Twenty Four #2
“Then don’t run,” Dad says gently, his eyes kind. “Stay. Talk to us. Let us be there for you.”
I glance at the door, the urge to escape still clawing at me, but their words tug at something deep inside. The part of me that’s so damn tired of pretending, of carrying the weight of all my mistakes alone.
“Ok,” I say finally, sinking back into my chair. “But I’m not promising it’ll be pretty.”
Mum smiles faintly, pulling out a chair beside me. “We don’t need pretty. Just the truth.”
And for the first time in what feels like forever, I let it all out. The lies, the regrets, the heartbreak. Every messy, tangled thread of it.
By the time I’m done, Mum’s dabbing at her eyes with a tissue, and Dad’s nodding like he’s just survived a hurricane.
“Bloody hell,” he mutters, reaching for his beer. “You’ve had a time of it, haven’t you?”
Mum swats his arm. “That’s not helpful.”
“It’s accurate,” I say, managing a weak smile.
Mum reaches for my hand, her grip firm and reassuring. “You’ll get through this, Mia. And when you do, you’ll be stronger for it.”
“Maybe,” I say, glancing at the empty doorway Danny disappeared through. “But next time, I’m keeping my disasters to myself.”
From the other room, Danny’s voice calls out. “No chance. You’re far too entertaining.”
I groan, burying my face in my hands as Mum pats my back soothingly.
Family. Can’t live with them, can’t fake an engagement to escape them.
WE ARE SITTING AT the dining room table, all groaning in satisfaction after demolishing the mother of all roasts—a roast fit for royalty, followed by Mum’s legendary sticky toffee pudding.
Danny’s sitting with Allegra and Freddie wedged between him like little human shields. They’re too young to notice the tightness in his jaw or the way his hand clenches and unclenches on the table, but I see it. I feel it.
I’m slumping against the back of my chair, taking slow sips of a tea I don’t even want. Mum’s busying herself in the kitchen, and Dad—ever the master of avoidance—is pretending to read the newspaper. He hasn’t turned the page in twenty minutes. It’s almost impressive.
“Alright,” Danny says suddenly, making me and dad look up at him. “I’ve got something to say.”
I raise an eyebrow, exchanging a glance with Dad. Danny doesn’t “say” things. He makes sarcastic remarks and dodges real conversations like it’s an Olympic sport.
Mum saunters into the kitchen, her hearing as sharp as a bat’s. “Go on, then,” she says, settling back into her seat, arms crossed, giving him her full, undivided attention—like she’s about to judge a Strictly Come Dancing performance.
Danny takes a deep breath, his eyes darting to Allegra and Freddie. “Claire’s been having an affair.”
The words drop like a grenade, and for a second, no one moves. No one breathes.
Mum gasps, clutching her chest like he’s just told her King Charles has abdicated. Dad lowers his paper, his brow furrowing. The kids keep playing with their crayons, blissfully unaware their dad just detonated his marriage over the dining table.
“What?” I manage, my voice too high-pitched to sound remotely calm.
“You heard me,” Danny says, his tone sharp but not bitter—just tired. Resigned, even. “Claire’s been shagging some bloke from her office. Apparently, spreadsheets aren’t the only thing they’ve been working on during lunch breaks.”
Claire works for some high-flying fashion designer, the kind who probably drinks green juice and only wears neutrals.
Come to think about it, it’s probably where Amber shops.
Claire had the twins and practically sprinted back to work the second they popped out.
She doesn’t need to work, but she insists on it—always has.
Well, now I know why.
Mum’s mouth opens and closes like a fish, utterly horrified. “Danny! The children!”
Danny gestures at Allegra, who’s now drawing what I think is a horse but could just as easily be a misshapen potato. “What? You think they’re paying attention to my love life? Trust me, they’re too busy creating abstract art masterpieces to care.”
“Danny!” Mum hisses again.
“Claire’s having an affair?” I repeat, still trying to process. “Your Claire? My-life-is-an-Instagram-highlight-reel Claire?”
Danny snorts. “Yeah. Turns out the highlight reel’s got a blooper section. Who knew?”
Dad clears his throat, folding the paper and setting it down. “Does she . . . does she know you know?”
Danny gives him a flat look. “No, Dad, I thought I’d let it fester for a bit. Really marinate in the betrayal, you know? Give it an extra kick.”
Mum lets out a horrified little squeak as the twins, completely oblivious, start arguing about whose crayon is better.
“Danny, this is serious!” Mum snaps, her hands flying to her hips.
“I’m aware, Mum,” he shoots back, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “Thanks for pointing that out. I was starting to think it was just a funny little subplot in my otherwise flawless life.”
“Danny,” I say, leaning in closer, my voice quieter now. “What are you going to do?”
“Divorce her,” he says simply, like he’s announcing he’s switching network providers. “What else is there to do? Stick around and hope she accidentally forwards me one of her saucy emails? No thanks.”
Mum looks like she might faint, so Dad stands and takes the Denby dish from her hands before she drops it. “Alright,” he says, his voice calm but firm. “Let’s take a breath, yeah? This isn’t something to rush into.”
Danny leans back in his chair, crossing his arms. “Trust me, Dad, I’ve had plenty of time to think about it. You don’t just wake up one morning and find out your wife’s been sneaking around with a guy named Nigel and feel totally ok about it.”
“Nigel?” I choke out, trying not to laugh.
“Yes, Nigel,” Danny says, rolling his eyes. “Because apparently, my life’s not tragic enough without the added insult of being replaced by a man who owns a hybrid Dacia Duster, and says ‘alrighty’.”
That’s it. I lose it, the laugh bursting out before I can stop it. Mum shoots me a glare, but Danny cracks a small grin, which feels like a minor miracle.
“Danny, what about the kids?” Mum asks, her voice trembling.
“They’ll be fine,” he says, looking at Allegra and Freddie with something softer in his eyes. “Better off, probably. They don’t need to grow up in a house where their parents can’t stand each other.”
The room falls quiet again, the only sound is the scrape of Allegra’s crayon on the paper.
“Well,” I say, breaking the silence. “If you need someone to throw bread rolls at Claire’s head, you know where to find me.”
Danny chuckles, shaking his head. “Appreciate it, Mia. But I’ve got it handled.”
Mum lets out a long, weary sigh, sitting down heavily in her chair. “I can’t believe this, first Mia, and now your marriage.” she mutters, staring at the table.
“Join the club,” Danny says, reaching for his drink. “Membership’s free, but the emotional baggage is killer.”
And just like that, my family dinner officially becomes one for the history books.