Oh, Emma, please! Honestly, its a matter of life and death. Ive just no one else I can ask, Mums at her allotment and her blood pressures all over the place, I cant trouble her, but you, youre my favourite sister-in-law, the sensible one! Sarah was speaking so quickly that her words became one never-ending babble, leaving Emma snatching at snippets like urgent business, just till this evening, and Im begging you.
Emma stood in the doorway of her own flat, clutching a dusting cloth in one hand and attempting to restrain their excitable dachshund, Pickles, with the other, who was enthusiastically barking at the uninvited guests. Those guests, in all their muddy-booted glory, were her sister-in-law Sarah and Sarahs two sons: seven-year-old Tom and four-year-old Jamie. The boys had already done a thorough job redecorating the doormat and were now giving the wallpaper a good prod with sticky fingers.
Hang on, Sarah, Emma managed to wedge herself into the monologue. What do you mean till this evening? Its Friday. James and I were going to drive out to the Cotswolds after work, weve got a spa weekend booked. Weve been looking forward to it for two months.
Sarah threw her hands skyward, nearly pitching an enormous bag which seemed to contain roughly half of Hamleys toy department off her shoulder.
Oh, come on, a spa break! Youre young, healthy, and youll have plenty more weekends! But this is my future, Emma, my one shot! Theyve offered me Well, its an interview. In another city. A brilliant job, flexible hours, salary thatll knock your socks off. If I dont go now, Ill regret it forever. Im only trying to look after the boys. Their dads useless, maintenance is barely enough to buy a bag of crisps, you know how it is.
She topped off her plea with her signature struggling single mum look, which she had truly perfected over the years.
At that moment, James, Emmas husband, emerged from the kitchen halfway through a sandwich. On seeing his sister and the boys, he froze.
Sarah? What are you doing here? Were leaving in an hour, remember?
Jamesy! Dearest brother! Sarah flung herself at him, nearly knocking him over. Rescue me! I only need to go for, honestly, just twenty-four hours. Ill be back by lunchtime tomorrow, promise on my life! Tom and Jamie can stay with you theyre angels, honestly, youll hardly notice them. Pop on some cartoons, hand over the biscuits and theyll be as good as gold.
James glanced helplessly at Emma. She recognised that look: part sympathy, part pure panic. James was a soft touch, and Sarah milked it for all it was worth.
Em, perhaps we he started, wincing. I mean, Sarahs trying to get back on her feet. Its important.
James, our bookings non-refundable, Emma replied, quietly but firmly. And I barely survived this week at work.
Ill pay you back! Sarah interjected, quick as a flash. Soon as Im paid. Ill cover the booking, lay on a spread for you! What else am I going to do? Hand them into care for the weekend?
At this, Jamie let out a resounding sneeze and wiped his nose on his coat. Tom had already switched the TV on so loudly the windows rattled.
Fine, Emma sighed, feeling irritation bubbling up. Till tomorrow lunchtime, Sarah. Two oclock at the latest. Any later and were dropping them with your mum at her allotment, and Im not fussing about her blood pressure.
Youre a wonder! An actual saint! Sarah pecked Emma on the cheek, leaving a tacky lipstick mark, shrugged the coat off the boys, shoved James a bag of stuff, and fluttered out the door without so much as a goodbye to her children. Ill be in touch! Love you all!
The door banged shut. Silence descended, broken only by adverts blasting from the TV.
Well, James managed, attempting a sheepish grin. So much for relaxing.
Its alright, Emma made for the kitchen, deliberately not glancing at the dirty footprints trailing down the hallway. Well survive a day. So long as they dont demolish the place.
The first few hours were oddly peaceful. The boys, presented with a big telly and a bowl of sweets, were quiet. Emma investigated the bag Sarah had left. Two sets of underwear, one pair of tights (to share, apparently), a tablet with a cracked screen, and a bag of discount crisps. No medication, no favourite toys, no real food.
Not a single pair of pyjamas, Emma muttered, sifting through the bits. No toothbrushes either.
Ill nip out to Tesco, James volunteered. Toothbrushes, milk, some cereal theyve got to eat something.
The evening went downhill fast once Jamie, hyped up on fudge, point-blank refused his supper.
I dont want soup! he screamed, smearing mash across the table. I want chicken nuggets! Mum always gets nuggets!
We havent got nuggets, Emma replied, with the patience of a bomb disposal expert, wiping up potato. Try the lovely homemade fishcakes.
Disgusting! The plate hit the floor.
Pickles dove under the table to collect the prize while Emma, jaw clenched, went for a cloth. Tom, emboldened by his brother, shoved his own plate away.
Im not eating it either. Uncle James, order a pizza.
Tom, pizzas not healthy James tried valiantly.
Mum says only mugs cook, its way easier to order in, came Toms wisdom, all of seven years old.
Emma and James exchanged a look. It was going to be a very long night.
Somehow, after feeding them sandwiches and rigging up makeshift pyjamas out of Jamess old T-shirts, the house finally quieted down after midnight.
Two oclock tomorrow. She will collect them, Emma muttered, almost prayer-like. Then well at least go to the cinema.
Absolutely, James hugged her. Sorry, love. Sarahs well, Sarah. Means well, just… scatterbrained.
Morning began, of course, at 7am with a crash. Tom had been conducting archaeological digs in the kitchen cupboards and dropped a jar of lentils. Puy lentils, now helpfully redecorating the floor.
It was an accident, he grumbled as a bleary-eyed Emma entered.
Not to worry, Emma breathed. Here, grab a dustpan. You can help clear it up.
I dont know how, her nephew declared. Mum does cleaning. Or Grandma, when shes here. Im a man.
By early afternoon, the flat resembled the aftermath of a siege. Without toys to play with, the sofa cushions had been repurposed into a fort, Emmas magazines were artfully snipped to shreds, and the cat, Fergus, had wisely hidden atop the wardrobe after a failed attempt at being trained.
Lunch was ready, bags were packed. Emma glanced anxiously at the clock.
2:00pm. No sign of Sarah.
2:30pm. Still nothing.
Call her, Emma told James.
James dialled. Endless ringing. Eventually: This number is currently unavailable.
Maybe shes on the road? Sometimes the signals dodgy, he offered.
Since when do people schedule interviews on a Saturday, James? Emma folded her arms. Even you dont believe that.
They waited until evening. Sarahs phone was dead. Jamie began to whimper for his mum. Tom, now feral, demanded the tablet, which of course was flat and there wasnt a charger.
Shes not coming today, Emma said, staring out at the gathering dusk. This is beyond a joke.
Dont be harsh, maybe her batterys gone? Coach broke down? James was clutching at straws, panic rising as the atmosphere in the flat grew increasingly volatile.
The night was chaos. Jamie wet the makeshift bed; they had to change the covers and attempt to sponge out the sofa. Tom was convinced monsters lurked in the hallway and needed all the lights blazing. Emma didnt get a wink.
Sunday. Sarahs phone, still silent.
Im calling your mum, Emma announced at breakfast.
Dont! James blanched. Shes only just got over another episode! If she finds out Sarahs vanished, shell have kittens. Lets give it until tonight. She wouldnt really abandon them would she?
James, both of us have work tomorrow. Ive got a report due, Im supposed to be there by eight. What are we going to do?
Ill ask for a day off, James promised, with the air of a man marching toward the gallows.
Disaster struck mid-afternoon when Jamie, barrelling round the flat, upended the massive floor vase Emmas parents had given them for their wedding. The shattering of ceramic echoed through the flat.
It wasnt me! Tom bellowed instantly. It was Jamie!
Emma, with chilling calm, swept up the shards. She wanted to cry but had no tears left. Only cold, hard fury. After mopping up, she stormed into the bedroom where James sat quietly, looking a bit worse for wear.
If she hasnt shown up by morning, Im going to the council to report her for abandoning the kids. Im calling social services.
Em! James leapt up. Steady on, shes my sister! Social services? You want to put the kids in care?
I want your sister to take responsibility for her children! Emma snapped. Were not professional nannies! Were allowed our own lives, James! Why should we have to sacrifice our break, our home, our sanity, just because she fancied a little jolly?
Shes not jolly, shes at an interview!
Oh, really? Emma whipped out her phone. Take a look at this.
Sarahs profile was private, but Emmas friend, Laura, wasnt above a good stalk. Up popped a post, helpfully tagged for all to see.
There was Sarah, looking spectacularly unbothered in a swimsuit, cocktail in hand, poolside. The location? Wildwood Spa Resort. Uploaded three hours earlier: Finally, some girl time! So deserved!
James stared at the screen, his face turning puce.
Its an old photo, must be, he mumbled, but his conviction was gone.
Dated today, James. And thats a new swimsuit, from John Lewis, saw it last week, Emma delivered the final blow. Shes been lying. Off on holiday, palming her children off on us.
James sat, head in hands.
What do we do?
I told you. Ill take them to work tomorrow, stick them in a meeting room, and you can ring your mum. She can pick them up or phone her daughter, who can get her spa-aroma-soaked backside back here herself. Im done.
That night was the worst. Jamie spiked a fever, likely from sugar, stress, and a chilly open window (which theyd opened for the sake of basic ventilation). Thermometer: 38.5. Emma dosed Calpol and sat up all night with cold compresses, coaxing him to drink water. James paced the flat helplessly.
At 7am on Monday, Sarahs phone showed up online at last.
Shes back in range, bleeped a notification.
James called immediately.
Hello? Sarahs voice was groggy and, frankly, irritated.
Sarah! Where ARE you? James roared, loud enough to wake Tom in the lounge. What the hell are you playing at?
Why are you yelling at this hour? Sarah grumbled, all innocence. Interview ran on, had to stay over. I told you, its important.
What interview in a spa hotel?! James thundered. Weve seen the photos! Cocktails, not careers! Jamies barely breathing, for heavens sake!
An awkward silence.
Are you seriously spying on me? Sarahs tone now screechy. Am I not allowed a private life? Maybe I did meet someone! And now Jamies ill? You cant even mind them properly! If anything happens to him, Ill sue!
Get here. Now. Or its social services, James replied, so cold and clipped even Emma shivered.
Fine! Im coming! Honestly, youre hysterical!
Sarah arrived three hours later. By then, Emma had called work and scrambled emergency unpaid leave. Leaving a sick child alone would be criminal, dragging him out even worse.
Sarah breezed in, oozing posh perfume and that suspiciously refreshed-on-holiday look. Tanned, bright-eyed, relaxed. She made straight for Jamie.
Oh, my darling! What have they done to you? Did they starve you? Freeze you? She rounded on Emma, all venom. I KNEW you shouldnt be left with children! How would you know what to do, youve not got your own!
Emmas vision blacked momentarily at the cheap shot. She and James had been trying, appointments, hope, disappointment. And Sarah knew, full well.
Out, Emma said, voice steely.
What? Sarah blinked.
Get out of my house. Take your children and go. And dont ever come back.
As if Id want to! Sarah snorted, flapping round scooping up pyjamas and scattered odd socks. Come on, Tom, Jamie! Away from these cruel child-botherers. Mummy will buy you McDonald’s and a great big Lego set…
You owe me, James said stolidly, blocking the door.
For what? Sarah spat.
The smashed vase: £50. Food: £30. Medicine for Jamie: £10. Emotional trauma: priceless, but Ill let it go. Total: £90. Pay up.
Youve lost it! Charging your own sister! she gawked I havent got it!
Funny, you managed the spa. So cough up or Ill tell Mum. The full truth. Interview, new boyfriend, cocktails, the lot. And Ill send her your new holiday snaps.
Sarah glared, jabbed at her phone in fury, and transferred the money.
Choke on it! Jamess phone pinged the incoming payment. We wont be needing any help from you again!
She bundled weepy Jamie under her arm, shoved Tom ahead, and slammed the door behind them.
Emma collapsed onto the sofa, the air thick with childrens sickness and the odd scent of nervous energy. Chocolate wrappers decorated the footstool, and the wall bore a suspiciously greasy fishcake print shed not yet scrubbed.
James sat beside her, took her hand.
Im sorry, he said softly. Im an idiot.
Youre not an idiot, Emma leant her head on his shoulder. Youre just a brother. But I hope you remember what that costs in the future.
I do. Never, ever again. Promise.
They sat quietly for half an hour. Then got up, and silently, efficiently, began cleaning: floors, bedding, windows wide, airing out the stress with the yesterdays crumbs.
That evening, Emmas mother-in-law, Margaret, called.
Hello, Emma dear, Margarets voice was feeble. Sarah rang. She was in tears. Says you chucked her out and refused to help, even asked her for money is it all true? Have you really turned your back on family?
Emma drew a deep breath. Previously, she would have explained, apologised, worried about Margarets nerves. But three days of survival had changed something.
Margaret, she said levelly. Sarah hasnt been entirely honest. If you want the real story, ask her which hotel she interviewed at, in her swimsuit. Or better yet, come for tea when youre up to it. Weve got a video of Tom explaining how Mum says only losers cook dinner. Theres plenty to discuss.
Silence on the line, then a sigh.
Oh, Emma I see. Alright. Dont be cross with her. I spoiled her rotten.
Were not cross, Margaret. Weve just learned our lesson.
Emma ended the call.
You know what, she said to a worried-looking James. Lets order a pizza. A massive, disgustingly unhealthy one. And open a bottle of wine. I think weve earned it.
What about the spa weekend? James raised an eyebrow.
Next weekend. And well turn our phones off. Both of them.
Which is precisely what they did. And when, a week later, Jamess phone flashed Sarah on the screen, he pressed silent and faced the sofa instead. Boundaries, they discovered, were a sign of strength in an English family especially when kept at a polite, manageable distance.
