So, listen to this—there’s this guy, Steven Andrews, or just Steve to his mates and coworkers. He’d just been promoted to head of department at a big firm in Manchester. Totally deserved it—hard worker, quiet, always on time. Never pushed to be the boss, but got there anyway. At work, the congratulations were low-key—Steve just smiled a little, thanked everyone, and promised he’d do his best so no one regretted his promotion.
His mum, Margaret, was over the moon. Back in the day, she’d dragged him to doctor’s appointments, hired tutors, bought him winter coats, and even skimped from her pension to pay for his uni. She insisted he treat his colleagues to a proper homemade spread—pies, salads, nibbles, the lot. Steve tried to wave it off at first, but in the end, he gave in. Didn’t want to let her down.
On the day of the little do, he popped round to his mum’s to pick up the food. She’d already packed everything in the fridge because she had a cardiologist appointment. During his lunch break, Steve decided not to lug all the containers alone and asked the new girl, Emily, to come help. She was more than happy to tag along.
Emily, blonde and blue-eyed, was the kind of woman who turned heads. Around the office, people whispered—said she had her sights set on Steve, always flirting, smiling, asking for lifts…
They stepped into his mum’s flat—cozy, tidy, proper homely. Steve opened the fridge and started pulling out tubs of food. Emily perched on a stool, glancing around.
“Your mum’s place is so lovely,” she said. “Really feels like a home. Oh—who’s this?”
A little black dog trotted out of the bedroom and started growling at the stranger.
“That’s Buster,” Steve said, scooping him up. “Don’t worry, he’s friendly.”
“Buster? Bit of a daft name,” Emily smirked. “Keep him away, yeah? Don’t want my tights ruined.”
Steve went quiet. Something about her tone rubbed him the wrong way. But it got worse—a plump black cat sauntered in from the hall and rubbed against his legs.
“And this is Winston,” Steve said softly, pulling a bit of boiled fish from the fridge. “Here you go, mate, lunch is served.”
Emily backed toward the door.
“Blimey, it’s a proper zoo in here. A cat *and* a dog in this tiny flat? Must be a nightmare—fur everywhere, smells… Your mum’s not allergic, is she?”
“Are *you*?” Steve asked quietly.
“Me? Nah… I dunno. We never had pets. Not a fan. They’re mucky.”
Steve kept packing the food bags, his smile gone. Emily stood to the side, shooing Buster away every time he sniffed at her shoes.
“I’ll come back tonight to walk them,” Steve finally said. “Mum’ll be cross if I overfeed ’em, but how can you say no?”
“Still, wasting time on pets… Well, *someone’s* got to, I suppose,” Emily muttered, half-smirking as she headed for the door.
On the way back, she babbled about the new menu in the canteen, some skirt Helen from accounting was wearing, how the payroll girl had just got married for the third time. Steve walked in silence, only nodding now and then. His head was spinning—*Empty. Fake. Wrong.*
Back at the office, they handed him a thermos, clapped him on the back, gave him a hug. After work, they set out the spread, had a few drinks, ate way too much. Emily wouldn’t leave his side—jokes, glances, “fancy giving me a lift?” But Steve just said,
“Sorry, I’ve got somewhere to be.”
At home, his mum was waiting.
“So, how’d it go?” she asked, smiling as she opened the door.
“Brilliant, Mum. Your pies vanished first. Said they tasted like they’d come from a proper bakery. Forgot all about me, they did.”
“What about that girl you brought round—Emily? The neighbour saw her, said she was a real looker. Is she… y’know?”
“Nah. Just a colleague. And… well, there’s no one, really. I just said that to cheer you up. Sorry.”
“S’alright. But if there *is* someone someday… what’s she got to be like, this ‘right one’?”
Steve thought for a second.
“Kind. Smart. Down-to-earth. And… she’d have to love you. And Winston. And Buster.”
His mum chuckled.
“Oh, Steve, love—as long as she loves *you*, she’ll take the rest of us. Even your grumpy old bald cat.”
He nodded. Then grabbed the lead, called both the “beasts,” and headed out. All three of them tore across the courtyard, like they were back in the days when life was simple—Mum at home, a jam doughnut in his bag, a puppy in his arms, a cat on his shoulder, and everything still ahead.
His mum watched from the window, gripping the sill.
“Thirty years old, head of department, but still a kid at heart. God give you real love, son… And let her love all of you at once. Winston. Buster. And your mum.”
