My parents really cant be on the sofa bed for Christmas, Simon announced, leaning across our tiny kitchen table with a weighty sigh. Mum barely sleeps as it is she needs pitch dark and total silence, and the streetlamp beams right in through the lounge. Dads got sciatica, hell be bent double for days if you make him sleep on that saggy sofa. Its only for a week, love well manage!
Rebecca, mid-ladle, froze over the bubbling saucepan, soup pouring in a thin trickle back into the pot as Simons words began to sink in, thick and slow, like treacle hardening in winter. She turned to him, took in the way he focused on the floral design of the tablecloth as if it might whisk him away.
Just to clarify, Simon. Your parents are coming for the entire Christmas break the whole lot, from the 23rd to the 2nd? Wed agreed that, sure. But now you want us to give up our bedroom, the new bed with the orthopedic mattress that cost us, what, nearly two thousand pounds? And we sleep where in the lounge?
Yeah, thats about it, Simon finally met her gaze, somewhere between sheepishness and stubborn pride. They’re my parents, Becca. Think of it as English hospitality, respecting your elders and that. What else can I do, put Dad on the old fold-out with that metal bar sticking in his back?
Its impossible to sleep on that thing, I know, she replied, which is why we dont. I think youre forgetting I have a back injury, too. Ive still got the lumbar hernia from my accident, and I have to go into work a day after they leave its end of year, Simon, the accounts need closing.
Oh, come on, love, he said, wincing as if with toothache, Ive sorted it. Chris lent me their double inflatable mattress. Honestly, its great, nearly as good as a real bed. Well just put it on the lounge floor be like camping in the Lake District when we were twenty-five. He grinned as if that might do the trick.
Camping? Im thirty-eight, not eighteen! Rebecca put the ladle down calmly, even as equal measures of fatigue and indignation simmered within her. This isnt a weekend in a tent, Simon its our home. Our bedroom is the one place I can shut the world out. Your mum gets up at six and clangs pans about. If were in the lounge which is basically the kitchen with an archway well be up with the sparrows.
Ill tell her to keep it down, Simon offered, with the unsteady confidence of a boy who knows hes already lost the argument. Please, Becca, theyve got their train tickets now. They want to see the grandchildren. I promised Mum theyd be comfortable. She was worried about imposing, so I told her Mum, dont fret, weve got everything sorted, youll sleep like royalty!”
Rebecca sucked in her cheeks. So thats it? You made the plans, offered up our bedroom and my bed, and didnt think to check with me first?
I was only trying to be considerate! Simon flared, Dont make me out to be the villain. Theyre seventy, love!
That was that argument over, war lost. Rebecca packed away her feelings and retreated to the bathroom. She watched the bath fill, the steam misting her reflection, nursing a mix of irritation, resignation, and silent love for the man shed chosen, their snug, mortgaged flat, and albeit less so his parents. Simons mum, Pamela, could outtalk the entire Womens Institute, and his dad, Douglas, was as fussy as a judge and twice as hard to please.
She knew there was no point making a scene. To refuse would see her cast as the family Grinch enemy number one for not only the in-laws but Simon, whod wear defeat on his face for days.
Getting ready for the parental invasion was like prepping for the Blitz. Rebecca moved her clothes out of the bedroom wardrobe, draping dresses on a rail in the hall. She hid her skincare stash in the bathroom cabinet Pamela liked to sample anything and everything without asking, then comment on the price or the smell.
See, plenty of room! Simon chirped, pumping air into the monstrous blue mattress that took up half the lounge. Firm as a five-star, this is! I tested it lush!
Rebecca eyed the vinyl monstrosity, blocking the way to the patio doors, smelling strongly of plastic. And the sheets? Theyll slip right off it. And itll be freezing on the floor.
Well put the wool blanket underneath! Simon beamed.
Christmas Eve, 7am on the dot, came the rap at the door. The in-laws had arrived. Pamela, in a fox-fur hat fit for the Queen, filled the hallway with noise and fur.
Well, here at last! That train was a nightmare not even a proper cuppa from the trolley girl! Oh, Rebecca, you look pale not sleeping? Or is that a cold? Douglas, mind the suitcase, thats got all the homemade chutney!
Douglas mumbled, dragged their luggage in, and immediately searched for his slippers.
Come in, take your coats off, breakfast is ready, Rebecca murmured, forcing a smile, her head pounding after staying up late to finish the quarterly report.
Pamela wasted no time inspecting their bedroom. Well, very neat, she decreed, running a finger along the bedstead. But Id go for lighter curtains, too dark for winter. And this mattress Simon, you said it was orthopedic? Looks awfully firm to me. Douglas, come test your back.
Douglas obediently sprawled on their bed, shoes and all. Rebecca clenched her jaw.
Itll do, he grunted. But why all these fancy pillows? No feather ones?
No, Douglas, theyre anatomical. Good for your neck.
Is it now? I slept on feathers my whole life, never did me any harm, Pamela scoffed. Right Simon, where are you two sleeping, then?
In the lounge, Mum, on a deluxe inflatable. Youd be amazed! Simon looked around for approval.
The day blurred by in a flurry of food prep, salad chopping, and a neverending stream of Pamelas health complaints, neighbour gossip, and Brexit opinions. Rebecca felt like a chambermaid in her own home, snatching a moment for tea only to hear, Rebecca, need the tea towel changed in the kitchen, or Did you get wholemeal, dear? Douglas wont touch white bread.
Night on the regal mattress was a test of survival. One twitch sent a ripple across the bed, launching the other into the air. Vinyl squeaked at every shiver. The sheet bunched up as expected within an hour, and cold crept through from the floor, regardless of the blanket.
Rebecca lay staring at the ceiling, watching the Christmas lights flicker, listening to Simons snores, her back aching and her body sinking into the mattress like a hammock. At three, Douglas clomped out to the loo; twenty minutes later, Pamela, thirsty for water, followed. No door between kitchen and lounge meant every step was a light in their eyes and another interruption to already hopeless sleep.
By the time Christmas Day dawned, Rebecca felt run over. Her neck was stiff, her back shot, and she hobbled into the kitchen to Pamela radiating triumph in the silk dressing gown Rebecca had gifted two Christmases ago.
Oh, we slept beautifully! Quiet and peaceful. Mattress could be softer, though Douglas says his hips gone numb. Next time, choose one with a bit of luxury, love.
Rebecca ground the coffee beans without a word.
Whats wrong with you two, you look like youve spent a fortnight in the trenches! Pamela announced. Simon, bags under your eyes was the lounge floor uncomfortable?
Its fine, Mum, just different is all… Simon yawned, nursing a numb arm.
Youre young, you can sleep anywhere on a bed of nails and be none the wiser! laughed Pamela. Rebecca, are those pickled gherkins in the salad? I always use fresh. And this mayonnaise very heavy…”
Rebecca turned. Her spoon trembled. Pamela, I make the salad as my family likes it. If you want fresh cucumbers, by all means theyre in the fridge. Help yourself.
Silence. Pamela pursed her lips. Simon looked mortified.
No need to be so snappy, dear! I was only giving a tip I am an experienced hostess. Douglas, did you hear? Im not allowed to open my mouth in my own sons house.
Really, Rebecca… Simon began.
Im having a shower, Rebecca cut in, escaping the kitchen.
In the bathroom, she discovered her favourite shampoo stuffed to the dark recesses of the shelf, her creams jumbled by strangers hands, and a stray grey hair on her sponge. But the worst was yet to come her prized anti-ageing moisturiser, the one she saved for special occasions, stood open, a third gouged out.
Rebeccas fury boiled over. Marching out, she confronted Pamela.
Pamela, did you use my face cream?
Oh, that? Pamela didnt look up from the telly. Yes, Douglass heels cracked on the journey, so I grabbed a moisturiser off your shelf. Lovely, thick stuff worked a treat. You have so many, dear, I didnt think youd mind.
You put a fifty-quid face cream on Dads heels?
How much? Pamela spluttered. You need your head examined, girl! Fifty pounds for foot ointment! Simon, are you hearing this? You let her spend family money and we have to bring you new socks!
Its my money, Rebecca replied frostily. And it was *my* cream.
Oh, here we go, princess cant share her potions all about her, as always… Pamela threw up her hands.
Simon hovered in the doorway, looking lost.
She didnt know the price, Rebecca… Well get you a new one. Please lets not ruin today.
That was it. The last thread holding Becca together snapped, as neatly and suddenly as an overfilled balloon. Her husband, always the peacemaker, once again left her to carry the burden.
Youre right, Simon. Its a holiday. I wont spoil it with my selfishness, she said, voice too calm to be trusted.
She grabbed her coat and bag.
Where are you going? Simons voice wobbled.
Ill be back soon.
Rebecca marched out into the cold, the frosty air clearing her mind as she tapped through her phone for a hotel booking. The citys fanciest spa hotel still had one suite left. Kingsize bed, jacuzzi, breakfast in bed and the price for a New Years night was eye-watering. She booked it anyway. Her bank balance whimpered, but her heart soared.
She was back in under ten minutes. The telly still muttered in the background, Pamela sipped her medicine in defiance.
Rebecca packed her things quietly in the lounge.
Rebecca, what are you doing? Simon appeared, worry crumpling his face.
Im leaving, Simon.
Where to? Your mothers?
No, Mums already crowded. Im going to a hotel.
What hotel? Why? Its Christmas Eve! What about us, Rebecca?
You and your family have your Christmas, Simon. The parents have the bedroom. You always wanted that. Enjoy the lounge floor romance too. As for me, I want a real bed, a bathroom thats mine, and not to hide everything I own.
Youre leaving me with them? Simons voice cracked. Rebecca, please what am I supposed to tell Mum?”
“Tell her the truth. That your wife is a selfish spendthrift, off squandering family money for her own comfort. Theyll love it one more thing to gossip over the pudding.
You have no right! he pleaded. This is our home!
Thats exactly my point. Its my home too. If theres no place for me in it over Christmas, then Ill find one at my own cost. Ill be back on the 27th, when theyve gone for their outing with your aunt. Or when they leave for good. I havent decided.
Pamela peeked out, hearing the ruckus.
What is all this now?
Stay out of it, Mum! Simon snapped for the first time all week.
Im going for some peace, Pamela, Rebecca gave her brightest smile, Have fun! Theres food in the fridge, goose in the oven just push the button. Happy Christmas!
She tossed on her coat, lifted her little suitcase, and walked out. As she waited for the lift, she heard the commotion rise in her wake Pamelas shrill voice, Simons exhausted attempts to calm her, Douglas muttering, but none of it touched her.
The hotel was bliss. Pine and expensive perfume wafted through the air, the concierge handed over her key with a sympathetic nod. Rebecca almost wept with relief at the kingsize bed topped with snowy white linen, the silence, the absence of fried onions and plastic, the bubble bath. She ordered prosecco, strawberries, and dinner to her room. Her phone buzzed and flashed with calls and messages Simon pleading, Pamela remonstrating, even Douglas texted: Rebecca, this isn’t on, please come home. She turned the phone off.
Rebecca spent Christmas in a fluffy robe, sipping prosecco, feet up, watching the fireworks from the tenth-floor window. She had never spent Christmas alone before. Strange thing, though it was the best shed had in years. Nobody called her, nobody directed her, nobody stole her place.
On Boxing Day, she slept till midday. Her backache melted away. She went for a massage, swam, and at twilight switched on her phone.
Ten missed calls from Simon, plus a long message:
Becca, Im so, so sorry. Im an idiot. The airbed burst at 3am had to sleep on the floorboards. Mums at me all morning, Dads gloomy. The goose is burnt, nobody knows how to work the oven timer. I get it now. Please come home. Ill make it up to you. Ill put them in a B&B, or Ill sleep in the lounge myself, just please come back.
Rebecca snorted softly. No, my dear, that lesson needs to stick.
She returned on the 27th, as shed planned all along. The flat looked like a bomb had gone off boots abandoned in the hall, dirty dishes everywhere.
Simon, unshaven, sat on the sagging remains of the airbed, looking like a man whod spent a week at sea.
Youre back! he gasped, as if a rescue party had found him.
Pamela stormed from the bedroom, all battle and bluster.
Had a nice time off, did you? she started, but the look on Rebeccas face stopped her. She deflated, just a little.
Rebecca, refreshed, hair glossy, skin glowing, coolly set down her suitcase.
So, how were the festivities?
Dreadful! Pamela exploded. Simons caught his death on those floorboards, my stomachs ruined on takeaway, the goose was a write-off. You just walked out and left us!
I didnt leave. I gave you the comfort you wanted the bedroom was yours. I made sure I could take care of myself, so I wouldnt be snappy and worn out.
Enough, Mum, Simon cut in. He took Rebeccas hands gently. Weve all talked it over. Dads agreed it was wrong. We’re moving them into the lounge tonight. I sorted the sofa bed propped it up with plywood, works fine now. Youre back in your bedroom.
Rebecca stared, startled. Simon fixed the sofa? Himself? Amazing what two nights on the floor can do.
And your dads sciatica?
Oh, his backs miraculously better with the right sleep, Douglas called from the kitchen. Anyway, were thinking of setting off home early got friends to see down in Sussex.
Pamela opened her mouth to protest, but, seeing her sons face and Rebeccas calm smile, simply shook her head.
Do what you like. Raised a right hen-pecked one, I have…
That night, with his parents on the mended sofa bed, Rebecca and Simon finally lay in their own bed.
You really spent all that on a hotel? Simon whispered, wrapping an arm around her.
Every penny. And it was worth it, she replied.
Ill pay you back.
No need. Consider it a much-needed refresher course. For you.
He was quiet for a long time.
Ill never ask you to sleep on the floor again. Swear it. And Ill buy you that cream. The exact one.
Ill hold you to it. She grinned, rolling into his shoulder. And that mattress bin it tomorrow. Or gift it to the neighbours we dont like.
Already sliced it up, Simon said sheepishly. Accident with the scissors trying to deflate it New Years morning.
She chuckled, tension finally evaporating. She was home in her bed, with her boundaries re-established, and not a single thing to apologise for. The cost was dear, but as she realised, her self-worth was more valuable than any luxury cream.
If you found this story familiar, give it a like and subscribe. Let me know in the comments what would you have done in Rebeccas shoes?
