The Heist of the Century
I just want blokes to chase after me and weep because they cant catch up! piped up Harriet, reading her New Years wish from a scrap of paper before striking a match. She tipped the ashes into her prosecco glass and downed the lot to the delighted cackling of her mates.
The Christmas tree twinkled as if in deep thought, then burst brighter than ever. The music blared, glasses clinked, faces swirled together like a festive firework. Gold glitter seemed to rain from the branchesor maybe thats just what stuck in everyones memories
Muuum Muuu-um, wake up!
With effort, Harriet pried open one bleary eye. Above her loomed what couldve only been a small football team.
Who are you lot? Do I know youchildren? she croaked.
The children, teasing, bowed their heads in turn:
Mum, come on, its meMatthew! Nine. Lewisseven. Jamiefive. Davidthree years old!
The whole line-up. Mischievous faces, all determined. Not exactly the kind of men shed wished would chase her on New Years, but technically, they were giving it a go.
So, wheres your, erm, manager I mean, wheres your dad? she croaked. Get your mum some water, would you?
Barely a blink later: Mum!
Suddenly, two glasses of water, a satsuma and a mug of briny gherkin juice materialised at her side. Well. The eldest already knew the proper nurse-a-hungover-mum protocol. They grow up so fast.
Mum, get up, you promised! whined the younger ones.
Harriet valiantly tried to piece together how shed got hereand what, precisely, she had promised.
Cinema? she guessed.
Nooooo.
McDonalds?
Nope!
The toy shop?
Oh, Mum! Stop pretending! Were nearly ready, and youre still in bed!
Ready for what, exactly? She gave in.
Darling, up you get, called a mans voice. Enter: a man, tall, dark-haired, the sort who glows with golden specks in his hazel eyes. My word, what a specimen!
Were all setcars packed. Well pop by Sainsburys on the way and then were off!
Harriet honestly tried to recall who this chap was, and why these children kept calling her mum. Blank. Not even a clue.
Mum, dont forget our trunks! You too! called a child from the next room.
Theres a pool, then? What IS this marvellous life, and why dont I remember?
Harriet opened her eyes and slowly surveyed the room. The more she looked, the less she recognised. Not a single item rang a bell. No familiar photos, no known furniture, even the curtains, thick with a mysterious design, felt foreign.
The room was a stranger. The only vaguely familiar thing: a festive red poinsettia with velvet petals in a small white pot, dotted with tiny pearl beads. Even that was strangely familiar and out of place.
She shut her eyes and gingerly tried to unravel last night. She and the girls had sashayed out for a New Years bash and Secret Santa session. Like old uni days, only now featuring expensive handbags, complicated hairdos and an ever-present shortage of time.
The girls looked brilliant: glammed up, giggling, tipsy from the rare luxury of freedom. Spouses, children, homework, nursery, spaghetti bologneseleft at home, for once. They fizzed with freedom like schoolgirls skiving off double maths.
And then there was Harriet: calm, composed, as ever. Single, answering only to herself. No one waiting at home, no texts to send, no explanations owed.
The last bride standing, quipped her friends, winking and topping up her bubbly.
Shed given her mate a posh skincare setwith black caviar and gold threads. Laughter all roundsome madcap talk of spreading it on toast, serving it up for champagne breakfast. They snapped more photos of the gift than of their own faces, as if it were a Banksy, not a beauty set.
As her gift: that same Christmas poinsettia and a fancy bottle of sparkling wine, lugged back by a friend from some ancient French chateau. The sort you only ever open if royalty pops by, they had whispered.
She read out her little wish, toast, fortuneshe couldnt remember what it was meant to be, andpoof!the rest of the night vanished. One minutedancing, next minutelights out. Like a bad joke: Went to bed, woke up, broken leg.
She glanced at her reflection. Still a young-looking woman, eye makeup surviving from the New Years party. But where did these children and this husband come from?! She certainly didnt recall marrying Mr. Handsome or giving birth to any of these little darlings. She knew their names, but not his. Something fishy here…
She left the room. In the hall: suitcases on wheels. Two big onesa black and a beigeboth with posh brand logos. Next to them, three kids rucksacks.
So its not a forest picnic. A proper holiday, is it!?
At that moment, the husband swept in. He picked up the bags with familiar ease, then gently ushered her towards the door.
Well be late, he said, in a pleasant, unruffled way.
Harriet glanced down at her hand and froze. No wedding ring. None on his either. Another piece of the puzzle gone missing. Or maybe?
One by one, the children piled into a shiny, spacious people carrier. Rucksacks tossed in, seat belts snapped like clockwork. Mr. Mysterious took the wheel. Harriet inhaled deeply and folded into the front passenger seat.
He immediately handed her a takeaway coffeemilky, too! She hated milky coffee. Oddly, that detail stung most.
Lets go, he grinned, winking at the kids. The car pulled away. The farther they sped from home, the more uneasy Harriet felt.
The kids were chirping away in the back, jabbering and giggling over something in hushed rivalry. The husband drove with relaxed concentration, only glancing at her from time to timecheeky, knowing looks, like they shared a conspiratorial joke. Like he knew something shed forgotten.
Harriet gazed out the windscreen, feeling rather like a hedgehog lost in London fog. Everything appeared normal: a family, a car, a tripbut she comprehended none of it.
Soon they were shooting down the dual carriageway, well out of town. Harriet, by now, was convinced: this wasnt her family. Some stranger with random kids was whisking her away!
He kidnapped them!
Actually, theyd kidnapped HER!
Althoughwhy, then, did she know all the kids names? In the growing confusion, one thing seemed certain: this was not her bloke beside her, and shed been nabbed! She needed a plan.
She braced herself, gripping her coffee, feigning fascination with the view. Inside, Harriet was switching gearsfrom dazed damsel to survival mode.
Half an hour in, a mutiny erupted.
Dad, need the loo!
Im thirsty!
Can we have some crisps?
The car swung into a service station. Everyone tumbled out and ambled toward the entrance.
This was her chance! Harriets heart pounded louder than the A-road traffic. As everyone fussed, she slipped out, ducked and darted towards the car. One quick sprintshe was at the drivers seat.
No keys in the ignition.
There you arewe were looking for you, came the cool voice from the open window. Harriet jumped.
Now that everyones here, shall we?
He slid smoothly behind the wheel. Love, why dont you relax? Off they went again.
An hour later, the hulking glass arches of Heathrow loomed aheadsteel, glass, hordes of cars and queues. They dumped the car in the jam-packed long-stay and trooped into Departures as one.
Now Harriet was on edgeshe wasnt about to be whisked abroad by these imposters! Shed fight to the end!
She started lagging behind, pretending to get lost in the crowds. One, two steps, thenshe made a break for it.
This is a kidnapping! HELP! she shouted, beelining for a security guard.
Security responded at warp speed. Harriet was face-down in a trice, wrists cuffed behind her back, as armed officers rushed in with radios and stern faces.
Stop! Wait! I can explain! yelled the husband.
Its just a New Years joke! Prank! Not a kidnapping!
Harriet heard his voice as if from underwater. And then, just like in a film, she spotted them: her friends, clustered by a nearby advert board. Cheering, flustered, worried and somehow thrilled.
Mum! the children shrieked, launching themselves at one of the women sheltering in the group. The other friends rushed to Security, all talking at onceShes not a criminal! Its a prank! Honestly!
Harriet was hauled up; her handcuffs came off. The world stopped spinning. There she stood in the middle of Heathrow, hair wild, heart hammeringwhen she finally realised: she hadnt been kidnapped.
Shed been had?!
Once the adrenaline died down and her ears stopped ringing, the voices made sense and the truth became clear.
It was a joke. A production worthy of the BAFTAsexpensive, convoluted, and with strong criminal overtones.
All her mates started chattering at once, hands waving in apology and delight.
Turns out, theyd long wanted to set her up with a decent chapthe very one whod always fancied her, but never made a move, well aware of her brisk attitude:
Thanks, but no thanks. Im fine on my own.
And her friends knew it. So much easier to skip blurting out awkward introductions and just demonstrate!
Thus, the plan was born: not an introduction, but full-force family immersion. Ta-da! Wake in a household: breakfast coffee, well-organised sprogs, kindly blokedoes the right things, barely says a word, andwelllovely eyes too.
We didnt want your head to get in the way, you see, one of them confessed. You had to feel it in your bones.
Harriet found she couldnt stay cross. Sure, their methods were questionable. Yes, a heart attack nearly occurred. But at least the experiment was pure! Sometimes, all it takes to know if you want a man is to survive one morning, three children, and a cheeky coffee sprung on you by a kidnapper.
And there he wasthe books leading mansmiling with a touch of mischief, Puss-In-Boots style. Golden flecks danced in his hazel eyes. The children? Turned out to be nieces and nephewsecstatic at having played accomplices in Uncles Greatest Caper.
Oh! You lot are going to miss your flight! chirped the girls, suddenly perky. Run along and check in!
What, more kidnapping? thought Harriet. Where nextIbiza? The Med? Sun, sea and mango smoothies?
He held out his hand.
Lets try this again. Im William. May I whisk you away? he asked, smiling gently.
Harriet glanced at her friends, all full of suspense and hope. She flicked her gaze to the suitcases, then back to Williams golden-flecked eyes, aimed straight at her soul.
What, after all, could stop her saying yes?
Lets go! she breathed, smiling as she accepted, knowing THIS was the kind of kidnapping she could get used to.
And then, in a whisper, added, But only if the children stay at home
The friends burst out laughing, William grinned wider, and the bustle of the airport transformed into the start of something unfamiliar, hilarious, and unexpectedly warm.
Sometimes, life doesnt really kidnap us at all.
It just yanks us a little too briskly to where we always ought to have been.
