Grandma just wanted a quiet dinner to celebrate her 85th birthday, something modest and peaceful.
But our family had other plans — and what started as a kind initiative quickly turned into a humiliating trap, not only for her, but for me as well.
They thought they could use her birthday as a cover to rack up a huge bill and leave me to pay for everything.
They had no idea who they were dealing with.
My grandmother is the kind of woman who always smells like cookies, remembers every birthday, and makes any home feel cosy.
So when she said she just wanted a small dinner, I offered to organise everything.
But Aunt Linda insisted on something grand.
‘She deserves something spectacular,’ she wrote in the family chat.
Suddenly, the whole family started insisting on the most expensive restaurant in town.
That would have been fine — until I heard my cousin Katie whisper to her brother Mark.
‘Jade works at a bank, lives alone, has no children. She’ll pay. Just act normal.’
Mark laughed: ‘She’s our hero. She’ll cover everything. We’ll pretend to be poor.’
I stood there, stunned, realising their plan: to have a luxurious dinner under the guise of a celebration for Grandma, and then disappear when the bill came.
I didn’t say anything at the time.
I wanted Grandma to enjoy the evening.
But even then, I began to think about how things would actually turn out.
When I picked up Grandma, she smiled sweetly, clutching her handbag like a treasure.
The rest of the family turned the evening into a circus.
Katie took photos of every drink for Instagram.
Mark ordered elite whisky and called himself an expert.
Aunt Linda loudly insisted on the most expensive dishes on the menu.
Meanwhile, Grandma sat there beaming with happiness, touched by the attention, unaware that it wasn’t for her at all.
I ordered a modest dish.
Grandma did too.
The rest piled on appetisers, bottles of wine and premium steaks, as if they were paying with Monopoly money instead of real cash.
Then the bill came, and Grandma, as if on cue, went to the toilet.
And, as expected, the excuses started pouring in.
Aunt Linda gasped, ‘Wow, what a bill. We’re still paying off the timeshare.’
Katie shook her head, ‘I spent my savings on concert tickets. That’s taking care of myself!’
Mark groaned about the vet bills for his dog.
Uncle Joe added, ‘You’re a banker. You’ve got everything under control! We’ll support you — morally.’
And, of course, ‘Well, it’s for Grandma,’ with a hint of guilt disguised as concern.
The total amount was over £800.
Their share? At least £650.
I kept my cool.
‘Just a moment, I’ll sort something out,’ I said and left.
They didn’t know that the restaurant manager was my old college friend, Eric.
While they were making their escape plan, I gave Eric all their names, phone numbers, and addresses.
He agreed to take payment only from me and my grandmother and to collect the rest himself, with interest if necessary.
Fifteen minutes later, I returned to find my grandmother alone, looking worried and clutching her handbag.
‘They said they went to get the car, but they’ve been gone for a long time,’ she whispered. ‘Do we need to pay extra? I brought a little extra with me, just in case.’
My heart was breaking.
She deserved better.
I smiled and said, ‘Everything’s taken care of, Grandma. Let’s enjoy dessert.’
Eric personally brought her a slice of chocolate cake with a candle, and the restaurant staff sang for her.
She smiled again, still not quite understanding what had happened, but touched by the attention.
As I drove her home, she asked, ‘Do you think they forgot about us?’
I shook my head gently.
‘They just had other priorities. But I’m glad I spent the evening with you.’
The next morning, chaos ensued.
Aunt Linda called in a rage because the restaurant had contacted her.
‘They’ve called three times already! This is your fault!’
Katie left a rambling voicemail saying that I had ‘ruined the atmosphere.’
Mark accused me of betrayal.
Uncle Joe demanded that I ‘fix everything.’
They had no idea that Eric had everything — security camera footage showing them sneaking out through the kitchen and their contact details for an official bill.
Grandma called back later to thank me.
‘It was a wonderful evening,’ she said quietly, though there was still pain in her voice.
‘Don’t worry, Grandma,’ I said, smiling to myself. ‘They won’t do that again.’
What about next year?
Her birthday will be exactly as she wants it — quiet, meaningful, just the two of us.
The phone is switched off.
The bill has been paid.
Manipulators are not invited.
