The Kidnap of the Century
I want men chasing after me and sobbing because they cant catch up! announced Amelia, reading her wish aloud with theatrical flair before flicking her lighter underneath the slip of paper. Ash fluttered into her champagne glass, which she promptly drained under the cackling laughter of her girlfriends.
The Christmas tree flickered its fairy lights as if it had opinions on the matter, before suddenly blazing even brighter. Music swelled, glasses clinked, and faces spun into a glittery celebration blur. Gold dust drifted from the branchesor so she remembered afterward, when ones brain tends to embroider.
Mummeee Mum, wake up!
Amelia pried one eyelid open with great effort. Above her loomed what looked suspiciously like most of a junior football team.
Who are you? Do I know you, children? she croaked.
The kids, putting on quite the act, introduced themselves, cocking their heads one by one: Mum, rememberMatthew, nine, Charlie, seven, Jamie, five, Harry, three!
All present, cheeky faces full of mischief and intent. Not, it must be said, quite the sort of men shed pictured chasing her on New Years Eve…
Sowheres your coach… I mean, your dad? Her voice sounded like a tumbleweed rolling through the Sahara. Fetch Mum some water, will you?
She just closed her eyes for a momentthen: Mum!
Instantly, two glasses of water, a peeled satsuma, and a mug of ghastly gherkin brine appeared from nowhere. Oldests got the art of mother revival down to a science. Proud moment, if not for the splitting headache.
Mum, wake upyou promised the little ones whinged.
Amelia tried, with monumental effort, to remember how she got here, and what on earth shed promised.
Cinema?
Nooo.
McDonalds?
Nope!
Toys R Us?
Mum! Dont pretend! Were nearly ready and youre still in bed!
Would you at least tell your mother where were off to? she surrendered.
Darling, time to get up, called a deep, cheery voice from the corridor. In strolled a tall, dark-haired bloke with hazel eyes that flashed mischief. Well, hello, handsome!
Were all packed, Ive loaded the car. Well swing by Sainsburysthen off we go!
Amelia strained to remember who he was and why these random children were calling her Mum. Blank, utterly. Not a sausage.
Mum, dont forget our swimmers! Yours too! someone yelled from another room.
Swimming pool? Theres a pool as well? whirred her foggy mind. What magical bubble have I landed in, and why cant I recall a moment of it?
Amelia opened her eyes and surveyed the room. Nothing struck a chordno photos, no furniture, not even the heavy curtains with that odd geometric print. None of it hers. Alien terrain, except for a lone Christmas poinsettia on the windowsill. Deep-red velvet petals in a pot dotted with faux pearls. Oddly familiar, that.
She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to unravel the thread of last night. She and her girlfriends had met up at a restaurant to ring in the New Year and play Secret Santa, just like uni days, but with posher handbags, elaborate hairdos, and a chronic lack of spare time.
The ladies were dressed to the nines, fuelled by the rare high of a night away from the grind of husbands, homework, nurseries, and never-ending cooking. They glimmered with freedom like schoolgirls having legged it from last period.
But Amelia was serene, at ease, as always. She, the last singleton standingno one to tell, no one to wait for, no explanations needed.
The Final Fiancée, her friends joked, topping up her bubbly.
Shed given her pal a posh gift setblack caviar and gold strand face cream. Theyd all agreed it was good enough to slather on toast for breakfast. Everyone snapped silly photos of it like it was the Turner Prize.
In return, Amelia had received a Christmas poinsettiathe very one on the windowsilland a bottle of rare English sparkling wine, imported from some medieval chateau. The kind you mention only in whispers and crack open for special occasions.
Shed read out a slip of paper, possibly a wish, possibly a toast, and then nothing. Memory: deleted. As they say, wentcame toemotional whiplash.
Amelia eyed her reflection. Yep, same young woman, mascara still on from New Years Eve. So where had the kids and husband come from? She didnt remember birthing any of themheck, not even the wedding to Mr. Dreamboat. And yet, she knew the childrens names, but not the blokes. Something fishy going on.
She stepped into the hall. There were two big, classy suitcases with a deluxe brand logo, and three sporty childrens backpacks. This wasnt a quick picnic.
So. A trip, then? But to where, and with whom?
At that moment, husband appeared, hoisting the cases with all the nimble expertise of a cruise ship porter, gently shepherding her to the door.
Well be late, he said calmly, with the zen of someone who rarely is.
Amelia glanced at her handand froze. No wedding ring! His finger equally bare. The plot thickened. Or did it?
The kids tumbled boisterously into the family minibus; bags landed, seatbelts clicked with military precision. Husband slipped behind the wheel, while Amelia, bracing herself, took the front passenger seat.
Coffee, instantly at hand in a paper cup. White with milkshe hates the stuff! Of all the shocks, that one stung most.
Ready? he winked at the children. Off they went. The farther from home, the more her nerves twanged.
Behind her: a lively chorus, children giggling, bickering in whispers. Husband: focused, quietly glancing over with something in his eyea joke, a secret they both shared except only he seemed to remember the punchline.
Amelia peered through the windswept English countryside, feeling rather like a hedgehog in a fog. Family: present. Car: fine. Destination: ??? What?!
Out on the motorway, city shrinking behind them, a wild idea blossomed: this isnt her family! Stranger kids! Stranger man! Shes been kidnapped!
Or maybetheyd stolen her!
But she knew the childrens names Her mind tangled up on itself until, with dogged British logic, she concluded: stranger beside her, definite kidnapper vibesaction required!
Squaring her shoulders, coffee cup now gripped like a self-defence weapon, Amelia pretended to watch the road. Somewhere inside, a switch flipped.
Half an hour later, the kids broke the peace in harmony:
Dad, loo!
Im thirsty!
Is there a snack?
The van veered into a petrol station, everyone spilled out, and headed for the building.
Here it was. Her chance! Heart hammering, she slunk out, ducked behind a petrol pump and made for the car. Dooropen. Drivers seatempty. Keymissing. Drat!
A male voice floated through the open window. There you are! Fancy a family hide-and-seek, do you? She flinched in surprise.
Now were all here, time to be off, he said, soothingly but decisively. You nap; Ill drive. Off again they went.
An hours drive later, an airport loomed aheadglass, concrete, crowds. The van squeezed into a crowded car park; everyone bundled out.
Now Amelia was running on pure adrenaline. She was not about to be whisked off as someones mystery cargo. Not without a fight!
She hung back from the family. One, two, three pacesthen bolted.
This is a kidnap! Help! she shrieked at the nearest security guard.
Their response was terribly efficient. In a blink, she found herself facedown, hands zipped behind her in handcuffs, surrounded by stone-faced officials with walkie-talkies.
Wait, please, its a joke! I can explain! yelled the handsome abductor.
Its a New Years prank! A bit of fun! No harm done, I swear!
The voices floated past as if underwater. And then, like a scene in a film, Amelia spotted them. Huddled behind a promotional stand: her friends. Broadly grinning, sheepish, nervous, and rather delighted.
Mum! The children launched themselves at another woman, also standing with the friends. The others mobbed the guards, gabbling explanations and apologies, giggling and pleading for the kidnapper to be released.
Amelia was untangled, de-cuffed. The world began to right itself. There she stood, hair wild, heart pounding, and it dawned on hershe hadnt been abducted.
Shed been set up?!
Once the adrenaline pooled out of her shoes and the ringing dulled, Amelia caught sentences, then stories.
A prank. An epic prank. Lavish, collaborative, dramatic. Her friends spoke at once, tripping over each other with laughter-laced excuses.
Turned out, theyd wanted to introduce Amelia to a truly decent chap. The same one whod been mooning over her for ages but, paralysed by her formidable reputation, never dared approach.
Amelias stock response to matchmaking was always: Thanks, but Im quite content. Honestly, really. Her friends knew better than to try the direct route. Why bother pleading, when you can orchestrate a live-action demonstration?
Thus the plan: plunge her headfirst into a family morning. Voilakids up, coffee brewing, man calm, helpful, cheerfulspot the difference? Andtidy perkhe did have rather splendid eyes.
We knew youd overthink it, her friends confessed. So we hoped youd just feel it, instead.
Amelia was unable to muster any anger. Female logic often bristles at brazen schemes, but its hard to argue with results.
Unconventional? Absolutely. Panic attack? Close call. But, honestly, if you want to know if youre ready for a man, all it really takes is one surreal morning, three children, and a coffee from your abductor.
There he was now, grinning like the Cheshire Cat, hazel eyes sparkling. The kids were his nephewswild about their prankster uncle.
Oi, you dont want to miss your flight! piped up her friends, shooing them toward the gate.
Hang on, wheres this kidnapping leading? The seaside? The Mediterranean? Will there be mangoes? Amelia mused, light-headed.
He offered his hand, a fresh start and a sly smile. Lets try introductions again: Im James. May I steal you awayjust for a bit?
Amelia glanced from her friendswatching, anxiousto the suitcases, then back to those golden-hazel eyes staring straight into hers.
And truly, what was stopping her?
Lets go! she grinned, feeling a thrum of anticipation, knowing this kidnap was already the most delightful muddle shed ever landed in.
She leaned in and whispered, But only if the children stay home this time…
Her friends roared, James beamed, and suddenly the airport, the bustle, the madness melted into the first page of something altogether newfunny, warm, and unexpectedly just right.
Sometimes life doesnt steal you away.
It just gives you an almighty shove in the direction you were meant to go, all along.
