The ex-mother-in-law had come for a visit. She had no idea theyd divorced.
«Can you believe it, Margaret doesnt know James and I split up,» Lydia whispered, her voice tight. «And shes on her way here right now.»
She switched off her phone and looked at her friend, fear flickering in her eyes.
«Youre joking!» Bella gasped. «Here? To this flat?»
«Thats the problem,» Lydia muttered, twisting her hands. «She still thinks were together. Said she misses the grandkids.»
«Why are you so scared? Shes nothing to you now. Just ignore her.»
«Easy for you to say. You dont know her. Shespowerful. The kind of woman with connections. If finds out I kept this from her, shell think I did it on purpose. Shell assume the worst. And then shell make me pay.»
Bella frowned. «Waitshe hasnt called or visited in all this time?»
«We werent speaking. The last time she came down from Edinburgh two years ago, we had a row.»
«About James?»
«Not just him.» Lydia sighed. «Everything. Nothing was good enough for Margaret. How we hosted her, how we raised the kids, how… Well, you get the idea.»
«And?»
«And what? She said her piece. I answered. One word led to another, and before we knew it, she stormed out. Said she never wanted to see me again. After that, she only spoke to James.»
«And he?»
«What about him? He used it against me. Said if I didnt respect his mother, I didnt love him. Thats why his job was going badly. Then he vanished. A whole week, not a word. When he finally called, he said hed met someone else. That we were done.»
«So James never told his mother about the divorce,» Bella mused.
«Exactly.»
«And he didnt mention he took half the flat, either? Or that youre here in a tiny shared place with two kids, a cat, and a dog?»
«Thats the worst part. She thinks everythings fine. Said she had urgent business in London and would stay with us for a week.»
«Wheres with us supposed to be?»
Lydia gestured around the cramped room. «Here.»
The doorbell rang.
Lydia went pale. «Its her. What do I do? How do I explain this?»
«Just tell her the truth.»
«Shell blame me. Shell scream. I cantmaybe we dont answer?»
«Not answering will make it worse. Then shell really think youre hiding something.»
The bell rang again.
«Open it,» Bella said firmly. «And dont be afraid. Let her shout. Youve done nothing wrong. Im right here.»
Lydia opened the door.
«Hello, Margaret,» she said softly.
«What took you so long?» Margaret demanded, striding in with two suitcases. «Hiding someone?»
«No ones here,» Lydia said. «Just my friend.»
«What friend?»
Bella stepped into the hallway.
«Hello,» she said. «Im Bella. Lydias friend.»
Margaret gave her a sharp once-over, then turned back to Lydia.
«Is James at work?»
«I suppose.»
«What do you mean, suppose? Dont you know where your husband is?»
Lydia hesitated.
«Hes not her husband,» Bella cut in, chin raised.
Margarets eyes narrowed. «Excuse me?»
«In the literal sense,» Bella said, defiant.
*Ive always wanted to say that to an ex-mother-in-law,* she thought. *Shame I never got to with mine. At least I can live through this.*
«Lydia and your precious son divorced a year ago,» Bella continued, voice dripping with scorn. «And the two-bed flat they bought together? He took his half and sold it. Now Lydias stuck in this place with the kids, a cat, and a dog. Any more questions?»
Margaret turned to Lydia. «Is this true?»
«It is. We split last autumn.»
«Not that. Did he really take the flat?»
«Yes. He had the rightit was joint ownership. Besides, hes remarried now.»
«Remarried?»
«He says shes expecting. Asked me not to push for child support. Promised hed make it up later. Said works been difficult.»
«And you believed him,» Bella scoffed. «Naïve. He wont pay a penny. Doubt hes even struggling at work. And that baby? Probably a lie to soften you up. Theyre not even marriedjust shacked up.»
«Why wouldnt he tell me?» Margaret murmured, more to herself.
«Maybe he didnt want to upset you?» Lydia offered weakly.
«Perhaps,» Margaret said, though her expression was unreadable.
The truth was, James had kept it quiet for another reason entirely.
*Let her think Lydia and I are still together,* hed figured. *Better for me. Mum hates Lydia, but she adores the girls. And if she thinks theyre struggling, shell help me buy a house.*
Every month, hed call his mother, complaining how cramped they were in the tiny flat. Hed send photos of the girls, knowing how she doted on them. Said life was goodjust needed a bigger place to be perfect.
«Our eldest starts school soon,» hed sigh. «No room for a desk. If only we could afford something bigger. But my salary wont stretch. The girls even wrote to Father Christmas begging for a flat near Kings Cross. Sweet, isnt it? They ask about you all the timeHows Gran? Is she okay? But dont worry, Mum. Well manage. Worst case, shell study at the kitchen table.»
He knew exactly what he was doing.
*Shell find a way,* hed thought. *And to make it easier, Ill give her a nudge.*
«Of course,» hed say, «we could always sell your cottage in the Cotswolds. Thatd cover a four-bed in Londonmaybe near Regents Park? Checked the pricesitd work. The girls could have their own rooms. But Id never ask you to do that, Mum. I know how much you love that place.»
Now, standing in Lydias flat, Margaret saw the truth.
«I see,» she said coolly. «Where are the girls?»
«Nursery.»
«And your job?»
«I work remotely.»
«Who are the neighbours?»
«A lovely woman. Didnt mind the pets. Recently divorced too. Shes at work.»
«‘Lovely,'» Margaret echoed, lips thin. «Right. Well. Ill be off.»
She left without another word.
Lydia sagged against the door. «That couldve been worse. I thought shed explode.»
Two months passed.
*Should call Mum,* James thought. *Time to remind her of my struggles.*
«Hi, Mum. Everything alright? Good. Listen, about ussame as ever. Squeezed into that two-bed. Actually, Ive been thinking What if we sold the cottage? Like you mentioned. Remember?»
A pause. Then
*What do you mean, its gone?* His voice rose. *Burnt down? No? Thank God. Then what? You sold it? Wheres the money? Spent it? On what? A four-bed? For who? The kids? What kidsmine? Theyre toddlers! You can do that?*
*Why didnt you ask me? Yes, I said they needed space! But you shouldve consulted me! Bought it in my name, not theirs!*
*What do you mean, I wasnt home when you visited? When was that? Right. And wheres the flat? Angel? WaitMum, I*
His vision blurred. *This shouldve been mine. All mine.*
The next day, James stood in Lydias new flat, seething as he paced.
«Now, Lydia,» he said smoothly, «after all this, we can start fresh. Mum clearly forgave youwhy else buy this place?»
«She didnt buy it for *us*.»
«What?»
«For the girls.»
«Same thing. And after everything, you owe me. Were getting married.»
«*Owe* you?»
He fixed her with a cold stare. «You misunderstand. Im not asking. We meet at the registry officeWednesday, 10 AM. By the lamp post out front. Remember?»
«Oh, I remember.»
«Dont be late.»
«I wont be.»
Of course, she didnt show. James called, furious.
«Sorry,» Lydia said. «Slipped my mind.»
They rescheduled. She stood him up again. And again.
Six months on, he still turned up, rain or shine, while the registry staff whispered in admiration.
«Thats true love,» theyd say. «Look at himeven in the storm last month, he was there.»
One quipped, «Shall we erect a statue when he stops coming? A monument to stubborn devotion. Lydia watched from the flats high window, the morning sun catching the silver in her hair. Below, James stood by the lamp post, hands in his coat pockets, staring at the empty space where she never appeared. She sipped her tea, calm, the children laughing in the next room. Bella had long since moved on, but her words lingered: *Youve done nothing wrong.*
And for the first time in years, Lydia believed them.
The flat in Angel was small but bright, paid for not by forgiveness, but by a mothers quiet fury turned into action. Margaret never called, never wrotejust transferred the funds, stipulating the lease be in the girls names.
James kept coming.
Winter gave way to spring, then summer. His suit grew threadbare, his steps slower. But still, every Wednesday at ten, he stood beneath the lamp post, waiting for a life that had already moved on.
And Lydia, watching, never felt sorry.
