The Kidnapping of the Century — “I Want Men to Chase After Me and Cry Because They Can’t Catch Up!” …

The Heist of the Century

I just want blokes to chase after me and cry because they cant catch up! Lydia declared grandly, reading her wish off a scrap of paper and then lighting it with a flick of her sparkly lighter. She tipped the ashes into her Prosecco glass and finished it off, her friends cackling around her.

The Christmas tree winked its lights, as if it paused to consider, then burst into an even brighter glow. The music ramped up, glasses clinked, faces twirled together in a merry blur, while golden confetti (or maybe it was just the Prosecco talking) fluttered down from the tinsel.

Muuum Mum, get up!

Lydia barely peeled one eye open. Looming over her was what could charitably be described as half of Manchester Uniteds junior squad.

Who are you lot? Do I know you, children?

The kids, faces full of mischief, introduced themselves with birthday-party bows: Mum, come on! Harrynine. Tobyseven. Jackfive. Alfiethree!

The whole squad, all grins and scheming. Not quite the parade of men she was wishing for on New Years Eve.

So, wheres your coach, then? Oh, stuff itwheres your dad? she croaked, throat like the Sahara. Someone fetch your mum a drink

She closed her eyes just for a moment, but immediately: Mum!

Before she could protest, two glasses of water, a clementine and a mug of pickle juice were thrust into her hands. Her eldest had already mastered the art of post-party maternal resuscitation. They do grow up so fast.

Mum, get up, you promised the younger two whined.

Try as she might, Lydia couldnt remember how she got here or what exactly shed promised.

The cinema?

Noooo.

McDonalds?

No!

The toy shop?

Oh, muuum! Dont pretend! Were nearly packed and youre still lazing about!

Go on then, enlighten your dear motherwhere are we going? she surrendered.

Darling, time to rise and shine. A tall, dark-haired man entered the room, the kind whose hazel eyes actually twinkleblimey, hes dishy!

Were all set; Ive loaded the car. Quick stop at Sainsburys on the way and off we go!

Lydia searched her brain for any clue as to who this guy was and why these kids were calling her mum, but her mind was as empty as a Wetherspoons on Christmas Day.

Mum! Dont forget our trunks! And remember yours! someone shouted from a bedroom.

“Hang on, is there a swimming pool involved? What sort of dream life is this, and why dont I remember any of it?”

Lydia blinked and looked around, only to realise she didnt recognise a thing in the roomnot the photo on the sideboard, not the soft taupe curtains with their odd geometric print, nothing. Only a small potted poinsettiaa lush red one in a white pot with little pearl beadsseemed familiar.

She squeezed her eyes shut and carefully began to unravel the thread of yesterday. She and the girls had met at a restaurant to see in the New Year and do Secret Santa, just like in the old uni days, only now it included expensive bags, complicated hairdos, and next to no spare time.

Her friends had been resplendent, giggling with that rare taste of freedom, having sneaked out of orbit: husbands, children, homework, nurseries and endless pots. They sparkled, like girls skiving off last period.

But Lydia? The perennial singletonserene, self-sufficient, not a care in the world. No one to check in with, no one to wait up for, no explanations to deliver.

Last Maiden Standing, they teased, topping her glass with more bubbles.

Shed given her mate a posh set of Black Caviar and Gold Thread facial creams. Theyd all laughed that you could probably butter toast with it and serve it with bucks fizz for a proper treat. The pressies were photographed like artwork, every angle, because why not?

In return, Lydia got a Christmas poinsettiathe very same red one. Plus a bottle of rare sparkling wine her mate had filched from a castle in France. The sort of bottle people reference in whispers and open only on truly special occasions.

Shed read a bit of paper with what could have been a toast, a wishthennothing! As they say: walked in, fell over, woke upplaster cast!

Lydia glanced at herself in the hall mirror. Yep, still young, makeup holding fast since New Years Eve. So why the strange children, the mystery husband? She didnt recall childbirth, toddler tantrums, not even a wedding! Weirdest of all, she knew the kids names but couldnt place the husbands. Something was seriously off.

She stepped into the hallway. Suitcases on wheels stood ready: a big black one, a pale beige one, both unmistakably posh brands. Three sporty little rucksacks clustered nearby.

Right then, not just a woodland picnic. An actual trip somewhere?

At that moment, husband strode in, scooped up the suitcases as if hed rehearsed it for years, and gently herded Lydia to the door.

Well be late, he said, all calm authority.

As she automatically checked her handheart thuddingshe froze: no wedding ring! Not on her finger, not on his. And another thing

The children piled into a spacious family minivan. Rucksacks flew to their places; seatbelts clicked with military precision. Mystery man took the wheel, and Lydia climbed in the front, taking a deep breath.

Immediately a takeaway coffee was pressed into her hand. Warm, with milkshe hated milk in coffee! For some reason, that detail stung the most.

“Off we go,” he called cheerfully, winking at the kids. The further they drove from the house, the more uneasy Lydia became.

From the back, whispered squabbles and giggles mixed with snack demands. Up front, her husband drove with confident purpose, occasionally tossing her a conspiratorial glance, as if to say they shared some secret. As if he knew something she hadnt remembered.

Lydia gazed out, feeling a bit like a hedgehog in a fog. Everything looked normal: family, car, a journey. Yet none of it made any sense.

They accelerated down an A-road, distancing themselves from the city. Lydia, now thoroughly suspicious, solidified a conviction somewhere deep down: these werent her people. This man was a stranger, these children imposters!

Hed kidnapped them!

No, theyd kidnapped her!

But how did she know the kids names? Confusion mounting, she arrived at the only logical possibilitystrange bloke, mystery children, and shed been abducted! Time to act.

She straightened in the seat, gripped her coffee like a trophy, and gazed innocently out the window, while her inner action hero switched on.

Half an hour later, the children rebelled in concert.

Dad, loo!

Im thirsty!

Got any snacks?

The car pulled into a service station. Everyone bailed out and streamed to the building.

Here it was. Her big escape! Lydias heart pounded so loud it drowned out the traffic. Spotting her moment, she ducked out of the café, scuttled low to the car, yanked the drivers door open

No keys.

Well, there you are! We were just looking for you. The mans voice floated through the open window. Lydia jumped.

Right, everyones here, lets be off, he said kindly. Sweetheart, Ill drive; you have a rest. Off they went again.

An hour later, the airport loomed aheadvast glass, cold concrete, a swarm of cars and people. Everyone tumbled out of the van and bustled inside.

Lydias nerves jangled. She would not go quietly to wherever they were abducting her! Shed fight to the end!

She lagged behind, then suddenly darted away.

This is a kidnapping! Help! she screamed, flinging herself at a security guard.

The reaction was instant. Lydia got rugby tackled, flipped stomach-down, and cuffed without so much as a by your leave. Armed response, grim faces, walkie-talkies everywhere.

Wait! Hold on! Ill explain everything! shouted the mystery man.

Its a New Years prank! A joke! Were not armed! This is not a kidnapping!

Lydia heard his voice as if underwater. Suddenly, like a scene from Love Actually, she spotted themher friends, poking out from behind a garish advertising stand. Smiling, sheepish, a bit frazzled but unmistakably delighted.

Mum! the childrennow revealed to be someone elsesrushed to one of her mates. The other girls ran to the security team, laughing, explaining, apologising, extracting Lydia from her handcuffs.

Pulled to her feet, heart hammering, hair completely wild, Lydia stood in the middle of the airport as the realisation hit: she hadnt been kidnapped.

Shed been set up.

Once the adrenaline began to ebb and the white noise faded, Lydia started to actually hear the chattering.

It had been an elaborate prank.
Expensive. Collective. With criminal drama worthy of a BBC Saturday night special.

Her friends explained all at once, breaking in on each other with nervous laughter and wild justifications.

It turned out theyd been dying to introduce Lydia to a lovely chap. The one whod fancied her for ages but never plucked up the couragemainly because he knew how fiercely independent she was. Whenever her friends broached the idea, shed shoot them down:

No thanks. Im fine as I am, honestly.

They knew better than to push. So why not show her, instead? Immerse her in family life, as it were. Family mornings, endless coffee, kids acting like angels, a calm and caring bloke who just gets on with thingsall presented for inspection. And by the way, did they mention he had really, truly gorgeous eyes?

We wanted you to stop overthinking, they admitted. Just feel it.

Lydia found herself unable to be angry. Womens logic, after all, isnt known for brute force tactics, but it respects a decent result.

Sure, the method was… questionable. Yes, shed nearly had a cardiac episode. But the experiment? Completely scientific! Turns out, all you need to decide whether a man is for you is one morning, three kids, and a coffee handed over by a kidnapper.

She suddenly noticed himher hero, standing there with a mischievous smile, looking just a bit like Puss in Boots. Golden flecks danced in his hazel eyes. The kids clustered around himapparently, his nephews, thrilled at having tricked Aunt Lydia.

Oy, you lot are going to miss your flight! the friends shouted, all hustle and bustle. Get to check-in, pronto!

Another abduction, is it? Lydia thought, rolling her eyes. Was she being whisked off to the Med? Scuba diving and mangos for breakfast?

He held out his hand.

Lets meet properlySimon. May I kidnap you, for real this time? he asked gently.

Lydia had a quick peek at her friendstheir faces anxious, hopeful. Her eyes drifted to the suitcases, then back to Simons laughing gaze.

Honestly, whats stopping me? she thought.

Lets go! Lydia breathed, a shy smile creeping in as she realised that this kidnapping was possibly the best thing to ever happen to her.

And, just above a whisper, she added, But only if the kids stay home this time

Her friends burst out laughing, Simons grin grew even wider, and even the airport seemed to join in, the bustle and crowds blending into the start of something newfunny, warm, and surprisingly snug.

Sometimes, life doesnt steal us away.

It just delivers us, with a jolt, exactly where we were always meant to go.