My Husband Brought a Colleague to Our Christmas Dinner, So I Asked Them Both to Leave

Where did you put the napkins? I told you to get out the silver ones, they go far better with the tablecloth, Margaret Howard said, never turning from the countertop as she deftly sliced lemon into tissue-thin, almost see-through pieces.

Her husband, Richard, would usually be found collapsed in front of the telly by now, waiting for the start of the New Year’s Eve variety show. But tonight, he was nowhere to be seen. Margaret found herself muttering into the warm, softly lit emptiness of her kitchen. There were only three hours left until the chimes would ring in the New Year. In the oven, a goose her signature dish, a family recipe passed down for generations was almost done, filling their spotless flat with the scents of apples and spice. Fairy lights twinkled on the Christmas tree, but her heart ached with that familiar, hopeful excitement, the kind that refuses to leave even at fifty.

She dried her hands on the tea towel and glanced at the clock. Richard was late. Hed said hed pop by the office for a forgotten present, then vanished. Margaret smiled to herself. He was probably fussing over something special. This was their silver wedding anniversary twenty-five years together, and for once, theyd decided to spend the New Year alone, romantically, just the two of them. No loud parties, no grown children rushing in and out.

The front door lock clicked at last. She straightened her hair, whipped off her apron to reveal the dark green velvet dress beneath, and hurried to the hall.

Richard, where have you?

The words died in her throat. Standing in the doorway, Richard wasnt alone. A much younger woman, stamping snow from expensive boots, fiddled with the fastenings of her mink coat. She was strikingfiery hair, lips painted crimson. In one hand she clutched a bag of clementines; in the other, Richards arm. Richard himself forced a far-too-bright grin, awkwardly clutching a bottle of champagne.

Darling, look whos joined us! Meet our guest, he declared much too loudly. This is Olivia. Olivia Davies shes our new head accountant.

Margaret stiffened, a chill settling over her. She flicked her gaze between her husband and the young woman.

Good evening, she managed at last. We werent expecting anyone, were we?

Unbothered, Olivia held out a slim hand in a fine leather glove.

Oh, Mrs Howard, hello! You wont believe what a palaver Ive had! Its like something out of EastEnders. Richardoh, Mr Howardhe really rescued me tonight. I cant thank him enough!

Richard was already kicking off his shoes, eyes averted from his wife.

Maggie, youve got to hear this. Nipped into the office, found Olivia in tears. Pipes burst at her flat, place flooded, whole buildings dark, freezingshe cant get a repairman till Monday. No family around, no one to stay with. Couldnt possibly leave her all alone on New Years! I thoughtMargaret will understand. Shes got a heart of gold.

Margaret let the words roll over her, her world contracting inward. Twenty-five years. The romantic meal. The candles, already arranged perfectly around the table. And here was this miracle in mink.

Well, come inside, she said stiffly. Her voice sounded brittle, alien. Since youre here.

Olivia swept in, her heavy, sickly perfume instantly overwhelming the scent of roast goose and pine.

Gosh, its lovely in here! she trilled, glancing about without a hint of shyness. So vintage. My gran had a sideboard just like that. Very authentic. Like an episode of Call the Midwife.

Margarets jaw clenched. That sideboard was Italian oak, bought for a small fortune five years ago but she wasnt about to explain herself to a girl young enough to be her daughter.

Richard, help your guest with her coat, she said curtly, disappearing into the kitchen. Her hands shook.

Richard tiptoed in behind her a minute later, looking hangdog but stubborn.

Margaret, please. Dont make a fuss. He hissed, pulling the kitchen door half-shut. Shes got nowhere else. Dont be cold. Its New Years. Shell have a bite, a drink, Ill sort her a cab after, or she can crash on the sofa…

On the sofa? snapped Margaret, gripping the ladle so hard her knuckles blanched. Have you lost your senses? We wanted to be alone. You bring a strange womanone who insults my home the second she steps in. Like a museum, she said!

She didnt mean it! Shes just young. Unfiltered. Margaret, please, dont embarrass me in front of the team. Shell tell everyone I threw her out on the street. I work with her, for heavens sake.

Margaret stared at her husband, unrecognizing. Where was the man shed built this life with? This was some faded charmer eager to impress, using his own wife as scenery.

Fine, she said at last. Let her stay. But if she says one more thing about my house

She wont, honestly! Richard brightened, reaching to kiss her. Margaret pulled away.

Go on, entertain your unfiltered guest. Ill set a third place.

Supper began with cloying unease. Margaret quietly arranged the plates. Olivia now sat, coatless, in a figure-hugging dress with a plunging neckline, entirely unsuited to a family home. She lounged at the table, swinging one leg over the other, swirling her glass.

Richard, could you open the champagne? I need a drink to see out the old year she crooned, fixing Richard with a look.

Richard. Margaret nearly dropped the salad bowl. She set down the dish with a thud.

We always open the champagne at midnight, she said sharply. For now, you may have some cranberry cordial. Homemade.

Olivias lips curled.

Cordial? How sweet. But I dont do sugar, honestly. Watching my waist. Any dry bubbles? The sickly stuffs really for people who dont have the palate, isnt it.

Richard blustered.

Ive got some decent brandy in the cabinet. Olivia, fancy a drop?

Oh, just a splash. To take the chill off its icy in here. Do you economise on the central heating?

Margaret sat opposite, feeling surplus to requirements at her own celebration. Richard was preening for Olivia, serving the caviar, laughing too loudly at old jokes. Olivia giggled, tilting her head back, laughing for the spotlight.

So, Mrs Howard, do you work? Olivia suddenly turned on her.

I do, said Margaret steadily. Im chief process engineer at the confectionery factory.

Really? Olivias pencilled brows shot up. Well, you seem very domestic. I mean, like an old-fashioned housewife you know, stewing and waiting for the husband to return home. Richard said you had golden hands. He mentioned you can be, well, boring, but your pies are top notch.

Silence crashed over the table, broken only by the clocks tick and the drone of the television. Richard choked on his brandy.

I I never said such a thing! Olivia, you mustve misunderstood!

Margaret laid down her fork with deliberate slowness. Something snapped inside. Twenty-five years gone in a flash boring, was she? Trapped in domesticity?

Go on, Olivia, Margaret said, ice in her voice. What else did Richard say? Do tell.

Olivia, sensing her error, tried to backtrack making it worse.

Oh, dont be offended! Men just get restless, you know. Richard was the life of our staff party on Friday! He danced, everyone cheered. Said you dont dance at home, your legs hurt.

Margaret looked under the table her legs only hurt after three days of standing at the stove, cooking a feast for her loving husband.

Richard sat, staring as disaster approached but powerless to stop it.

Lets drink! he pleaded. Peace on Earth!

No, wait, Margaret fixed Olivia with a stare. About the pipes. What exactly happened at yours, Olivia?

The pipes? She faltered. Oh, er huge leak, hot water gushing everywhere. Frightening. I called Richard sorry, Mr Howard such a steady man! Not like my ex.

Strange, Margaret mused. Its minus five out. Flooded flat, electricity off, yet your hair and nails are impeccable. You dont smell of damp or boiler leaks. Just beauty salon and the scent of another woman angling for someone elses husband.

Olivia went red.

How dare you! Im a guest! Richard, say something!

Richard shrank in his seat.

Margaret, please maybe she changed before coming

Quiet, Richard, Margaret cut him off, her voice low but firm. She rose from the table. Ive turned a blind eye to your little dalliances for twenty-five years. Your wandering eye, your mystery overtime. I thought you valued family. I thought we were partners. Seems Im just the cook and youre bored.

She yanked open the curtains, revealing the black London sky, fireworks bursting over distant gardens.

Right then, she turned to the table, resolute. The shows over. Ms Davies, pick up your clementines and leave.

Olivia stamped her foot, speechless. But Margarets stony resolve made resistance futile.

Richard! Will you let her throw me out on New Years? Olivia whined desperately.

Richard summoned (from the brandy or sheer panic) enough bravado to slam his palm down.

Margaret, stop this! This is my home too! I invited a guest. Olivia stays. Well see the New Year in together like civilised people, not

Like what? Margaret prompted. Go on.

Like harpies! he blurted.

Margaret nodded, calm. No tears, no screams. She went to the sideboard, hauled out a big travel bag shed set aside to take gifts to the grandchildren. Shook out the boxes of chocolates onto the floor.

Your house, is it? she tossed the bag onto his lap. Fine. Then Im leaving. Exceptthis flat belonged to my parents. Youre just a name on the post. And tomorrow, as soon as the offices open, Ill see the solicitor and serve you notice. As for tonight, you both can go.

What? Richard paled, his bravado gone. Margaret, what are you doing? Where are we going?

Out for the buzz you wanted. Where you can dance the night away. At Olivias, with her burst pipes. Youre a man, arent you? Reliable. This house is boring a museum, wasnt it.

Margaret, wait! He staggered upright, knocking over a chair. Forgive me! I was a fool! Olivias just a colleague, nothing happened! She can leave and we can

Margaret looked at him with frank disgust. Only moments earlier hed have fought for Olivia, now, with trouble in sight, he abandoned her instantly.

No, Richard. The goose is ruined along with our marriage. Get your things. Five minutes.

Olivia, realising the evening was lost and unwilling to become the centre of a divorce scandal, left silently for the hallway.

Shes round the bend, Olivia muttered, pulling on her fur. Richard, Ill call a cab get home yourself. I dont need your reliability with all this baggage.

She flounced out, her perfume lingering, sour as spilt wine.

Richard stood in the centre of the lounge, bag hanging limply in his grasp.

Maggie he whimpered. Shes gone. Lets forget it, shall we? Look, the goose is getting cold.

Margaret strode to the oven, pulled out the tray with the golden, sizzling goose, the aroma of apples hitting her full in the face and making her sick.

Forget it? she echoed. You brought your mistress here on our silver wedding anniversary. Discussed me behind my back. Let her insult me, in my own kitchen.

She took up the heavy ceramic dish.

Richard, leave. Im not joking. If you stay, Im phoning the police say youre drunk and threatening. And believe me, theyll listen.

Richard looked long at his wife and saw she meant it. There was power in this quiet, domestic woman hed never seen before.

He stomped off to the bedroom. Drawers banged, clothes were hurled into the decimated bag. He shuffled out in a crumpled old parka, shirt-cuff flapping from the open zip.

Youll regret this, Margaret! he shouted by the door, clutching at dignity. Alone at fifty, wholl have you?

I will, she replied, shutting and double-locking the door.

Silence fell. A blessed silence. Margaret let herself slide to the floor, back against the cool wood. She thought shed cry, but no tears came only a strange lightness, as if a clumsy old wardrobe had finally been removed from the room, and she could breathe.

She got up and went to the kitchen. The table was laid for three. Salads, caviar, roast goose. A stage for a play that would never be performed.

Margaret took Olivias plate a half-eaten canapé, smeared with red lipstick and dropped it in the bin. The shattering porcelain rang out like music.

Then Richards plate. The same. Smashing sound.

She cleared away the extra place, leaving just her favourite plate with a gold edge. She poured herself a tall glass of cold champagne.

On the TV, the Prime Ministers address was beginning. The chimes prepared to count down the last moments of a year which had stolen her illusions but restored her pride.

Happy New Year, Margaret, she said softly to her reflection in the dark window.

She carved the juiciest piece off the goose the crisp leg. Helped herself to some properly matured potato salad.

Her mobile pinged. A message from her daughter, Lucy: Happy New Year, Mum! We love you see you next week with the grandkids!

Margaret smiled. Real life hadnt gone anywhere. Children, grandchildren, her job, her home what remained was real. What shed lost was only dead weight.

She took a sip of champagne, the bubbles fizzing up her nose, making her giddy. For the first time in years, she wasnt fussing, wasnt serving, wasnt worrying about topping up everyones glass. She simply revelled in the moment.

Outside, neighbours shouted Cheers! and fired off rockets. The world was celebrating and so was Margaret, in her own modest way. She celebrated freedom.

An hour later, she packed up all the food she couldnt eat alone, neatly storing it in containers. Tomorrow, shed take them down for the porter, Mrs Brown, and the caretaker, old Mick kind souls whod appreciate it.

As for the goose shed finish it herself. She deserved it.

Before bed, she caught her reflection a beautiful, cared-for woman with sorrow in her eyes but a stubborn spark. Not some harried, hair-rollered matron.

He wanted excitement, did he? she quipped, shaking her head. Well, Richard, I hope you enjoy the drama from now on. Finding a new flat, sorting out the finances, explaining yourself to the kids.

She sprawled in the big bed, starfish-like, claiming every inch that once shed shared with a snoring husband. The sheets smelt of lavender and freshness.

In the morning, sunlight woke her. Her first thought wasnt time to make breakfast for him it was, I fancy coffee and cake at that new café round the corner. And what a splendid thought it was.

She had no idea what the future held divorce, hard conversations, the wrangling of assets. That would all come. But for now, she had a day all to herself: silent, nourishing, peaceful. No one would ever again dare call her home a museum or her life boring.