“Jester”
“Maisie, are you nearly ready? Emily and Oliver will be here soon,” said Simon impatiently, peeking into the bedroom.
“Just a minute,” replied Maisie without turning from the wardrobe mirror.
She traced her lips with lipstick, shook her head slightly to tousle her perfectly styled hair, adjusted her dress collar, and only then turned to her husband.
“Ready,” she smiled at him.
“Wow! You look absolutely stunning.” Simon stepped closer and pulled her into an embrace.
“Careful, my lipstick,” Maisie tilted her head back, looking at him tenderly, a touch playfully.
“Maisie…” Simon’s voice softened, but the doorbell rang just then. “Ah, perfect timing.” Disappointed, he loosened his hold, sighed, and went to answer the door.
Maisie took one last glance in the mirror, smoothed her dress, and followed.
In the hallway, Oliver was already laughing loudly, clutching a bouquet of red roses. Beside him stood his wife, Emily, holding a gift bag.
“Where’s the birthday girl? Not greeting her guests?” Oliver teased, rustling the bouquet’s wrapping. Spotting Maisie, he stepped forward. “Finally! Maisie, you look radiant as ever. Simon, watch out—I might steal her. Let me kiss you properly.” He planted a loud kiss on her cheek before handing over the roses. “I wish you—”
“Alright, alright, get your coats off first. Save the toasts for the table,” Simon cut in.
“Simon, grab the slippers, I’ll put these in water,” said Maisie, slipping away to the kitchen.
The flat immediately felt noisy and crowded. Oliver rubbed his hands together, eyeing the spread on the dining table.
“Maisie, you’ve outdone yourself. I might drown in my own drool,” he groaned dramatically.
“You’ll manage,” Maisie replied, returning with the roses in a vase. She set them on the side table by the window.
“Jester,” Emily muttered under her breath, rolling her dark eyes.
Maisie rested a reassuring hand on her shoulder just as the doorbell rang again. She went to greet the new guests.
“This is Laura, and this is my sister, Maisie,” Max introduced them, handing Maisie another bouquet.
“Pleasure,” Maisie smiled. Laura barely nodded. “Sorry, we’re out of spare slippers.”
“No worries, Laura can have mine,” Max said.
Maisie shot her brother a puzzled look—What on earth do you two have in common?
“Invite everyone to the table, sis,” Max said, oblivious to her silent question.
They settled in the dining room.
“You all know my brother, and this is Laura, his new girlfriend,” Maisie announced. “You take it from here,” she whispered to Max before disappearing into the kitchen.
Finding no spare vase, she stuffed the bouquet into a tall glass and left it on the counter.
When she returned, the guests were seated. Simon gestured to the head of the table. Maisie sat, noticing with surprise that Oliver and Emily had taken seats on opposite sides.
Simon poured whisky for the men and wine for the ladies. Laura sat rigid, indifferent to the chatter. Max served her salad, but she barely registered it.
“Blimey, she’s icy. Like she’s swallowed a pole…” Maisie’s thoughts were interrupted as Simon stood, glass raised, gazing fondly at her.
A hush fell. The clinking of glasses followed, then the soft clatter of cutlery.
Maisie glanced around—Oliver ate noisily, praising her cooking while stealing looks at Emily, who stared at her plate. Laura chewed mechanically, while Max murmured in her ear. Simon kept the drinks flowing. His expression reassured her—See? Everything’s fine.
As the guests relaxed, Simon fetched his guitar. After tuning it, he began singing, his voice warm and rich. Everyone knew the song was for Maisie.
She swayed slightly, then joined in. Their harmony was seamless. Silence lingered when they finished before requests poured in. Simon played a few chords and launched into a classic—Maisie’s favourite.
Midway through, Emily stood and slipped into the kitchen.
“Brilliant, mate. That deserved a drink,” Oliver said when the song ended.
“I’ll fetch the main course,” Maisie whispered to Simon and followed Emily.
Emily stood by the open window, smoking.
“What’s wrong?” Maisie asked.
Emily exhaled a shaky plume of smoke, ashes scattering. “Nothing.”
“You used to love Simon’s singing. Why leave?”
“I still do,” Emily said, glancing at the door.
From the dining room, off-key singing erupted—Oliver’s voice loudest.
“Can you help me?” Emily asked abruptly.
“Money?”
“No. It’s not about money.” Emily took a drag.
“Then what? Did you and Oliver row?”
“Maisie…” Emily checked the door again, stubbed out her cigarette. “I’ve fallen for someone. Completely.”
“Emily… What about Oliver?”
“What does Oliver have to do with it?” Her voice rose before dropping again.
“You have a family. A son.”
“Oliver and I… It’s over.”
“Does he suspect?” Maisie studied Emily’s sharp profile.
“Probably.” A shrug.
Maisie sighed.
“There’s this new doctor at the hospital. From up north. The moment I saw him, I knew. I swap shifts just to work with him. Think I’m awful?”
“Unexpected. What now?”
“I can’t breathe without him. If not for our son… We met at Mum’s while she was away. But she’s back now, and we’ve nowhere else.” Her words dissolved like smoke.
Maisie bit her lip.
“You and Simon are out all day, no kids… You’re the only one I can ask.”
“Rubbing salt in the wound, much?”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean—”
“You want to use our flat? Really?”
“Yes. Just a few hours, now and then. Please.”
Maisie looked away, remembering Oliver’s devotion—how he’d pined for Emily, her dark eyes and glossy hair, fearing she’d never marry him.
“His place? Wait—he’s married.”
“So what? We’re in love. I can’t live without him. I thought this only happened in books… My heart races just seeing him.”
“No,” Maisie said sharply. “Ask for anything else—money, babysitting—but not our flat.”
Simon poked his head in. “Ladies, the roast—” He caught Maisie’s look and vanished.
“Are you mad? Oliver’s a good man, a good father. And your son? He’ll never forgive—”
“He’ll understand when he’s older.”
“I don’t get it. A fling’s one thing, but wrecking two families? You think this doctor’s worth it?”
“I don’t know. I just know I can’t fight it. So you won’t help?”
“No. I won’t betray Oliver like that. What if he finds out? Or Simon? They’ve been mates since uni. Come on, this is embarrassing.”
She grabbed oven mitts and pulled out her signature dish—roast beef with mushrooms and potatoes. Emily held the door as she carried it out.
“At last! We were fading away,” Oliver slurred.
Maisie set the dish down. Oliver stared at Emily, who avoided his gaze. Laura remained statue-still while Max drank quietly.
Serving the food, Maisie seethed. Emily had ruined the evening. The table had gone quiet, even Oliver sullen. Emily pushed food around her plate.
“I’m not obligated to fix her mess. She’s reckless—I’m not,” Maisie thought.
“We’re off. Need to fetch our son,” Emily said abruptly.
Oliver grumbled, rising. Simon and Maisie saw them out. Emily avoided eye contact.
“Tea and cake, then?” Maisie asked brightly upon returning.
Max stood. “We should go too. Laura doesn’t eat sweets.”
“Why is everyone—?” Maisie frowned.
“Sorry, sis. Another time.”
Soon, only leftovers remained.
“What were you and Emily whispering about?” Simon asked, clearing plates.
“They argued. She complained about Oliver.” Maisie headed to the bathroom.
When she returned in her dressing gown, makeup gone, Simon had cleared the table and was washing up.
“I love you like this. Cosy. Real.”
“Thanks,” she yawned. “Exhausted.”
“I’ll handle this. Rest.”
Maisie flopped onto the sofa. Simon joined her later.
“So, what was the row about?”
She told him everything, defending Emily’s impulsiveness.
Simon praised her refusal to enable the affair. Wine and fatigue pulled them toward sleep. Maisie curled against him.
Her phone woke her.
“Yes, Mrs. Whitmore… They left two hours ago… No answer? Maybe their taxi got held up—”
“Oliver and Emily never fetched their son. Their phones are off. What if theySimon’s phone rang next, and as he listened, his face paled—Oliver was in police custody, Emily was gone, and their lives would never be the same.
