**Diary Entry – A Mother-in-Law’s Meddling**
Something felt off the moment I stepped through the door. The flat was *too* tidy—shoes neatly lined up, the lingering smell of homemade chicken soup, even the lights seemed softer. Then came the shocker: George had bought me tulips. George, who only remembers flowers on anniversaries (and even then, only when reminded).
“Don’t scare me like this,” I said, gripping the bouquet too tightly. “What’s happened?”
He shifted awkwardly before flashing that awful, guilty smile. “Just wanted to spoil my lovely wife. Is that a crime?”
“It is when you’re this bad at hiding something.”
He ladled soup into bowls, urging me to eat, but my stomach was in knots. Then came the confession: “Erm… Mum’s coming.”
I froze. “*Where* is she coming?”
“To London. She’s booked a hotel, so don’t worry. Just a visit.”
A hotel. Hilarious. The last time Margaret stayed in one, she ranted for hours about “filthy foreign sheets” and swore she’d been nearly kidnapped by the bellboy. We ended up giving her *our* flat and sleeping in the Travelodge ourselves. She still left in a huff, accused me of disrespect, and demanded we return her wedding gift—a hideous vase she’d nicked from a charity shop.
Now she was coming back, suddenly fine with hotels? Not bloody likely.
Tracking George was easy. He took a cab; I tailed him in the Mini. Straight to The Savoy, of all places. I slipped in behind, found the room number, and pressed my ear to the door.
“Mum, Emily will *kill* me,” George muttered.
“Oh, don’t be dramatic! It’s just a catch-up with an old friend,” Margaret cooed. “You haven’t seen Sarah since secondary school! Gorgeous thing—owns a chain of boutique hotels now. Still single, you know. Never got over you, bless her.”
My breath caught. *Sarah*. George’s first love—the one who’d famously “gone abroad for a year” after a mysterious pregnancy scandal.
A tap on my shoulder. I turned to find a polished woman in a Karen Millen dress.
“Can I help you?” she asked, too sweetly.
“Emily. George’s wife. And you must be Sarah. Lovely. I’ve recently taken up boxing—ever tried it? Brilliant for stress relief.” I slipped off a stiletto, testing its weight. Sarah paled.
“You have… children?”
“A daughter. Waiting at home. Excuse me.” She practically sprinted for the lifts.
The door flung open. “Where’s Sarah gone?” Margaret demanded.
“Had to dash. School-run, you know.”
George appeared, wide-eyed. I arched a brow. “Coming home? Or shall I fetch Sarah back for you?”
He sighed. “Let’s go.”
“*George!*” Margaret wailed. “You’re leaving me here?”
I pried her claw off his arm. “Yes. And if he doesn’t, he’ll lose the flat *and* me. Listen closely, Margaret: You. Won’t. Win. Try this again, and I’ll bite your nose off. *These* teeth.” I clicked them near her face for effect.
George scooped me up.
“Oi! Put me down!”
“Carrying home my champion,” he said, grinning. And for once, I let him.