Monday, 8th March
When I heard the front door bang open and Richards voice ring out from the hallway, I knew something was up. Come in, mate, make yourself at home! he called out cheerfully, followed by the resounding thud of something heavy landing on the floorboards. Bethll have dinner sorted soon right on time, eh?
I stopped midway through stirring the shepherds pie filling, my hand frozen on the wooden spoon. Dinner was supposed to be a quiet affair, just the two of us and a spot of ITV in the backgroundwhat I needed after five relentless days doing payroll and invoices. The only guest I wanted this evening was a well-earned silence and an early night. I wiped my hands on the tea towel and popped my head out into the hall.
The scene in front of me didnt bode well. Richard beamed, full of beans and pride, as he hauled a jacket off a burly, flushed man whose face seemed perpetually aggrieved, nose berry-red. Wedged in the corner was a great bulging holdall spilling at the seams.
Beth, love! Richards grin had never been wider. I brought you a surpriseremember Graham? We used to share a flat at university, the one who played guitar better than anyone!
I did recall Graham, vaguelymostly as that noisy bloke who forever bummed cigs and lecture notes at the back of the lecture theatre. The years hadnt done him many favours; now he was rounder, balder, with an eager eye that took in mine and Richards flat all too critically.
Evenin, missus, Graham grumbled, kicking off his shoes and shoving them haphazardly by the shoe rack. Its nice, thisspacious.
Good evening, I replied, trying to keep my tone civil, but my eyes flicked to Richard, demanding an explanation.
Richard quickly sidled up, laying a hand on my shoulder as Graham disappeared off to wash his hands in the bathroom. He whispered, Listen, Beth, its like this. Grahams in a bit of a bindwifes slung him out, can you believe it? Her mums place, and hes not even on the rent. Nowhere to go, no money. Hell just crash here for a week or so. Just until he sorts things out, finds a bedsit or patches things up. I couldnt let him sleep rough you know how I am.
Oh, I knew all right. Richard had a soft heart and not a single hint of a backbone, especially if someone played the old mates card or got a bit teary about the good old days.
A week? I confirmed quietly. Weve only got two rooms, Richard. Wheres he supposed to sleep? On the sofa? What about our evenings?
Its only for a bit, he brushed me off. Well just have tea in the kitchen for a while. Hes easy youll hardly know hes there.
The easy guest then reappeared, towelling off his hands on my lovely new hand towel, the one Id hung up just that morning.
Whats for grub, then? Graham asked cheerfully, peering round into the kitchen. Havent had a bite since yesterday. Traipsing round all over, nerves shot to bits.
Dinner was like hosting some deranged one-man show. Graham ate like he was building himself up for hibernation: shepherds pie, peas, breadthe lot. At the same time, he provided a running commentary.
Not bad, thisbit bland, mind! My Lisa, she made it proper, could stand your fork up in it. This ones a touch watery health kick, is it?
I bit my tongue. Richard offered up an apologetic smile, busy piling on more food for his mate.
Beths a brilliant cook, arent you, love?
Yeah, well, itll do, Graham said, pouring himself a shot of whisky hed produced from his own battered duffel. For a townie anyway. Were used to proper grub, us workers. Got any beer, Rich? Cant eat this dry.
All evening, the television blared at eardrum-shattering volumeaction films, fights and allwhile Graham lounged on our sofa, narrating every punch and gunshot. Richard sat at his side, lapping it all up, running back and forth as ordered for more tea and plates of toast. I found myself shut out of my own living room. I bolted to our bedroom, shut the door, and tried reading, but Grahams voice and whoops came even through the walls.
The nightmare didnt end with the morning, either. When I got up for work and went to make a cuppa, the place was a tip: dirty mugs everywhere, ketchup streaks and crumbs smeared all over the table, empty bottle rolling on the floor. Graham lay sprawled on the sofa bed, snoring like a power tool, the flat stinking of stale beer and sweat.
Richard, puffy-eyed and sheepish, emerged from the loo.
Sorry, Beth, we got chatting, didnt clear up. Ill do it tonightpromise.
Tonight? I checked my watch. What are you going to eat off, theres not a clean plate left?
Ill rinse a couple, dont worry…
I swallowed my coffee, refused to glance back, and left for work. Through the day, I realised I was dreading the thought of going home to my own flat. The sanctuary Id carefully made wasnt my own any more.
Things got worse. The next evening, the kitchen stank of fried stodge. Graham slouched at the table in a threadbare vest, smoking by the open window (despite my hundred times telling Richard not to let anyone smoke inside). Potato peelings and greasy pans everywhere, counters splattered, and our butter now decorated with someone elses thumbprint.
Lo, Beth! Graham called, grinning through a cloud of cheap tobacco. Cooked up a fry tonight, us two proper job. Rich had to give me a fiver for the bacon, my wallets blocked just now.
I didnt answer. I pulled Richard into the bedroom.
What is THIS? Hes smoking in the kitchen, the place is a tip, you said Id barely notice him!
Hes just blowing off steam its been a rough week for him. Well get the place sorted I promise. We just need to stick out a few more dayshes looking for somewhere!
Looking? While hes sat in his vest shouting at Phil and Holly?
He called someone earlier, I swear! Dont be harsh mates stick together.
The next three days dragged by, torture. Graham was always in on unpaid leave, he said ate everything not nailed down, wandered through the flat in his pants, monopolised the bathroom for ages, left it a wet mess.
Then Friday made everything come to a head.
I left work early, desperate for a hot bubble bath and my bed. But as I unlocked the door, laughter and music blared from inside. The hallway was lined with trainers and a womans high heels. I walked through to the living roomsmoke everywhere. Graham, a scruffy stranger, and a garish woman caked in makeup had laid claim to my best tablebottles everywhere, sausage rolls unceremoniously dumped atop my new magazine.
Oh, look, Mrs Rs home! Graham bellowed. Rich, pour her a glass! Beth, this is Dave and Chantellewere just starting the weekend early!
I stared at the condensation ring blotted onto my polished oak table; I watched Chantelle stub her fag out in my best glass sweet dish. Richard looked up, guilty as a schoolboy caught out in the act.
I didnt shout. I didnt throw things. Something in me just frozecold, absolute.
Good evening, I said. Ill leave you to it.
Back in the bedroom, I clicked the lock behind me. While the voices and music dipped and rose in the flat, I quietly packed my bag: slippers, dressing gown, a handful of dresses, my book pile, toiletries. My boss had been on to me about using up my annual leave; I had two weeks stashed, and my own savings untouched by Richard.
On my laptop, I booked a single room at a spa hotel up in the Lake District: park view, breakfast and dinner included, pool and massages, the lot. Confirmed for the next morning.
I slept with foam earplugs in my ears; the halls party noise faded to a distant hum.
Saturday arrived to a ghostly quiet. The house reeked of hangover. Neither man stirred. I showered, dressed, grabbed my suitcase and left them a note on the kitchen table, wedged between empty beer cans: Gone to spa for a week. No food in. Please pay the rent yourself. See you next Sunday.
The taxi whisked me away. The moment we rolled out of our street, pure relief hit me.
The first days at the spa were bliss. Rambling walks, coffee by a crackling fire, swimming, reading. I switched my mobile to silent, checking it just once a day.
By evening, messages from Richard had started coming in.
Beth, where ARE you?
Beth, you cant just disappear, seriously!
We woke up and youre gone!
Youve left us nothing to eat, you couldve at least made a casserole!
I just smiled, dropped the phone into my bag, and booked a chocolate body wrap.
On day three, the messages changed:
Beth, where do clean towels live?
How do I turn on the washing machine? The lights are flashing.
Grahams asking about spare sheetshes spilt his cuppa.
Weve run out of washing powder and loo roll. Where is the stash?
I replied only once: Instructions for the washer are online. Buy loo roll and powder at the shop. If you managed to find beer money youll figure it out.
I finally took a phone call on the fourth day, while sipping herbal tea in the lounge.
Beth! At last! Richard was half-crazed. You need to come home. I cant do this!
Whats happened, Richard? I was serene. Im busy relaxing. Whats wrong?
Beth, you wouldnt believe it. Grahams brought more randoms over, football matches til 2am, old Mrs Davison below called the police! Got myself a written warning! Got fined!
Well, you did say you couldnt let your mate down. Sounded very loyal to me.
He groaned. Please, Ive had it. Weve nothing to eat, theres dirty plates everywhere, Grahams yelling at me to cook im supper! Strange, apparently Im a rubbish host.
Not sure why youre asking me. Graham called me a townie snob and a mediocre cook. Let him show you how its done. Fry up some bacon.
I cant just toss him out, Beth hes my mate…
Your friend, your flat, your problem, darling. Ill be home Sunday night. If the flat isnt spotless and Graham is still there, Ill go to Mums and call a solicitor. Thats not a threat thats a fact.
I hung up and headed off for a facial. It felt glorious. All this time, Id been afraid to draw lines, scared to be seen as harsh or demanding. I realised, after a week of this, that patience is not always a virtue. Sometimes, it just invites people to use you as a doormat.
The rest of the holiday flew by. I caught up on years of missed sleep. I glowed, my frown lines faded, and I felt like myself again.
Sunday evening, the taxi dropped me off at our street. I climbed up the stairs with a trembling heart, but not fearI was ready for whatever awaited.
The door opened to the clean, sharp smell of bleach and lemonplus the quite appetising scent of roast chicken. The hallway was clear: no sleeping bags, no ugly duffel. Richards shoes lined up neatly for once.
Richard appeared from the kitchen, pale, thinner, tired but freshly shaved and in an ironed shirt.
Hello, he said, quietly.
I checked the living room. Spotless; sofa reassembled, rug hoovered. My tables gleamed, windows open, all hints of smoke and old beer banished.
On the gleaming kitchen countertop, dinner roasted quietly in the oven.
So, wheres Graham? I asked, hanging up my coat.
Richard leaned in the doorway, sighed deeply. I threw him out on Thursday. After you called.
Really? I was genuinely surprised. Werent you worried about offending him?
You know what, Beth… He rubbed his eyes. When he screamed at me to get him lager because the match was starting, and Id just got in cold from work and was scrubbing his greasy pans I snapped. I told him to grab his stuff and leave.
He went?
He kicked off. Called me a mug, said women shouldnt get the upper hand, that Id let you ruin our friendship. Wanted compensation for his suffering. I just gave him twenty for a taxi and slammed the door behind him, kept the key. Spent two days straight cleaning, apologised downstairs with a box of Dairy Milk.
He reached for my hands, rough with detergent.
Im sorry, Beth. I really am. I took it all for granted: the clean house, food magically there. After four days of this, I dont know how you manage. AND work.
For a moment, he really saw me, I think. Saw what home meant, how much it cost, in more than money.
I dont manage, Richard. I just try. But I never signed up to care for freeloaders.
No more unannounced sleepovers. Ever again. Graham can find another mug. He sent me some nasty messages afterwards Ive blocked him.
Sit down, love, I said, smiling. Roasts nearly done.
We ate quietly. It was the nicest silence Id felt in a long time. Richard fussed about, making tea, offering me the best bits.
So, the spa good? he ventured.
Incredible. Ill be booking again, every six months. And youd better learn to cook something more advanced than beans on toast. Who knows, I might just up and go again.
Ill learn, he promised, and this time, I believed him.
The next day, I heard from Anne that Graham had tried to move back in with his mother-in-law, kicked up a row, and his now-ex was taking him to court for debts and rent arrears. Turns out, hed been sacked from his job weeks before, and Lisa chucked me out was just an excuse to freeload off old mates.
When Richard found out, he only shook his head and hugged me tight. Lesson learned: our home had boundaries now, and no one was crossing them without our say-so. And as for me, I learned that you dont have to shout to be heard. Sometimes, you just need to walk away, and let life do the teaching.
Im not saying Richard turned into a domestic god overnight. But he never took what I did for granted again. He learned to say no. When his cousin rang, hinting about crashing for a few nights, Richard handed over the addresses of some cheap B&Bs.
I overheard from the kitchen, stirred a pan of soup, and smiled. Spas are lovely, but theres nothing like a home where you belong and are valued for it.
Looking back now, I realiseits never selfish to stand up for your peace. Sometimes walking out is the kindest thing you can dofor yourself, and for the people you love.
