That evening, my heart nearly leapt out of my chest—if it weren’t for how tightly my jaw was clenched. I remember how it started—just an ordinary phone call from my son: *“Mum, me and Emily (name changed) are popping round to see you. Time to meet the parents.”* His voice was cheerful, confident, like someone who’d finally plucked up the courage for a serious step. My husband and I exchanged glances and grinned: *At last—our Teddy’s settling down, thinking of marriage! About time he stopped gallivanting about as a bachelor!*
Teddy’s never been an easy lad. Grew up fiercely independent, with a stubborn streak. After school, he joined the army, then out of nowhere announced: *“I’m off to the Highlands. Work’s good up there. Make some proper money.”* His father and I were stunned, but we didn’t argue. He left—and true enough, started coming home with treats: fresh salmon, venison, berries. Said he loved it—harsh but breathtaking landscapes, salt-of-the-earth people.
And now? He’s getting married. We laid out the good china, set the table with our best linen, dressed smart, and waited. The doorbell rang. I went to answer. And then… I nearly lost the power of speech.
There stood a woman. Well, first I saw only an enormous fur coat—stag leather, by the look of it—and behind her, three children. And Teddy. The coat stepped inside, shrugged off, and out emerged a petite girl with thick raven hair and sharp, bird-like eyes. Teddy beamed.
*“This is Morwenna. My fiancée.”*
My stomach dropped. The girl nodded silently. The children, without waiting for an invitation, plopped onto the floor. One started wrestling off his wellies while another clambered onto the windowsill. The youngest, Morwenna deftly tethered to the sofa leg with a scarf to stop him bolting. All this in near silence, and with a scent—like the entire Scottish moors had barged into our flat in York.
We moved to the sitting room. I’d laid out the white tablecloth, set the spread. Morwenna began serving the children—*with her hands.* Used a fork for herself, but twirled it in her mouth like a lollystick. Spoke in clipped, blunt phrases.
*“Are these… yours?”* my husband asked, eyeing the trio on the carpet.
*“Aye,”* she replied flatly.
I shot a look at Teddy’s father. *Are we a family of seven now?*
*“Teddy, love, where did you two meet?”* I asked, voice treacherously wavering.
*“Up in the Highlands, Mum. Her singing—astonishing. You should hear her!”* he gushed, suddenly a stranger to me.
*“And where will you live?”* my husband cut in.
*“Could always stay in a bothy,”* Teddy shrugged, deadpan.
Something in me snapped. I retreated to the kitchen, husband in tow. We stared at each other—eyes like dinner plates.
*“What do we do?”*
*“Dunno,”* he muttered, hands raised.
Back in the room, my husband handed Teddy a wad of notes, avoiding his gaze.
*“Here’s for a hotel. Sorry, son. You can’t stay.”*
Teddy sighed.
*“You always said, ‘Just get married, we’ll take anyone.’ So I brought someone.”*
They left. With the kids. The coat. The peat-smoke aura.
Forty minutes later, the doorbell again. I opened it. There they stood—but transformed. Morwenna, now in an ordinary jacket, hair in a ponytail, eyes sparkling.
*“Evening,”* she said politely. *“Sorry about that.”*
*“I don’t—understand,”* I stammered, stepping aside.
Teddy grinned, stepping forward.
*“Mum, you’ve been on at me for years—‘Just settle down, just get wed!’ Well, I don’t want to. Not yet. This is Morwenna, my mate. We fancied a laugh. She’s from Inverness, visiting with her nieces and nephew. Nowhere to stay. Thought we’d put on a show.”*
I collapsed onto the hallway stool, legs gone to jelly.
*“Teddy, lad, do what you like—but never scare me like that again. Nearly sent me to an early grave!”*
Back at the table, Morwenna—now chatty and warm—helped in the kitchen. The kids giggled over supper. And my husband and I? We realised: we’re getting old. But Teddy’s prank? Absolute masterpiece—terrifyingly lifelike.
