Emily was the first to unlock the door and nearly froze on the threshold. The sound of the telly was wafting through the flat, there were voices chattering in the kitchen, and a distinctly foreign smell lingered in the air. Behind her, Simon almost dropped his suitcase from shock.
Shush! Emily hissed, holding out her hand. Theres somebody in there.
On their beloved beige sofa sprawled two completely unfamiliar people. A man in tracksuit bottoms was flicking through TV channels, and next to him sat a stout woman knitting away, utterly unconcerned. The coffee table was littered with mugs, plates of crumbs, and various medication packets.
Sorry, who are you? Emilys voice was quavering.
The strangers turned round, looking not at all embarrassed.
Oh, youre back then, the knitting woman said, not even pausing in her stitch count. Were Jeans relatives. She gave us the keys, said no one was home.
Simons face turned the shade of porridge.
Whos Jean?
Your mum, the man finally stood up. Were from Chelmsford. Here for Bobbys appointments. She settled us in, said you wouldnt mind.
Emily drifted into the kitchen, as if in a dream. There, a teenager of about fifteen was at the stove, frying sausages. The fridge bulged with someone elses groceries. A small mountain of dirty dishes occupied the table.
And you are? she managed.
Bobby, the boy turned, Am I not allowed to eat? Gran Jean said it was fine.
Back in the hallway, Emily found Simon, now clutching his phone.
Mum, have you lost your mind? His voice was low, but seething.
Jeans spritely voice answered on speaker:
Oh, Simon darling! Back already? How was your trip? Listen, I gave the keys to June, her and Phil are here with Bobby for the doctors. Figured its a shame to let the place go empty while youre off. Told them its only for a week.
Mum, did you even ask us?
What for? You were away! Just tell them I look after the flat make sure they tidy up after themselves.
Emily snatched the phone:
Jean, are you serious? You let strangers stay in our flat?
Strangers? Dont be silly! Junes my second cousin! We shared a bed as girls!
Whats that got to do with my flat, though? Its ours, not yours.
Oh Emily, dont take on so. Familys family. Theyre quiet, wont break a thing. Bobbys not well poor thing needed help. Dont tell me youre so stingy?
Simon took the phone back.
Mum, youve got one hour to come and collect your little houseguests. All of them.
But Simon, theyre meant to stay till Thursday! Bobbys tests and consults are booked! They spent a fortune on hotels, I simply helped save a bit.
One hour, Mum. Or Im calling the police.
He hung up. Emily sank onto the ottoman, face in hands. Suitcases lay abandoned. The flat was full of telly noise and sizzling sausages and the smell of other people. Two hours ago, theyd been on a flight dreaming of home. And now, she felt like a trespasser in her own living room.
June, the knitting woman, sidled into the hall with a sheepish look.
Well get our things together, she said. Jean did mean well. She didnt have your number, so we just thought wed stay a week, do the hospitals
Simon was staring out the window, shoulders rigid. He always did this when his mum managed to get under his skin, and had no idea what to say.
Wait, wheres our cat? Emily suddenly remembered.
What cat?
Ginger. Hes the reason Jean even has a key!
No idea, June shrugged, havent seen a cat.
Emily dashed from room to room. She finally found Ginger crammed under the bed in the spare room, ears flat, fur a mess, eyes enormous.
Ginge, sweetheart, its me. Youre safe.
He hissed suspiciously, but Emily whispered soothing noises, flattening herself on the carpet.
Missing were the little touchesnew medicine boxes on her nightstand, the bed made up all wrong, someone elses slippers scattered on the floor.
Simon knelt beside her.
Sorry.
Dont be daft. You couldnt have known.
About Mum. About her being…well, like this.
She always thinks shes right.
She never learns. Remember when we first moved in? Shed just pop by, unannounced. I thought Id explained not to, but apparently not.
Voices drifted from the hall. Jean had arrived, looking thoroughly aggravated.
Simon, are you out of your mind?
Mum, please sit down, her son gestured towards the kitchen.
Sit down? June, pack up, were being thrown out. Well go to mine.
Mum, just sit.
Spotting his face, Jean went quiet. The three shuffled into the kitchen, where Bobby was polishing off his sausage.
Mum, Simon sat across from her. How exactly did you think it was all right to let people stay here without asking?
I was only helping! June rang in tears about Bobby, coming to London and nowhere to stay. I knew your flat was empty.
But its not your flat.
How can it not be? Ive got keys.
Keys for the cat, Mum. Not for playing hotelier.
Oh Simon, dont be so melodramatic. Its family! Junes my cousinwe go way back. Phils a good bloke, always working. And Bobby, poor poorly lad, needed help. Are you really chucking them out?
Emily trembled as she poured herself some water.
Jean, you didnt ask us.
No point! You were away.
Which is precisely why you should have asked! Simons patience snapped a little. We have phones. You could have rung. Messaged. Asked.
Youd have just said no.
Maybe. Or maybe wed have said yes for a few days and with some ground rules. But at least wed have known. Thats called respect.
Jean stood up.
Oh, its always the same. I try to help, and get nothing but grief. June, pack up love, were off to mine.
Mum, you only have a one-bed. You said yourself there isnt space for four.
Well manage. Better than staying where were not wanted.
Emily placed the glass down.
Jean, please. You know perfectly well you were in the wrong. Otherwise, youd have called ahead.
Jean hesitated mid-gesture.
You knew wed be cross, so you waited till it was too late. You thought, wed come home, and what could we do? Just put up with it. Right?
I was only trying to help.
No, you were only trying to do it your way. Thats not the same.
For the first time, Jean actually looked lost.
June was crying, Bobby was suffering I just felt bad for them.
No one blames you for caring, Simon said, But you cant give away what isnt yours. Imagine if I rocked up at your flat while you were away and let my mates move in. How would you feel?
Id be livid.
Exactly.
Awkward silence hung in the air. Packing noises came from the lounge. June tearfully stuffed bags, Phil muttered as he gathered up their bits, and Bobby lingered anxiously in the doorway.
Sorry, the boy mumbled, Gran said it was okay
Emily looked at him just a nervous kid, not his fault grown-ups cant manage a conversation.
Youre not to blame, love, she said quietly. Go help your mum.
Jean dabbed her eyes with a tissue.
I just thought I was doing right. It didnt even cross my mind to ask. Youre my children, Ive always done everything for you. I thought
Were not children, Mum. Were thirty, for heavens sake. We have our own lives.
I understand, Jean said, getting up. Do you want the keys back?
Yes, Emily answered. Sorry, but that trust is gone now.
I get it.
June and her family were gone in a flash, giving apologetic hugs and heartfelt goodbyes. Jean hauled them off, declaring shed find somewhere for them to squeeze in. Simon closed the door and leaned against it, exhaling deeply.
They slouched around the flat. Time to strip the bed, clear out the fridge, chase out the ghosts of other people: random jumpers, scattered chairs, greasy cups. Ginger was still wedged under the bed, too traumatised to budge.
Think shell get it this time? Emily asked, cracking open the kitchen window.
No clue. Id like to believe so.
And if not?
Well, well be firmer. Im not putting up with her antics again.
She gave him a side-hug among all the chaos.
You know what stings the most? Emily said, pulling away, The cat. The whole point Jean had the key was for him. Hes been starved and freaked out through all this mad farce.
Think they even fed him?
Doesnt look it. His bowls empty, and the waters filthy. Bet they forgot he existed.
Simon crouched by the bed.
Sorry, mate. No more keys for Grandma.
Ginger peeked out, wary-eyed, then gingerly (of course) crawled over and twined round Simons legs. After wolfing down some food, he curled up tight on the windowsill.
They set to cleaningout went the strangers cheese and sandwiches, the bed got remade, the dishes washed. Slowly, their flat started to feel like home again. In the evening, Jean rang; her voice was smaller than usual, and unexpectedly contrite.
Simon, Ive been thinking. You were right. Im sorry.
Thanks, Mum.
Is Emily furious with me?
He glanced at his wife. She nodded.
She is. But shell forgive. Give it time.
They sat in silence together in the kitchen, sipping tea as twilight fell. Calm, quiet, theirs again at last. The holiday was over and, blimey, did they know about it.
