteen jumps, I replied, not without lingering pride.

Well done! Very respectable. Edith nodded her approval, then unexpectedly hummed a bar of a familiar song I knew from my service days.

Well fall for ages yet,
Till the cord cuts us free!

I joined in, and the old song warmed the air between us. I no longer felt uneasy with this remarkable old lady.

We need a rest and a bite, Edith announced. Lets try that food stallthe smell alone is mouth-watering.

The grill chefa dapper, dark-haired man with a razor-sharp glint in his eyewas threading marinated meat onto skewers with all the seriousness of a knight preparing for battle. He looked like hed dispatch his enemies with the same fierce glee with which he cooked. Just watching made me want to break into a wild Morris dance for the sheer thrill of it.

Edith sat at a bench and, with a clear, melodic voice, burst into an old folk tune:

Good day, kind sir,
Would you sing at a wedding cheer?

The chef startled, then, with a gleam in his eye, finished the verse in hearty unison with her:

A weddings merrier still,
When theres a song n good will!

Here you are, love, he beamed, setting down platter after platterskewers, flatbread, heaps of fresh greensand poured out two glasses of chilled English cider with all the formality of a stately butler.

Attracted by the fragrant meat, a skinny grey kitten crept from a thicket, gazing at us with cautious hope.

Just what we need, Edith smiled. Come on, little one. She called to the chef, Sir, could you bring just a wee bit of fresh meat for our friend?

As the kitten feasted, Edith gave me a gentle scolding.

Youve a child growing up hereespecially a girl! How do you expect her to learn kindness and care for others if you dont have a cat about? This little one is just the thing!

After the outing, Edith set about washing our new small charge, sending me out with a thorough list: litter, bowls, scratching post, a soft bed. When I staggered back, arms loaded, the house rang with delighted shrieks. Mary and Alice clung to their gran as she showered them with kisses. The kitten, meanwhile, made itself at home atop the sofa, observing us all with wide eyes.

Heres a little summer outfit for you, Alice, Gran handed out her gifts, and for you, Marynothing cheers a husband quite like a pretty bit of lace

All week, Alice didnt set foot in nursery. She and Edith disappeared on long morning wanderings and returned tired but elated, thick as thieves.

At home, I waited with the kittenwhom we named Benny. In the evenings, Mary joined us, and off wed all go again, Benny trotting at our heels.

One word, please, Edward, Edith said to me one evening, her tone suddenly solemn. Im leaving tomorrowits time now. She handed me an envelope. Give this to Mary after I go. Its my willMary gets the flat and everything, you the library. My husband spent his life gathering those bookssome of them are signed by great English authors

Oh Edith, is this necessary? I protested, but she held up her hand.

Ive not said a word to Mary, but Ill tell youIve trouble with my heart, real trouble. Anything could happen, Edward. I must prepare.

But you shouldnt be alone! I cried. You need someone near.

Im never quite alone, she smiled, My daughter is just a city awayand you must look after Mary and raise Alice well. Youre a good soul, Edward. Why, you see, Im your mother-in-law squared! She clapped me on the back and let out a peal of laughter.

Couldnt you stay just a little longer? I pleaded.

Gratefully, she patted my hand but shook her head.

The entire family came to wave her off. Even Benny, perched in Alices arms, seemed sad.

Edith, ever herself, made that famous two-fingered whistleand again, a taxi halted sharply.

Lets be off, lad; put me on the train! she directed, kissing Mary and Alice before climbing in.

The cabbie gaped at this doughty old lady, arrested by her irrepressible spirit.

What are you staring at? I muttered, Never seen a proper English lady before?

Grinning, Edith flexed her white curls, clapped her hand heartily against mine, and her ringing laughter trailed behind as we drove away.

Mirra: The Update Is Ready For the First Time, My Phone Burst Red in a Lecture—Not Just the Screen, but the Whole Scratched Brick Glowing Like an Ember. “It’ll Explode Any Moment, Mate,” Whispered Alex from the Next Desk. Ignore Pirated Firmware, He Warned. While the Econometrics Lecturer Scribbled at the Board and the Room Buzzed, That Crimson Glow Shone Through My Denim Jacket. The Vibration Wasn’t the Jittery Buzz I Knew—It Was Steady, Like a Pulse. “Update Available,” the Screen Flashed as I Pulled the Phone Out—Underneath, a Creepy Minimalist Icon: Black Circle, White Rune or Perhaps a Stylised ‘M’. I’d Seen a Hundred Similar Apps Before—But This One Felt Like It Was Staring Back at Me. Title: “Mirra”. Category: “Tools”. Size: 13MB. No Rating. “Install It,” Whispered Someone on My Right. I Jumped, but Kat Was Busy with Her Notebook—She Hadn’t Spoken. Then the Voice Was Just There, in My Head, Like a Popup: “Install.” I’m the Guy Who Beta Tests Everything, Flashes ROMs, Pokes Around Where Sane People Wouldn’t. But Even I Found This Strange. Yet My Finger Pressed Download. It Installed Instantly—As if Mirra Had Been Waiting in the System. No Registration, No Logins, No Permissions. Just a Black Screen—“Welcome, Andrew.” How Did It Know My Name? “Young Man, If You’re Finished Talking to Your Phone, Let’s Get Back to Demand and Supply,” the Lecturer Chimed, Glaring Down Her Glasses. The Class Sniggered as I Slid the Phone Under My Desk—Glued to That One Line on Screen. “First Feature Unlocked: Probability Shift (Level 1).” A Button: “Activate.” Tiny Print: “Warning: Use Alters Event Structures. Side Effects Possible.” It Felt Like Some Clickbait ‘Luck Timer’, But My Phone Was Still Hot. I Pressed ‘Activate.’ The World Wobbled—Colours Sharpened, Sounds Faded, A Crystal Rung in My Ears. “Feature Activated. Choose Target.” I Typed: “Not Get Picked During Class.” A Subtle Lurch—As if the Room Dropped by a Millimetre. Then Everything Reset. Lecturer Rattled Off Attendance. My Gut Froze. Surely She’d Call My Name—She Always Did. “…Kovalev? Late Again. Fine. Next… Petrov, to the Board.” Kat Paled and Stumbled Forwards. It Worked. It Actually Worked. After Class, Numb Like After a Gig, I Stared at Mirra—No Rating, No Details, No Permissions. Almost as if It Wasn’t There at All. “It Could Just Be Coincidence,” I Insisted. But the Next Notification Popped: “Mirra Update (1.0.1) Ready. New Feature: Through the Veil.” No Developer, No Android Version. Just That Dry, Oddly Honest Line: “Through the Veil.” I Hit ‘Defer’. The Phone Whined and Installed Anyway. “Feature: Through the Veil (Level 1)—See the True State of Objects and People. Range: 3 Metres. Duration: 10 Seconds Max. Price: Heightened Feedback.” What Feedback? My Spine Turned Cold. Crushed on the Bus, Curiosity Won. “Just Ten Seconds—Just a Peek.” Everything Blurred, Threads Spun from People—Grey and Ragged, Blue and Shivering. The Driver Had a Thick Black Cord Over His Head, Squirming with Shadows. I Checked My Own Hands. Red Veins Flickered—And One Thicker Thread Linked Me to My Phone, Throbbing and Growing. I Cut the App Off. Noise Crashed Back in. “Feedback Increased: +5%.” Again, “Update Mirra for Proper Operation.” “Proper for What?” I Demanded. No Answer. News Broke an Hour Later: A Lorry Jack-Knifed into a Bus at the University Crossroads. The Plate Number Matched. The Driver—I Couldn’t Bear to Look. “Any Change to the Network of Probabilities Redistributes Load Elsewhere,” the App Calmly Explained. “You Lowered Your Odds of Being Called in Class. Elsewhere, Odds Rose.” “But I Didn’t Know!” “Ignorance Doesn’t Break the Connection.” Siren Wails Crept Closer. Another Update: “Cancel Feature Added. Undo a Single Change. But Ripple Effects Will Remain.” If I Undo My Wish? I Can’t Reverse Time. But Maybe Different Outcomes Will Ripple Through Next Time. After Weighing It All, I Installed the Update. The World Twisted—Less a Jerk, More an Alignment. “Cancellation Complete. Lockdown Active. Feedback Level Stabilised.” And That’s the Choice: Start Playing God, or Become a Fuse, the Catch-All for All That Stray Chaos? Mirra Sat Waiting—Version 1.1.0: Forecast Function, ‘Moral Error Fixes’. I Laughed Bitterly—Morality Was the Only Thing I Still Had. I Shut Off Updates, Swore to Watch the System as an Admin, Not a Demi-God. From My Desk, I Drafted “Mirra: A User’s Protocol”—Notes for Anyone Who Might Find Themselves at the Crossroads of Power and Consequence. Of Probability and Price. Because Sometimes, Even the Most Unlikely Outcomes—Deserve Their Chance to Happen.

Get Out of My Flat! — Said Mum “Out,” Mum said, perfectly calmly. Arina smirked and leaned back in her chair—she was sure her mother was speaking to her friend. “Get out of my flat!” Natasha turned to her daughter. “Len, did you see the post?” her friend burst into the kitchen without even taking her coat off. “Arisha gave birth! Three and a half kilos, fifty-two centimetres.” Spitting image of her dad, same snub nose. I’ve already dashed round all the shops, bought baby clothes. Why so glum? “Congratulations, Natasha. I’m happy for you,” Lena stood to pour tea for her friend. “Come on, take your coat off and have a seat.” “Oh, I can’t really stop, I’ve got so much to do,” Natasha perched on the edge of the chair. “So much to manage. Arinka’s such a star, does it all herself, off her own back.” Her husband’s a gem, they’ve got their new flat on a mortgage now, just finishing the renovations. I’m proud of my girl. Raised her well! Lena silently put a cup in front of her friend. Sure, raised her right… If only Natasha knew… *** Exactly two years ago, Arina, Natasha’s daughter, turned up at Lena’s without warning, eyes swollen from tears and hands shaking. “Auntie Len, please, don’t tell Mum. I’m begging you! If she finds out, she’ll have a heart attack,” Arina sobbed, clutching a damp hanky. “Arina, calm down. Tell me properly. What happened?” Lena had been genuinely scared. “I… at work…” Arina snuffled. “A colleague’s money went missing. Fifty thousand.” And the cameras caught me going into the office when no one was there. I swear I didn’t take it, Auntie Len! Honest! But they said: either I pay back the fifty thousand by lunchtime tomorrow, or they go to the police. They have a ‘witness’ who supposedly saw me hide the wallet. It’s a set-up, Auntie Len! But who’ll believe me? “Fifty thousand?” Lena frowned. “Why didn’t you go to your dad?” “I did!” Arina began crying again. “He said it was my own stupid fault and he wouldn’t give me a penny since I’m a lost cause. Told me, ‘Go to the police, let them teach you a lesson.’ He wouldn’t even let me in the house, yelled through the door. Auntie Len, I’ve got no one else. I’ve saved twenty thousand. I need thirty more. “What about Natasha? Won’t you tell her? She’s your mum.” “No! Mum would kill me. She already says I embarrass her, and now this…” She works at a school; everyone knows her. Please, can you lend me the thirty? I swear, I’ll pay you back two or three thousand a week. I’ve already found another job! Please, Auntie Len!” Lena felt deeply sorry for the girl then. Only twenty, just starting out in life, and here’s this stain. Her father had refused help, turned away; her mother really would tear her head off… “Who doesn’t make mistakes in life?” Lena thought. Arina kept crying. “All right,” she said. “I have the money. Was saving it for dental work, but the teeth can wait.” Just promise me it’s the last time. And I won’t breathe a word to your mum, if you’re that scared. “Thank you! Thank you, Auntie Len! You’ve saved my life!” Arina threw her arms around her. The first week, Arina really did bring two thousand. She was cheerful, said it was all sorted, no trouble with the police, new job going well. Then… she just stopped replying to messages. A month, two, three. Lena saw her at Natasha’s during holidays, but Arina acted as if they barely knew each other—just a cold “hello” and that was all. Lena didn’t push. She thought: “Young, must be embarrassed, that’s all.” She decided thirty thousand wasn’t worth wrecking years of friendship with Natasha. Wrote off the debt—just let it go. *** “Are you even listening to me?” Natasha waved a hand in front of Lena’s face. “What are you thinking about?” “Oh, nothing much,” Lena shook her head. “Just my own stuff.” “Listen,” Natasha lowered her voice. “I bumped into Ksenia, remember our old neighbour? She came up to me in the shops yesterday, acting odd. Started asking about Arisha, how she was, if she’d paid back her debts. I had no idea what she meant. I told her Arinka’s independent now, earning her own money. And Ksenia just gave this weird smile and walked off. Do you know if Arisha ever borrowed anything from her?” Lena felt something tighten inside. “I don’t know, Natasha. Maybe just a bit of small change.” “All right, I’d better go. Need to pop into the chemist,” Natasha stood, kissed Lena on the cheek and hurried out. That evening Lena couldn’t hold back. She found Ksenia’s number and called. “Ksenia, hi. It’s Lena. Listen, you saw Natasha today? What debts were you talking about?” A heavy sigh at the other end. “Oh, Lena… I thought you’d know. You’re closer to them than the rest of us. Two years ago Arina came running to me. In tears, red eyes, said she’d been accused of theft at work. Either she paid back thirty thousand or it was prison. Begged me not to tell her mum, cried and pleaded. Well, like an idiot, I gave her the money. She swore she’d give it back in a month. Then she vanished… Lena gripped the phone. “Thirty thousand?” she repeated. “Exactly thirty?” “Yeah. She said she was short by just that much. In the end, I got five hundred back after six months, then nothing. Later, I heard from Vera in the next building—Arina had gone to her too with the same story. Vera lent her forty thousand. And even Galina Petrovna, their old teacher, ended up ‘rescued’ from the police. Gave her fifty thousand. “Wait a sec…” Lena sat down in shock. “You’re saying she asked everyone for the same amount? With the same story?” “Looks like it,” Ksenia’s voice hardened. “The girl took ‘tribute’ from every one of Natasha’s friends. Thirty, forty thousand from each. Made up the theft story, pulled at our heartstrings. We all care about Natasha, so we just kept quiet—didn’t want to upset her. But Arina, it seems, spent the money. Month after, her social media was full of photos from Turkey. “I gave her thirty thousand too,” said Lena quietly. “There you go,” Ksenia snorted. “Makes five, six of us. That’s not a mistake, Lena—it’s a racket. That’s not ‘youthful error,’ that’s outright fraud. And Natasha’s blissfully proud of her girl, totally oblivious. And her daughter? A thief! Lena hung up. She wasn’t bothered about the money—had already written it off. What made her sick was how cunningly and coldly a twenty-year-old girl had manipulated grown women, exploiting their trust. *** Next day Lena went to see Natasha. She hadn’t planned to make a scene. She just wanted to look Arina in the eye. Arina had just come back from the maternity ward and, while the renovations at her mortgage flat were underway, was staying with her mum. “Oh, Auntie Lena!” Arina flashed a strained smile at her mum’s friend. “Come in. Tea?” Natasha bustled at the stove. “Lena, darling, have a seat! Why didn’t you call?” Lena sat at the table opposite Arina. “Arina,” she began calmly. “Yesterday I saw Ksenia. And Vera. And Mrs Petrovna. We got talking. We rather formed a ‘victim support group,’ you might say.” Arina froze, went pale, risked a glance at her mother’s back. “What’s this about, Lena?” Natasha turned round. “Oh, Arina knows,” Lena kept her eyes fixed on the girl. “Remember, Arisha, that little incident from two years ago? When you asked me for thirty thousand? And Ksenia too. And Vera, forty. Mrs Petrovna, fifty. We all ‘saved’ you from jail. Every one of us thought she alone knew your terrible secret. The kettle shook in Natasha’s hand; boiling water spattered on the hob, hissing. “What fifty thousand?” Natasha put the kettle down slowly. “Arina? What’s she talking about? You borrowed money—from my friends? Even from Mrs Petrovna?!” “Mum… that’s not…” Arina stammered. “I… I gave it back… mostly…” “You gave nothing back, Arina,” Lena cut in. “You dropped off two grand for show, then vanished. You took about two hundred thousand off us with a made-up story. We kept quiet because we felt sorry for your mum. But now I see we should have pitied ourselves, not you. “Arina—look at me. You swindled money from my friends?! Made up a theft story to fleece people I invite into my house?” “Mum, I needed money for the move!” Arina shouted. “You never gave me anything! Dad wouldn’t spare a penny, and I had to start my life somehow! So what? They’re loaded, it’s not like I left them destitute!” Lena wanted to gag. So that’s how it was… “Right. Natasha, sorry to drop this on you, but I just can’t keep quiet anymore. I won’t enable her behaviour. She thinks we’re all idiots!” Natasha stood there, gripping the table. Her shoulders were shaking. “Out,” she said, completely calm. Arina smirked, leaned back—thought her mum meant Lena. “Out of my flat!” Natasha turned on her daughter. “Pack up and go to your husband. I don’t want to see you here again!” Arina went ashen. “Mum, I’ve got a baby! I mustn’t get stressed!” “You have no mother, Arina. The girl I called daughter was honest. You’re just a thief. Mrs Petrovna… Oh God, she phoned every day, asked after me—and never breathed a word… How can I look her in the eye now? How?” Arina grabbed her bag, flung down a teatowel. “You can choke on your money for all I care!” she yelled. “Stupid old biddies! To hell with both of you!” She rushed into the other room, grabbed the baby’s Moses basket and stormed out. Natasha sank onto a chair, covered her face in her hands. Lena felt ashamed. “I’m sorry, Natasha…” “No, Lena… I’M sorry. For raising such a… such a wretch. I really thought she’d made her own way in life. And all along… God, what shame…” Lena patted her friend’s shoulder as Natasha broke down in tears. *** A week later, Arina’s husband, white-faced and haggard, went round to each “creditor” to apologise, unable to meet their eyes. He promised to repay everyone. He truly did—fifty thousand to Mrs Petrovna, covered by Natasha. Lena doesn’t blame herself. The cheat deserved what she got. Right?

Mother-in-Law Times Two — Well, would you look at that! — said George in place of a greeting as he saw the petite, wiry old lady in jeans at his door, lips stretched in a sly grin. Mischievous eyes twinkled under narrowed lids. “Irina’s gran, Mrs. Valentine Peters,” he realised. “But how on earth — no warning, not even a call…” — Hello, sonny! — she greeted him, still smiling. — Going to let me in, then? — Oh, yes, of course! — George bustled, ushering her in. Mrs. Peters rolled a suitcase into the flat. . . — Strong cuppa for me! — she instructed as George served up tea. — So, Irina at work, little Ella at nursery, and what about you—skiving off? — Been sent on enforced leave, — he replied gloomily. — Two weeks’ ‘operational necessity,’ they call it. — Visions of a fortnight’s peace vanished. He glanced at her, hopeful: — You staying long? — Bang on — nodded Mrs. Peters, dashing his hopes — Staying ages. Another sigh. He barely knew her, only glimpsed her at his and Irina’s wedding—she’d travelled down. But he’d heard plenty from his father-in-law, who, whenever Mrs. Peters came up, would drop his voice and glance fearfully around, clearly respecting her—knee-knockingly so. — Do the washing up, — she instructed him, — and get ready. City tour for me, you’re my guide! George offered no argument—her drill-sergeant tone instantly reminded him of Sergeant Prichard from his army days. Crossing old Prichard was never worth it. — Show me the riverside! — Mrs. Peters ordered. — What’s the quickest way? — Taxi, — shrugged George. Suddenly Mrs. Peters pursed her fingers and let out a piercing whistle. A passing cab screeched to a halt. — Why whistle? What will people think? — George chided, helping her into the passenger seat. — Oh, nothing at all, — she beamed. — If they think anything, they’ll think you’re the uncivilised one. Hearing this, the taxi driver burst out laughing alongside Mrs. Peters. They slapped palms in triumph, like old mates pulling off a prank. — George, you’re a decent, polite lad, — the sprightly granny said as they strolled the riverside. — Your gran’s probably all prim and proper, but I don’t know the meaning of it! My late husband, Irina’s granddad, needed ages to get used to me. He was as quiet as a church mouse, loved his books—then along came me! I dragged him up mountains, taught him parachuting—though he never did brave a hang-glider. He and Irina would wait for me below while I circled overhead. George listened, amazed. Irina had never mentioned her gran’s adventurous streak. It explained a lot. Mrs. Peters fixed him with a look: — Ever parachuted yourself? — Army — fourteen jumps, — George replied, with a touch of pride. — Good on you! — Mrs. Peters nodded approval, breaking into song: “We’ll fall for a while, in this endless leap…” George knew the tune and chimed in: “A white silk cloud soars behind me like a gull…” The song closed the distance between them; he no longer felt awkward with the extraordinary old lady. — Time for a rest and a bite, — she suggested. — That food stall looks promising—smell that barbecue? The kebab man—dark-haired, sharp-featured—was skewering meat for grilling, looking as though he’d happily skewer enemies much the same way. He radiated an urge to cry “Huzzah!” and break into a wild Cossack dance. Taking their seats, Mrs. Peters winked and belted out in a surprisingly clear voice: “Sing us a song, John dear, wouldn’t that be grand at a wedding cheer!” The kebab man, caught off guard, joined in for a comic duet. “Sing at a wedding, that’s the plan—John dear, won’t you join in!” — Please help yourselves, honoured madam, — the kebab man beamed, setting out platters, pitta, and herbs with a flourish. He even brought two icy tumblers of Georgian wine, then pressed his hand to his heart and disappeared. The aroma lured out a little grey kitten from the shrubbery, who peered up at them pleadingly. — You’re just what we need! — Mrs. Peters smiled. — Come on, little lad. — She turned to the kebab man, “Sir, could you bring fresh meat for our friend—chopped up small, please!” As the kitten ate, Mrs. Peters admonished George: — You’ve a daughter, that’s all the more reason for a cat! It’s how you teach kindness, care for the weak, love for others. This little chap will help you! Back home, she bathed their new friend while George fetched kitten gear—litter tray, bowls, scratching post, cosy bed. When George staggered back, the flat rang with girlie squeals: Irina and Ella clung to gran, who showered them with kisses. On the sofa, the kitten blinked curiously at his new family. — For you, Ella, a summer shorts set — gran handed out gifts — and for you, Irina—nothing lifts a woman in her husband’s eyes quite like lacy knickers… Olly skipped nursery all week. Gran whisked her away on daily expeditions; they’d return contentedly exhausted. At home, George and the kitten—now Leo—awaited them, and in the evenings, Irina joined for family strolls, kitten in tow. One evening, Mrs. Peters turned serious. — George, I need a word. I’m leaving tomorrow—time’s up. After I’m off, hand this to Irina. — She pressed a document in a transparent wallet into his hand. — It’s my will. I’m leaving her my flat and everything in it. You get my late husband’s cherished library—signed first editions, incredibly rare. — Mrs. Peters, please—! — George protested, but she silenced him with a gesture. —I’ve told Irina nothing, but you should know: serious heart trouble. It could all end suddenly. Better to be prepared. — You shouldn’t be on your own! — George objected. — I’m never truly alone — she smiled. — Besides, Irina’s mum—your other mother-in-law—lives nearby. And you look after Irina and raise Ella well. You’re a good lad, reliable. So I’m like a double mother-in-law for you! — She laughed heartily, clapping him on the shoulder. — Couldn’t you stay a bit longer? — George begged. She smiled gratefully but shook her head. Everyone came to the station, even Leo, in Ella’s arms, was subdued as they said farewell. With her trademark finger-whistle, Mrs. Peters summoned a taxi which screeched to a stop. — Come on, son-in-law, put me on my train! — she called, kissing Irina and Ella and hopping in beside George. The driver gaped at her, having never been hailed quite so directly. — What are you staring at? — muttered George. — Never seen a decent woman before? The wiry gran gave a shake of her silvery curls, shared a high five with George, and burst into ringing laughter.