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Im 47 now, a rather ordinary woman a wallflower, plainlooking, never having any striking figure.

JUST IN CASE After Vera glanced indifferently at her weeping colleague and turned back to her computer, OIga, the department head, called out, “Heartless as ever, Vera.” “Me? Why do you say that?” Vera replied. “Just because your personal life is all sunshine, doesn’t mean others have it so easy. Can’t you see the girl’s heartbroken? Maybe give some advice, share a bit of your experience, since everything’s so perfect for you.” “Me? Share my wisdom? With her? I doubt Nadine would appreciate it. I tried, you know, five years back when she came to work with a black eye — said it helped her see the road home. It wasn’t her bloke, though; no, she did it herself, just a bad fall. When he left, the bruises disappeared. Third chap to bolt, by the way. I tried to help, share my story. Ended up the bad guy, apparently — just the jealous destroyer of Nadine’s happiness. Now she’s all modern, does therapy instead of spells. Still, it’s the same old cycle, just swapping names. So excuse me if I won’t be weeping and offering tissues this time.” “Still, Vera, it’s not right.” At lunch — everyone round the same table — the only topic was Nadine’s ex, the louse. Vera ate in silence, poured herself a coffee, and retreated to a quiet corner, scrolling her phone, trying to switch off. “Vera,” came the voice — bubbly Tanya, usually all sunshine, but today her face had clouded up. “You really don’t feel even a bit sorry for Nadine?” “Tanya, what do you all want from me?” “Oh, lay off her,” chimed in passing Irene. “She’s got her precious William — living the life of Riley, she’ll never get how it is to be left alone with a kid, fending for yourself. Try getting child support out of that so-called dad now.” “Shouldn’t have bothered having his kid in the first place,” piped up Mrs Taylor, oldest of the lot, whom everyone called Granny Taylor behind her back. “Vera’s right — how many times has Nadine blubbed over some fella? Even when she was expecting, he was already doing her head in. Before that — don’t get me started…” The circle of women gathered around the ever-crying Nadine, each offering advice. What was the point? Strong, independent Nadine was determined to bounce back: called her mum from the countryside to help with her son and that ungrateful ex, then tried to move on — had a new fringe, had her brows microbladed, stuck on eyelashes, almost got a nose ring, but the whole office talked her out of it. And off she went. “It’s nothing, Nadine — he’ll regret it, you’ll see!” “No, he won’t,” Vera muttered, more to herself than anyone, but the tipsy girls overheard, demanding an explanation. “He won’t. He won’t cry, and he won’t regret it. And Nadine? She’ll just meet another one, just like before…” “Easy for you to say, with your William, must be perfect, eh?” “Perfect… my William is golden — doesn’t hit, doesn’t drink, doesn’t chase women, loves me to bits.” “Oh come on, they’re all the same. Watch out, Vera, someone might nick him from you!” “Never — he won’t stray.” “I wouldn’t be so sure.” “You should be.” Fueled by wine and mischief, the girls start teasing: “Let’s all go see if your William can resist our charms! Bet you won’t invite us round. Afraid one of us will snatch your Mr Perfect?” “Alright, let’s go,” Vera grinned. “Right! To Vera’s house, girls! Granny Taylor, are you coming?” “No, girls, my Michael’s waiting at home. Off you pop!” A rattling, giggling crowd descended on Vera’s place; they bustled about the kitchen, laughing while they cooked. “Let’s whip up a dinner for William — I take it he’s out? He’ll be back to a lovely spread.” “Don’t put yourselves out; he’s fussy, barely eats, but yes, he’ll be home soon.” The excitement faded, and soon everyone drifted home, except Nadine, Olga, and Tanya. They sipped tea in Vera’s cosy kitchen, awkward, curious about the mysterious William. The front door opened. “William, my darling, you’re home!” crooned Vera. The women straightened up, suddenly nervous as a tall, handsome young man walked in. Ah, they all thought, so that’s the secret — her husband is much younger! “Girls, meet my Dennis.” Dennis? But… what about William? “My son, Dennis. So, how’s William, Denny?” “Fine, Mum. He just needs rest. He’ll be running about in a couple of days. Just don’t let him lick…” The women blushed. “We… should probably go?” “Wait — you haven’t met William! Quiet now; he’s just had surgery, Dennis and his girlfriend took him in, poor thing was marking the curtains… come meet him.” “There he is, my William, fast asleep.” Stifling laughter, the ladies dashed out. “Vera! It’s a cat!” “Of course it’s a cat. What did you think?” “But… your husband?” “Never had one. You all made that up — I mentioned my perfect William, and you filled in the gaps. First marriage was young and dumb, had Dennis, split up quick. Parents helped. Second time, I almost believed in fairy tales, but he wanted me to ship Dennis off to boarding school. Sent him back to his mum. Third bloke… well, he gave me a black eye, and I gave him the boot. Dennis grew up, got married, I got William. We get along. Movie nights, holidays — nobody owes anybody. Sometimes I cook a fancy dinner, he pops round; everyone’s happy.” Dennis never did get it. Asked why I didn’t live with William. Why? Separate lives, separate habits. If we’d met young, maybe — like my brother and his wife, married thirty years. But me? Nah, no need to fake it for the sake of a title. Me and William, we’re just fine. Right, lovey? Open those pretty eyes.” Home they all trudged, deep in thought — Nadine most of all. But Nadine couldn’t do as Vera did. Within a month, she was gushing over a new love, showing off bouquets at the office. Vera and Granny Taylor just smiled quietly. “How’s your Michael, Granny?” “He’s good, Vera, all healed up. Grandkids wanted him in a dog show — can you imagine? We’re happy enough without all that.” “Some get pets, some get husbands…” “Well, that’s how it goes. Maybe Nadine’s luck will change this time?” “Here’s hoping…” “What are you two whispering about?” “You, Nadine, just hoping things turn out better for you.” “I know how it looks, girls, but I just can’t do it alone, I swear.” “That’s none of our business — don’t apologise, everyone’s got their own way…” “Vera?” Nadine caught her as she walked to her car. “If you ever have tips about cats — which is better, boy or girl?” “Go on, don’t keep them waiting… we’ll see! Just in case…”

JUST IN CASE Margaret glanced at her sobbing colleague with indifference, then turned back to her computer

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Strangers in Our Flat Katya was the first to open the door and froze on the threshold. From inside the flat came the sound of the television, voices chatting in the kitchen, and a strange smell. Behind her, Maksim nearly dropped his suitcase in shock. “Quiet,” she whispered, extending her arm. “Someone’s here.” On the beige sofa—their favourite—lounged two total strangers. A tracksuit-clad man clicked through the channels on the remote, beside him sat a plump woman knitting. Cups, plates with crumbs, and various medicines littered the coffee table. “Sorry, who are you?” Katya’s voice trembled. The strangers turned, completely unfazed. “Oh, you’re home,” said the woman, not even pausing her knitting. “We’re Lida’s relatives. She gave us the keys and said there were no owners here.” Maksim blanched. “What Lida?” “Your mum,” the man finally stood. “We’re from Bristol—here with Misha for his check-ups. She put us up here, said you wouldn’t mind.” Katya walked slowly to the kitchen. At the stove, a teenage boy of about fifteen was frying sausages. The fridge brimmed with unfamiliar food. Dirty dishes were piled on the table. “And you are?” “Misha,” he turned. “What, can’t I eat? Grandma Lida said it was fine.” Katya returned to the hallway, where Maksim was already pulling out his phone. “Mum, what on earth are you doing?” His voice was quiet, but angry. From the phone came his mother’s breezy voice: “Maksim, you’re back? Did you enjoy your trip? Listen, I gave the keys to Svetlana, she and Vitya are in London, had to take Misha for some doctors. Thought, well, your flat’s empty, no point letting it go to waste? They’re just here for a week.” “Mum, did you ask us?” “Why ask? You weren’t there. Just tell them I’m responsible for the flat, so they’ll tidy when they leave.” Katya snatched the phone: “Lydia Petrovna, are you serious? You just let strangers stay in our home?” “What strangers? That’s my cousin Svetlana! We shared a bed as kids.” “And I’m supposed to care who you shared a bed with? This is our flat!” “Katya, don’t get worked up. Family, that’s all. They’re quiet, won’t break anything. Their boy’s sick, they needed help. Or are you that stingy?” Maksim took the phone back: “Mum, you’ve got one hour to come and take them out. All of them.” “But Maksim, they’re meant to stay until Thursday! Misha’s got tests, they needed the consultations. They booked a hotel, I just helped them save money.” “Mum. One hour. If you’re not here, I’ll call the police.” He hung up. Katya sank down onto the hall stool, face in her hands. Suitcases stood unpacked. The television murmured in the lounge, sausages sizzled in the kitchen. Two hours ago, they were on a plane, dreaming of being home at last. Now, she felt like an unwelcome guest in her own flat. “We’ll get ready,” the woman from the lounge appeared, sheepish. “Lida thought you wouldn’t mind. We would have asked, but didn’t have your number. Lida suggested, and we agreed. Thought we’d stay a week, do the hospital stuff.” Maksim stood silently by the window, tension written in his back. Katya knew it meant he was furious at his mother, but couldn’t say so out loud. “Where’s our cat?” she burst out, suddenly panicked. “What cat?” “Murzik. Ginger. We literally left keys for him.” “No idea,” Svetlana shrugged. “We haven’t seen him.” Katya combed the flat. She found the cat wedged under the bed, fur bristled, eyes wide. When she tried to coax him out, he hissed. “Murzik, darling,” she lay on the floor. “It’s me. It’s okay.” He watched her warily. The room reeked of strangers. Unfamiliar pills cluttered her nightstand, the bed was made differently, someone else’s slippers littered the floor. Maksim squatted beside her. “Sorry.” “For what? You didn’t know.” “For my mum. For her being like this.” “She thinks she’s right.” “She always does,” he fumed. “Remember when we first moved, she barged in unannounced? I thought I’d explained—turns out not.” Voices echoed from the hallway. His mum had arrived. Katya stood, smoothed her hair, went out. Lydia Petrovna stood, indignant: “Maksim, are you mad?” “Mum, please, sit in the kitchen.” “Sit? Svetlana, Vitya, start packing, they’re kicking us out. We’ll go to mine.” “Mum, sit. Please.” She noticed his expression and finally fell silent. They all moved to the kitchen, where Misha finished off sausages. “Mum,” Maksim sat opposite her, “explain how you thought it was okay to let people in our flat without asking?” “I was helping! Svetlana phoned, crying—Misha’s ill, needed to come to London, nowhere to stay. Your flat was empty.” “Mum, it isn’t your flat.” “How’s it not mine? I’ve got keys.” “The keys—so you could feed the cat, not run a B&B.” “Maksim, it’s family! Svetlana’s my sister, we’ve always been close. Vitya’s a good lad, hard-working. Misha’s sick, needs help. And you’d turf them out?” Katya’s hands shook as she poured herself water. “Lydia Petrovna, you didn’t ask us.” “Why would I? You weren’t home!” “Which is exactly why you should have!” Maksim was raising his voice now. “We have phones! You could have called, texted—asked. Then we’d have decided.” “So you’d have just said no?” “Maybe. Or agreed for a couple of days, with conditions. But we’d have known. It’s called respect.” Lydia stood up: “Always the way. I try to help and get it thrown in my face. Svetlana, get your things; we’re off to mine.” “Mum, you’ve only got the one-bed. You said yourself it’s too small for four.” “We’ll cope. Better than with the ungrateful.” Katya set down her glass. “Lydia Petrovna, please. You know perfectly well you were wrong. Otherwise, you’d have phoned us.” Her mother-in-law stopped dead. “You knew we’d say no, that’s why you presented it as a fait accompli. You figured we’d come back, see them already here, and just put up with it. Right?” “I only wanted to help.” “No. You wanted it your way. That’s different.” For the first time, Lydia looked lost. “Svetlana was crying. Misha was really suffering. I felt sorry for them.” “And that makes sense,” said Maksim. “But it wasn’t yours to offer. Mum, how would you feel if I let my mates stay in your flat while you were away—without asking?” “I’d be furious.” “Exactly.” They sat in silence. In the lounge, the family started packing. Svetlana cried quietly, Vitya packed bags, Misha hovered at the kitchen door, eyes downcast. “Sorry,” mumbled the boy. “I thought it’d be okay. Grandma said.” Katya looked at him: just a scared kid. None of this was his fault. “You haven’t done anything wrong; go help your parents.” Lydia pulled out a handkerchief. “I really thought it was for the best. Didn’t cross my mind to ask. You’re my children, I’ve always done everything for you so I just thought…” “We’re not kids anymore, Mum. We’re thirty. We have our own lives.” “I understand,” Lydia stood. “Do you want your keys back?” “Yes,” Katya nodded. “Sorry, but we’ve lost trust.” “I get it.” Svetlana’s family left quickly, with long, awkward apologies. Lydia took them to hers, assuring them they’d squeeze in somehow. Maksim closed the door behind them and slumped against it. They wandered through the flat in silence. Fresh sheets were needed, the fridge had to be cleared out. Signs of other people everywhere: forgotten things, moved furniture, dirty dishes. Murzik still cowered under the bed. “Do you think she understood?” Katya asked, opening the kitchen window. “Don’t know. I’d like to think so.” “And if not?” “Then we’ll be firmer. I won’t let this happen again.” She hugged him amid the mess that wasn’t theirs but in their own home. “The worst bit?” she stepped back. “The cat. We did all this for him, and he’s been starving and terrified through this whole circus.” “Do you think they even fed him?” “Doesn’t look like it. His bowl’s empty, water filthy. Probably forgot about him.” Maksim knelt by the bed: “Murzik, I’m sorry mate. Mum’s not getting those keys again.” The cat cautiously stuck out his head, then crept out to rub against Maksim’s legs. Katya fetched some food, which he devoured like he hadn’t eaten in days. They set about cleaning. Threw away the strangers’ food, changed the bedding, washed up. Murzik ate and curled up asleep, flat once again their own. That evening, Lydia called. Her voice was quiet, apologetic: “Maksim, I’ve been thinking. You were right. I’m sorry.” “Thank you, Mum.” “Is Katya angry with me?” He looked at his wife, she nodded: “She is. But she’ll forgive you. In time.” Afterwards, they sat for a long time, drinking tea in silence. Twilight thickened beyond the windows. The flat was clean, quiet, theirs again. Their holiday had ended, suddenly and brutally.

It was Alice who first put her key in the door and immediately froze on the threshold. The faint sound

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Settling In Comfortably

14May2025 Today I reflected on how ordinary my life has become, and how that very ordinariness feels

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Her Boss: An Unexpected Power Dynamic

Dear Diary, I was racing to the office this morning, my heart pounding like a drum. If I didnt slip through

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Ordinary Folks: The Everyday Lives That Shape Our World

The street is noisy today, as it always is in spring when the city finally feels the warm sun that thaws

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Homeless: Struggles and Stories from the Streets

28March I have nowhere left to go. Literally, nowhere. I could spend a couple of nights on the platform

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“What Do You Mean You Won’t Take Care of My Son’s Child?”: When Mother-in-Law Loses Her Temper and a Family Dinner Turns into a Showdown over Boundaries, Responsibility, and a Few Moscow Flats

How can you say you arent going to help care for my sons child? my future mother-in-law finally burst

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“Lydia, Have You Gone Mad in Your Old Age? Your Grandkids Are Already at School—What’s All This About a Wedding?” That’s What My Sister Said When I Told Her I’m Getting Married. But Why Postpone Happiness? Toly and I Are Tying the Knot Next Week—No Big Party at Sixty, Just a Quiet Registry Office Ceremony for Two. But Toly Insists on Making It Official; He’s a True Gentleman Who Wants Commitment—and With Him, I Feel Young Again. I Braced Myself to Tell My Sister, Knowing She’d Judge Me for ‘Moving On’ So Soon After My Husband’s Passing. But After Years of Living for Others—Children, Grandchildren, Even Livestock—I Finally Found Joy for Myself. Now, Thanks to Toly, I’m Learning Life Can Be Sweet Even in Retirement, No Matter What Others Think

Linda, have you lost your mind in your old age? Youve got grandchildren in secondary schoolwhats this

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The Only Man in the House Over breakfast one morning, Vera, the eldest daughter, glanced at her phone and asked, “Dad, have you seen today’s date?” “No, what’s special about it?” She turned the phone to show the string of numbers: 11.11.11 – November 11th, 2011. “It’s your lucky number, Dad – 11, and today there are three in a row. You’re going to have an amazing day.” “From your lips to God’s ears,” Val chucked. “That’s right, Dad,” Nadya chimed in, her eyes never leaving her screen. “Horoscopes say that Scorpios are due for a life-changing gift today!” “Brilliant. Probably some rich unknown relation in America or Europe just died and left everything to us… Millionaires, no—billionaires!” “Come on, Dad, you’d need to dream bigger!” Vera joked. “Imagine what we could do with all that money—buy a villa in the English countryside, or a place on the Cornish coast? Then a yacht…” “And a helicopter!” Nadya squealed. “I want my own helicopter!” “Sorted. One helicopter for you. And for you, Vera?” “I want to act in a BBC drama with Benedict Cumberbatch!” “No problem, I’ll call someone at the Beeb, sort it out… All right, daydreamers, finish up—we need to head out.” “Aww, can’t we dream a bit longer?” Nadya sighed. “Dreams are important,” Val smiled, finishing his tea, “but don’t forget you’ve got school.” That morning chat popped into Val’s mind at the end of a very ordinary, not-so-lucky day. He was packing groceries into bags at Sainsbury’s, exhausted after staying late at work—no sign of good fortune, no life-changing meetings, let alone gifts. “Happiness just flew over, like a paper plane past the London Eye,” he snorted to himself as he left the shop. By his battered old Vauxhall, a scruffy boy loitered, shouting with everything about him that he was homeless: torn clothes, mismatched shoes—one worn-out boot, one odd sneaker with a frayed lace tied with blue electrical wire. On his head, a greasy winter hat, one earflap half-burned. “Mister, I… I’m hungry—could you spare some bread?” the boy asked in a stilted, rehearsed voice. It wasn’t the boy’s pitiful look, nor the Dickensian phrase, that struck Val—it was the way he said it. Val, who’d once trained with the local am-dram, recognised the telltale pause of an actor pretending. The boy was lying. All of it, a performance. Val nearly smiled. “All right, let’s play your game. My daughters love a detective story…” “Bread won’t fill you up. How about soup, then roasties with a bit of kipper, and pudding—apple crumble, perhaps?” The boy flinched, not expecting the offer, then returned to his part, eyes narrowing. Val dragged out the moment, fiddling with keys and the shopping, waiting to see if the lad would run—with real homeless kids, their exit instincts were strong. This one stayed, clutching the bag. “Right, into the car you get, dinner’s on.” Val’s home was a cottage just outside a quiet market town where he worked as a gas repair engineer—a single dad with no close family but heaps of love for his girls, and a special soft spot for kids in need, being an orphan himself. The girls dashed out to meet them, goggling at their father’s new companion. “Is this our life-changing gift?” Nadya asked, peering under the boy’s hat. “Dad, are you sure he’s our present and not someone else’s—a faulty one at that?” The siblings whisked the boy inside, falling immediately into a game of “good cop, bad cop.” In the kitchen, the mask finally cracked. The boy washed up, stripped of his disguise, revealed his name—Spartacus Bull—his ginger hair wild and clear blue eyes nervous yet honest. Over dinner, the tale spilled out. His father had died a hero’s death, his mother lost in heartbreak, and Spartacus and his little sisters had survived together thanks to his eldest sister, Sophie. Now Sophie, at 23, was smitten—with none other than Val. She was scared, worried her brood might put off any man. Spartacus, the “only man in the house,” had staged his orphan street act to see for himself if Val and his daughters would welcome his beloved sister. Would they love her—and her “bunch of kids”—as family? The family, in true English spirit, roared with laughter at the boy’s cheek—and, in the next moment, warmly welcomed both Spartacus and the prospect of a bigger, rowdier, perhaps even happier blended family. As Nadya declared, “See, Dad, you were granted the best gift after all—a big, brilliant, loving family—just like you always wanted.”

The Only Man in the Family Friday, 11th November 2011 This morning, as we sat around the kitchen table