My brothers just going through a rough patch. His wifes chucked him out, hes lost his job… He cant exactly kip at the station, can he? Steve glanced sheepishly at his wife, nervously twisting a tea towel in his hands. He looked as if hed just smashed her favourite mugeven though all we were talking about was his younger brother turning up for a visit.
Caroline let out a heavy sigh and dropped her shopping bags to the kitchen floor. Everything ached after a manic day at the firma looming quarterly report, auditors in from the tax office, and now her back was screaming at her for mercy. The last thing she fancied was discussing her brother-in-laws troubles, a man shed barely said three words to in nearly fifteen years of marriage.
Steve, this is a two-bedroom flat, not a hostel for down-and-outs, she said wearily, pulling off her boots. Simon has his own place in Liverpool. Why cant he go back there?
Hes let that outto pay off the mortgage on some studio flat he bought for his son. Bit complicated, really. He reckons he needs to get on his feet in London, find a proper job. Just a week, love. Maybe ten days, tops. Just until he sorts his interviews.
Caroline filled a glass of water and went through to the kitchen. Steve padded after her, looking up hopefully, much like a spaniel with nowhere to sit. He was a good mankind-hearted, hard-working, never one for dramabut he had an irritating flaw: he simply couldnt say no to his family. Especially not Simon, the perennial black sheep who seemed to need looking after more with each passing year.
All right, she relented, waving a hand. She was too tired to argue. A week, then. But tell him straightweve got a routine. Up by six, lights out by eleven. No parties, no strangers turning up.
Simon rolled up the next evening, dragging an enormous tartan bag that stank of train carriages and something stale, and filled up the flat the second he crossed the threshold. He was bigger, louder, and brasher than Steve.
Ah, the little lady herself! he boomed, trying to pull Caroline into a bear hug as she dodged neatly aside. Ready to have your lodger? I wont be any troublejust need a bed and a plug for the phone, eh?
The first three days were, if not tranquil, at least tolerable. Simon really was as quiet as a mouse: slept on the sofa until midday, then disappeared to scout out jobs, only to reappear at supper. Trouble was, the man ate for three. Caroline was amazed to discover that a pot of stew, usually enough for three or four days, vanished in one. The fishcakes set aside for tomorrow had gone by breakfast.
Must be the London airmakes me absolutely ravenous! Simon laughed, mopping up gravy with a crust of bread.
Caroline kept her thoughts to herself and made a mental note to buy double the groceries. He was a guest, after allhard to grumble about extra mouths to feed.
By weeks end, Caroline broached the subject delicately over dinner.
So, any luck with the job hunt, Simon? Found anything promising?
Simons face dropped. He put down his fork and mustered a pained expression.
Its all a pile of rubbish, really. They write one thingeasy hours, great paythen you get there and its sales, or delivery for pennies. Im a professional, you knowcant just do anything. But theres this one solid firm, just waiting on a call back next week. Should be just a couple of days.
A couple of days? Caroline asked, shooting a glance at Stevewho kept his eyes locked on his salad.
Yeah. You wouldnt boot me out over the weekend, would you? Steve and I were going to pop down the pub, have a chat like the old days.
Caroline let it go. Two days wouldnt make much difference.
But Monday became Tuesday, Tuesday slipped into Wednesday, and the solid firm never rang. Simon stopped even pretending to go out, turning the lounge into his own base camp. Every night after work, Caroline would walk in on the same scene: sofa bed unmade, telly blaring, biscuit crumbs scattered everywhere, and the unmistakable whiff of mens deodorantmixed with stale beer.
Did you call about those jobs, Simon? shed ask.
Yeah, I tried. Lady in HRs off sick, they said try next week. By the way, have we run out of mayo? I was going to do a sarnie but the fridge is bare.
That we felt like a slap. Hed started acting as though he lived there. He helped himself to Steves (very expensive) shampoo, used Carolines cosy throw, and always turned over the telly just as she wanted to catch the news.
A month passed. The snow out the window was turning to slush, just like Carolines patience.
One evening, as Steve tinkered with the toaster, she shut the kitchen door behind her.
Steve, we need to talk. Seriously.
Its about Simon, isnt it? her husband wilted.
Yes. Its been a month. Hes not working, not even looking. He lies around eating our food, and our home has turned into a hostel. I cant even go into my own lounge in my dressing gown. When is this going to stop?
Ive talked to him. He says hell sort it soon. Bad run of luck, thats all. I cant throw him out, Caroline. Mum would never forgive me. She always said the family sticks together.
Yes, well your mum lives in Leeds and hasnt seen what our lifes become. Steve, were running out of moneyfood bills have doubled, the utilities are sky-high, he spends hours in the bath and leaves the lights on everywhere. He should at least be chipping in!
Hes got no money. His cards are blockeddebts, apparently. He told me a couple of days ago.
Caroline slumped at the table, feeling the floor vanish beneath her.
Debts. And how long have you known?
A couple of days. Hes promised to pay us back once hes found something, said hell start chipping in straight away. Just hang on, love. Springll be here soon, therell be work on the building sites if nothing turns up in an office.
Hang on. That became the motto of the next few months.
Spring came and went. Simon didnt so much as try for a builders jobclaimed he had a hernia and couldnt lift anything. He had no problem though, lifting pints in front of the telly each night. It wasnt long before alcohol started going missing. At first it was subtle, but the evening Steves prized bottle of Scotch (a gift from his fiftieth) disappeared, all hell broke loose.
I never touched it! Simon bellowed. Stop making me out a thief! Maybe you drank it and blamed me. Or maybe Steve did it and kept quiet!
Dont you dare speak to my wife like that! Steve tried to intervene, half-heartedly.
Get your wife to back off! Simon spat back. You begrudge a drink for family? Pathetic. Ill buy you a crate when Ive made it big!
That night Caroline issued an ultimatum: either Simon was out by the end of the week, or she would file for divorce and force the sale of the flat. The flat had been bought jointly during the marriage, but Carolines parents had funded the deposit, and her salary as an accountant covered most of the mortgage.
Steve was frightened. He stood with Simon for ages on the balcony, chain-smoking. Simon was grumpy afterward, scowling at Caroline, but kept quiet.
Finally, things seemed to be moving. Simon announced hed found a spare room in Croydon, and would move in two weeks, as soon as he got his first wages from his new security job.
Caroline sighed with relief. She could manage another fortnight.
But a week later, Simon arrived with his arm in a cast.
Fell over, he declared melodramatically. Slipped on the stairs, broke my wrist.
Caroline eyed the bandaged arm with a sick feeling. That was itno security job, no moving out.
You wouldnt kick out someone injured, would you? Simon asked, grinning knowingly. Hed found his angle.
Summer became a nightmare. Simon, citing his injury, demanded Carolines help. Caroline, cut me some bread, I cant manage, Caroline, could you give my back a scrub, I cant reach. For the last request, she told him exactly where to goand he never asked again, but the atmosphere was ruined.
Steve now spent every extra hour at work, ducking overtime just to escape the house. Caroline started lingering in the park after work or popping into a café, desperate not to return to her flat where King Simon reigned on the sofa.
Six months passed, then eight. The cast had long since gone, but now Simon was rehabbing his arm and moaned about aches whenever it rained. Hed made himself at home. He rearranged the furniture to his liking. He occasionally brought over sketchy friends when they were outCaroline heard via the neighbour. Any complaints triggered his rage.
You owe me! Im family! Morally, you have to help! Youve got a flat and a half, whats it matter? Not like Im nicking your bedroom!
By Novemberexactly one year since that dreadful arrivalCaroline hit breaking point.
She came home early with a migraine and opened the door to blaring music and raucous female laughter.
A pair of worn, muddy boots in the hall. A cheap parka on the peg. In the lounge, a scene straight from a soap: food everywhere, vodka on the table, Simon cuddled up to some peroxide blonde. Both puffed away, flicking ash onto the carpet.
Oh, hostess is home! Simon slurred. Just relaxingmeet Hayley. My muse!
Something snapped inside Caroline. Cold and calm, shed never felt so clear-headed.
Out, she said quietly.
What? Simon blinked. Oh, relax, Hayleyll go, were just
Both of you. Out. Five minutes.
Are you mad? Simon lurched up, red-faced. Where am I supposed to go at this time of night? This is my home! Steve owns this place! Who do you think you are?
He started towards her, fist raised. Caroline didnt budge. She pulled out her mobile.
Im calling the police.
Go on, then! Simon thundered. They cant touch me! Im a guest! Steves family!
Caroline dialled, hands steady.
Police? I need officers, please. Address is Yes, trespassers in my flat, threatening violence, under the influence. No, not on the lease. Yes, Im the owner. Ill wait.
Hayley, at the word police, sobered at once. Snatching her boots and coat, she muttered something about not knowing and bolted. Simon stayed put, lighting another cigarette.
Go on. Lets see. Stevell sort you out when he gets home. Dob in your brother-in-law, will you?
Caroline went to the kitchen, shut the door behind her, and rang Steve.
Ive called the police, she said when he answered. Your brother brought some woman home, got drunk, smoked in the flat, and threatened me. If you try to defend himI swear Ill file for divorce tomorrow.
Silence. Then Steve spoke in a dull, weary voice:
Im coming home. Do what you have to. Im done.
The police arrived within fifteen minutestwo stoic, uniformed officers.
Who owns the flat? the older one asked, scanning the smoky lounge and Simon, sprawled on the sofa.
I do, Caroline produced her passport and the title deed. Jointly with my husband. This man doesnt live here, Ive asked him to leave, hes drunk and abusive. Please remove him.
The policeman turned to Simon.
Your ID, sir.
Simon shoved a battered driving licence across. Im the brother! Im allowed here! Im a guest, mate!
The officer flicked through his details. Liverpool address. No right to reside here. The owner wants you gone. Either you leave now, or we take you in for further questioning. Weve had complaints of noise as well. Leave, or well charge you for drunk and disorderly15 nights in the cell if youre lucky.
Simon looked at Caroline, at the officers, and saw hed pushed it too far. The brass neck that had worked so well on his brother and sister-in-law meant nothing to uniformed strangers with no stake in family.
Fine, he spat. Fine. Keep your precious flat. I wont forget this, you know.
He spent twenty minutes stuffing belongings into his bag, cursing all the while. The police watched from the doorway.
Just as Simon staggered into the hallway, Steve arrived home pale and drawn, ten years older.
Steve! Simon shouted. Tell them! Your wife is kicking me out! Family, Steve! Family!
Steve looked at the brother hed always protecteda surly, bloated face full of resentmentthen at Caroline, steady as a rock. Cigarette butts on the carpet, booze on the table.
Go, Simon, Steve said quietly.
What? Simon almost choked. Youre chucking me out? For her?
Youve lived off us for a year, Steve said, looking Simon straight in the eyes. Youve lied, youve humiliated my wife, youve turned my home upside down. I put up with it because you were family. But tonightthat was the last straw. Go back to Liverpool, or wherever. I’ve nothing left to give.
Mouth gaping, Simon stared at Steve, shocked. Then spat at the floor.
Fine! You lot! Never want to see you again!
He shouldered his bag and stomped out. The officers followed to make sure he left the building.
Thank you, Caroline said to the sergeant.
Change the locks, he said. Relatives like that have a habit of coming back.
When the door closed, the flat was eerily silent. Steve opened the window wide, letting Novembers chill sweep out the stagnant air. Then he knelt quietly, gathering cigarette stubs off the carpet.
Caroline stood beside him and put a hand on his shoulder.
Im sorry, Steve said, not looking up. I should have done this myself, ages ago.
Its over now. Thats all that matters, Caroline replied softly.
That weekend, they cleaned the flat from top to bottom. The sofa Simon used hit the skipno way to salvage it. A locksmith swapped the locks, at Steves suggestion, no prodding needed.
Simon tried phoning a handful of times using different numbersbegged for a train fare, threw in the odd threatbut Steve just blocked him and hung up.
Slowly, life slipped back into place. Caroline could enjoy coming home again; it was peaceful, tidy, and once again echoed with the smell of home-cooked dinners, not staleness and sweat. And Steve, at last, had learned the lesson hed dodged for years: that family are those who respect and protect younot those who bleed you dry.
Sometimes, you have to go through hell with someone under your roof to learn where your boundaries areand how to treasure your own peace.
Ever had a guest outstay their welcome? If this story feels familiar, follow the channel for more and pop a comment below. Id love to hear your tales.
