When Lily came home from work, something felt off. The flat wasn’t right—shoes lined up too neatly, the cosy glow of the lamps, a pot of stew simmering on the hob. But the real shock? Her husband, James, met her with a bouquet of roses. Flowers from him? On a weekday? For no reason?
“Spit it out, James,” she said, narrowing her eyes. “What’s happened?”
He hesitated, then forced a smile. “Can’t a man treat his wife without suspicion?”
“He can,” she replied. “But you usually have an angle.”
James ladled the stew, but Lily’s appetite was gone. Dread tightened her chest.
“Lil… Mum’s coming,” he blurted.
She froze.
“Where?”
“To London. Staying at a hotel, don’t worry. Just visiting.”
Lily sat, lips pressed tight. His mother, Margaret, and a hotel? Ridiculous. That woman had thrown a fit at their wedding when they’d dared suggest a B&B. She’d shrieked about stolen towels, bedbugs, and god knows what else. They’d ended up giving her their flat and booking themselves into a Travelodge to keep the peace. Then Margaret had stormed off, accusing Lily of disrespect, threatening to “whisper sense” into James, and even demanded their wedding gift—a fancy teapot—back.
Now, Lily wasn’t buying this sudden hotel stay. And when James started fidgeting, she decided to take matters into her own hands.
Tailing him was easy—he took a cab; she followed in her Mini. He went straight to a Premier Inn. Lily slipped in after, found the room on the second floor, and pressed her ear to the door.
“Mum, Lily won’t like this,” James muttered.
“Why tell her? It’s just tea with an old friend,” Margaret trilled. “You haven’t seen Emily since secondary school. And she’s done well for herself—property, investments, still single, mind you. Never got over you, you know.”
Lily’s blood went cold. Emily. James’s first love. The one who’d ended up pregnant by some bloke he didn’t know—until Margaret had dragged him away from her.
A tap on her shoulder. She turned to face a polished woman in her forties.
“Sorry, who are you?”
“Lily. James’s wife. And you must be Emily. Lovely. I’ve always fancied a bit of boxing—sparring, grappling, you know. Might just take a swing right now.”
She flashed a razor smile, slipped off her heel, and weighed it in her palm. Emily backed away.
“You… have kids?”
“A daughter. At home. I should—” Emily bolted for the stairs.
The door swung open. Margaret gaped. “Where’s Emily?”
“Gone. Sent her regards. Something about her kid waiting.”
James appeared behind them. Lily turned.
“Well? Coming home? Or should I fetch Emily back?”
He sighed. “Let’s go.”
“James!” Margaret wailed. “You’d abandon me here?”
Lily stepped between them, peeling Margaret’s hand off his arm.
“He will. Or he’ll lose both his wife and the flat. Listen, Margaret—it’s not happening. James and I love each other. Try this again, and I’ll bite your nose off. With these teeth.”
She snapped her teeth an inch from Margaret’s face, brandished her shoe, and turned. James scooped her up.
“Oi! What’re you doing?”
“Carrying my champion wife home.”
