9th May 2023
I was standing at the kitchen window when I saw the battered Ford pull into the drive. A tall bloke in a crumpled t-shirt and jeans climbed out, unhurried, hauling two large rucksacks and a gym bag from the boot.
“Here we go,” I muttered to myself, drying my hands on the tea towel before going to greet my nephew.
Jamie had grown. Last time I’d seen him, he’d been a scrawny fourteen-year-old with ears like jug handles. Now here he stood on my doorstep – a proper grown man, though looking a bit lost.
“Aunt Margaret?” he asked uncertainly when I opened the door.
“Of course it’s me! Come in, come in, Jamie! Good Lord, look how tall you’ve got!” I hugged him, catching the smell of motorway services and cheap aftershave. “Go through to the spare room, get settled. You must be knackered after the drive?”
“Nah, not too bad. Cheers for having me – I won’t stay long, just till I find work and a flat,” he said, shifting his weight between feet as he eyed the hallway.
I nodded, though doubts had already crept in. Always easier to promise than deliver. Just like his mum – my sister – forever making grand plans then vanishing for months.
“Right through here,” I gestured to what had been my study until yesterday. The writing desk, bookcases, my reading chair by the window – all shoved into the bedroom to make space.
Jamie hesitated in the doorway.
“Listen, maybe I should just kip on the sofa? Don’t want to put you out.”
“Don’t be silly! Young man needs his privacy,” I said, though something clenched inside me. Twenty years I’d arranged this room just so – every object with its place and story.
He dropped his bags, surveying the space.
“Where d’you work now then? Saw your desk in here before.”
“Moved it to the bedroom. No bother,” I kept my voice bright, though it shook slightly.
Jamie didn’t seem to notice, already unzipping a rucksack.
“Mind if I unpack a bit? Everything’s creased from the journey.”
“Course not! I’ll get dinner on. What do you fancy?”
“Anything, I’m not fussy,” he grinned, and in that smile I saw my late brother’s features. “But don’t go to trouble, Aunt Marg. I’m proper done in tonight – start job hunting first thing tomorrow.”
As I made cottage pies, I recalled my neighbour Linda’s warning earlier:
“You sure about this, love?” she’d asked, eyeing my flat. “Young ones today… first it’s the nephew, next his mates’ll be round, then some girlfriend. Before you know it, they’ll want to get married in your front room.”
“Don’t talk daft, Linda!” I’d brushed her off. “He’s family. My brother’s boy.”
“Family, my foot,” she’d sniffed. “Where was this family when you were poorly? When you were in hospital after your operation?”
At the time I’d thought her cruel. Now, listening to Jamie rearranging my former study, I wasn’t so sure.
“Aunt Marg!” he called. “Can I move the telly in here? Be better for gaming.”
I froze, wooden spoon mid-air. That telly had stood in the lounge fifteen years – I liked watching the news from my armchair.
“Jamie, how will I watch my programmes?” I asked carefully.
“Use the bedroom one. Or come watch with me,” he said breezily.
I bit my lip. Asking permission to enter my own room? Watching telly in bed like an invalid?
“Let’s leave it where it is for now, eh?” I kept my tone gentle.
From the room came a huff, but he let it drop.
Over dinner Jamie spun plans – construction work, said he had experience, “hands of gold” as he put it. The pay was decent, he’d have his own place in a month or two.
“What about college?” I asked. “Your mum said you were at tech.”
He pulled a face.
“Dropped out. Dead boring, all theory. I’d rather graft with my hands.”
“Shame. Qualifications always help.”
“Yeah? You’ve got all your accounting certificates – what’s your wage?” He shrugged. “I’ll earn your monthly pay in a week onsite.”
I said nothing. Explaining I worked for more than money, that I loved my job – pointless. Different generation.
Later, music bled through the wall. Not loud, but there. I nearly knocked several times to ask him to turn it down, but held back. First night – lad’s tired, settling in.
Next morning, shower sounds woke me at 6:30. Normally I rose at 7:30, took my time over breakfast. Now this lad commandeered the bathroom when I needed to get ready.
Knocking, I called: “Jamie, I need in there!”
“Five minutes, Aunt Marg!”
Twenty minutes later, I had to rush washing, skip proper breakfast.
“Someone got out the wrong side of bed,” my colleague Carol noted at work.
“Nephew’s staying over. Settling in.”
“Long term?”
“Says till he finds work and a flat.”
Carol gave a knowing look.
“Had my sister’s cousin stop ‘temporarily’ once. Eighteen months later…”
All day I wondered – what’s he doing in my home? Said he’d job hunt today, but was still asleep when I left.
Returning, I found dirty plates in the sink, breadcrumbs and an empty baked bean tin on the table.
“Jamie?”
“Coming!”
He emerged in boxers and vest, hair mussed.
“Job hunting?” I eyed the mess.
“Tomorrow. Had a headache today – needed rest.” He stretched. “Why, can’t a bloke have a day in?”
“Of course. Just asking.”
“Don’t fret – I’ll find work quick. Meantime, I fixed that bathroom bulb.”
True enough – the bulb that had gone last week was replaced.
“Ta. Though you needed to buy a new one first.”
“Yeah, no bother. Just needed the cash.”
I handed him a tenner, though the bulb cost two quid.
“Change, mind.”
“‘Course.”
He returned with the bulb – plus cigarettes and Red Bull.
“Your change,” he gave me three quid.
“And the rest?”
“Fags – gotta smoke something. And a pick-me-up. That alright?”
I wanted to say no – that I wasn’t funding his habits – but stayed quiet. Hardly worth a row over fags.
He changed the bulb, cursing the “useless screwdriver” and “wobbly stepladder”. I steadied it, ignoring the swearing.
“Sorted,” he jumped down. “Proper light now.”
“Thanks, love.”
“No sweat. Told you I’d help.”
Dinner was pleasant enough – Jamie praised my cooking, told funny tales from back home. Not a bad lad, I thought – just young, lacking responsibility.
But when his music blared later, then loud phone calls past midnight, my patience frayed.
Next day repeated – late rise, long shower. Returning from work, I found Jamie and some mate drinking lager in the kitchen.
“Aunt Marg, this is Dave – old school friend,” Jamie introduced. “Got work for me.”
Dave – about twenty-five in a tracksuit, gold chain – stood briefly to nod.
“Pleasure,” I said. “What work’s this?”
“Bits and bobs. Deliveries,” Dave said vaguely.
“What sort?”
“Whatever folks want,” he exchanged looks with Jamie.
Unease prickled my neck.
“Jamie, what about the construction work?”
“Aunt Marg, that’s proper graft! This is flexible – work when I want.”
After Dave left, I tried reasoning:
“That friend – I’m not sure about him.”
“Dave’s sound! You just don’t know him,” Jamie snapped. “I’m not a kid!”
“I worry for you. And for me – don’t want trouble brought here.”
“What trouble? Just business! You watch too much telly.” He stood. “Anyway, I’m not scrounging – soon be paying my way.”
With that, he slammed his door.
On the kitchen chair, I realised things were slipping away. Jamie acted like my flat was his, while I tiptoed around. Morning routines disrupted, evenings without peace. Now dodgy mates.
That weekend tipped things. Jamie brought home a girl – skinny bottle blonde in a tiny skirt.
“This is Chloe,” he announced. “We’re together now.”
Chloe gave a limp “hi” and headed straight to his room. Soon came laughter, music, then suspicious quiet.
I sat in my bedroom trying to read, but the words swam. Behind the wall, in my former study among my books…
That evening, Chloe stayed over – no permission asked.
“Aunt Marg, Chloe’s moving in. Just till we get our own place.”
“Moving in?”
“Yeah. We’re serious.” He hugged her waist.
“You said this was temporary! Now there’s two of you indefinitely!”
“Don’t stressShe took a deep breath and closed the diary, realizing that sometimes kindness requires firm boundaries.
