“Clown”
“Maisie, are you almost ready? Harry and Charlotte will be here any minute,” said Oliver impatiently, peering into the bedroom.
“Just a moment,” Maisie replied without turning from the mirror mounted on the wardrobe door.
She traced her lips with lipstick, shook her head lightly to tousle her perfectly styled hair, adjusted the collar of her dress, and only then turned to face her husband.
“Ready,” she smiled at him.
“Wow, you look stunning,” Oliver said, stepping closer and pulling her into his arms.
“Careful, the lipstick,” Maisie tilted her head back from his chest, gazing at him with tender mischief.
“Maisie—” Oliver began, his voice suddenly thick, but at that moment, the doorbell rang. “Great timing,” he sighed, reluctantly letting go and heading to answer it. Maisie gave herself one last look in the mirror, smoothed her dress, and followed.
Harry was already joking loudly in the hallway, clutching a massive bouquet of roses, while his wife Charlotte stood beside him, holding a gift bag.
“Where’s the birthday girl? Not greeting her guests?” Harry boomed, rustling the bouquet’s wrapping. Spotting Maisie, he stepped forward. “Finally! Maisie, you’re radiant as ever. Oli, watch out—I might steal her.” He planted a loud kiss on her cheek before handing her the flowers. “To you—”
“Alright, get settled first. Save the toasts for the table,” Oliver interrupted.
“Oli, grab the slippers. I’ll put these in water,” Maisie said, heading to the kitchen.
The flat quickly filled with noise and chatter. Harry rubbed his hands eagerly at the sight of the spread in the middle of the room.
“Maisie, you’re a magician. This feast is incredible. I might drown in my own drool,” he groaned dramatically.
“You’ll have to wait a little longer,” Maisie teased, returning with a vase for the roses. She set it on the coffee table by the window.
“Clown,” Charlotte muttered under her breath, rolling her striking hazel eyes.
Maisie laid a comforting hand on her shoulder just as the doorbell rang again. She went to answer, finding her brother Max and a woman she didn’t know.
“This is Lorna. And this is my sister, Maisie,” Max introduced, handing Maisie another bouquet.
“Lovely to meet you,” Maisie said warmly. Lorna barely nodded. “Sorry, we’re out of spare slippers.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll give mine to Lorna,” Max offered.
Maisie gave him a searching look—what could they possibly 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. This is Lorna, his new girlfriend,” Maisie announced, then whispered to Max, “Take it from here,” before disappearing to the kitchen.
There were no more vases, so she stuffed the second bouquet into a litre jug and left it on the counter.
When she returned, the guests were already seated. Oliver gestured to the head of the table. Maisie took her seat and noticed with surprise that Harry and Charlotte had sat apart, on opposite sides.
Oliver poured brandy for the men and wine for the women. Lorna sat stiff and detached, barely acknowledging the salad Max placed on her plate.
“Goodness, what an ice queen. Max’s exes were at least human,” Maisie mused before Oliver’s toast interrupted her thoughts. He stood, glass in hand, gazing lovingly at his wife.
The room quieted. Glasses clinked, cutlery scraped against plates.
Maisie glanced around. Harry ate noisily, praising her cooking while stealing glances at Charlotte, who stared into her plate, ignoring him. Lorna chewed slowly, expressionless, as Max whispered in her ear. Oliver kept everyone’s drinks topped up—his look said, “See? Everything’s perfect.”
Maisie relaxed. Once the meal settled, Oliver fetched his guitar from the bedroom. After tuning, he launched into *”You Are the One.”* His voice was warm, rich—everyone knew he sang for his wife.
Maisie swayed, then joined in. Their harmony was seamless. The song ended in silence before requests trickled in.
Oliver strummed the opening chords of *”My Bright Star,”* Maisie’s favourite. Midway through, Charlotte stood abruptly and slipped into the kitchen.
“Brilliant, Oli. That deserves a drink,” Harry said when the song finished.
“I’ll get the roast,” Maisie whispered to Oliver before following Charlotte.
She found her by the open window, smoking.
“What’s wrong?” Maisie asked softly.
Charlotte exhaled. The cigarette trembled in her slender fingers. Ash scattered on the windowsill; she brushed it away, smudging it instead.
“You used to love Oliver’s singing. Why leave?”
“I still do,” Charlotte murmured, glancing at the door.
From the dining room, drunken voices rose in *”If You Don’t Have an Auntie.”* Harry’s bellow led the chorus.
“Can you help me?” Charlotte asked suddenly.
“Money?”
“No. Harry and I… we’re finished.” She took a sharp drag.
“You’ve had a row?”
“Maisie—” Charlotte flicked the cigarette out the window. “I’ve fallen in love. Properly lost my head.”
“Charlotte… what about Harry?”
“What about him?” she snapped, then lowered her voice. “What about Harry?”
“You’ve got a family. A son.”
“It’s been over for ages,” Charlotte sighed.
“Does he suspect?” Maisie studied her profile.
“Probably.”
A pause. Then:
“There’s a new doctor at the hospital. From the countryside. Took one look and—I’m done for. Swap shifts just to see him. Disgusted?”
“Surprised. What now?”
“I can’t breathe without him. If not for our son… We met at my mum’s while she was away. Now she’s back, and—we’ve nowhere else.”
Maisie bit her lip, silent.
“You and Oliver are at work all day, no kids. There’s no one else I can ask.”
“Rubbing salt in the wound, really,” Maisie said coldly.
“Sorry. I didn’t think.”
“You want to use our flat?”
“Yes. Just a few hours, sometimes. Please.”
Maisie remembered Harry’s agony when he’d chased Charlotte—her dark eyes, glossy hair—terrified she’d refuse him.
“Your doctor—no flat of his own? Ah. Married.”
“So? We love each other. Maisie—” Her voice cracked. “I never believed this could happen. It’s like—I’m split in two. When I see him, I forget everything. My heart pounds so loud…”
“No,” Maisie said sharply. “Ask for anything else—money, babysitting—but not our keys.”
Oliver peered in. “Ladies, the roast—” He caught Maisie’s pleading look and retreated.
“Are you mad? Harry’s a good man, a devoted father. And your son? He’ll never forgive—”
“He’ll understand when he’s older,” Charlotte mumbled.
“End it now. Why wreck 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 Harry like this. What if he finds out? Or Oliver? They’ve been mates since uni. Come on, this is awkward.”
She grabbed oven mitts, yanking out the roast—her signature dish. Charlotte held the door as Maisie carried it in.
“Finally! We were withering away,” Harry slurred.
Maisie set the platter down. Harry watched Charlotte, who pushed food around her plate. Lorna remained statuesque. Max drank quietly.
Anger prickled Maisie. Charlotte had ruined the evening. The table fell silent. Even Harry’s jokes died.
*I don’t owe her this. She’s reckless. This won’t end well.*
“We’re off. Need to fetch our son from the other side of town. School tomorrow,” Charlotte announced.
Harry grumbled but stood.
“Leaving so soon?” Maisie protested half-heartedly as they saw them out. Charlotte avoided her gaze.
“Tea and cake?” Maisie offered falsely.
Max declined. Lorna “watched her figure.”
“What’s wrong with everyone?”
“Sis, we should go,” Max said.
Soon, only the mess remained.
“What were you and Charlotte whispering about?” Oliver asked, stacking plates.
“They’ve had a row. She was upset with him.” Maisie sighed. “I’ll change.”
In her dressing gown, makeup wiped clean, she found Oliver washing dishes.
“You’re even lovelier like this. Just you,” he said.
“Exhausted,” she yawned.
“I’ll finish up. Rest.”
She curled on the sofaLying there together, Oliver’s arm around her shoulders, Maisie let the quiet hum of the telly lull her into a rare, peaceful sleep, grateful for their small, unbroken world.
