You see, you have to understandhes going through a rough patch. His wifes thrown him out, lost his job Cant have him sleeping at the train station, can we? Simon looked at his wife, nervously twisting the tea towel in his hands. He seemed as if hed just broken her favourite vase, but really it was only about his younger brother dropping by for a visit.
Emma sighed heavily, dropping the bags of groceries on the floor. It had been a manic day at workquarterly reports due, auditors in, and her back had started twinging again by evening. The last thing she wanted right now was to discuss her brother-in-laws problemsa man shed seen, maybe, three times in fifteen years of marriage.
Simon, weve got a two-bedroom flat, not a halfway house for wayward squaddies, she said tiredly, tugging off her boots. Owens got his own place in Manchester. Why isnt he there?
He rents it out, apparently. To help pay off the mortgage on the studio flat he got for his son. Its a whole complicated thing, I didnt fully follow. Says he needs to get established in London, find a half-decent job. Just for a week, Em. Maybe ten days topsjust while he goes to interviews.
Emma walked to the kitchen for a glass of water. Simon trotted after her, with those big hopeful eyes of his. He was a good husbandkind, soft-spoken, hard working. But he had one major flaw: he couldnt say no to his own family. Especially Owen, the perpetual drifter who always needed a bit more attentionand a place to crash.
All right, Emma waved her hand, too tired to argue. A week then. But tell him up front: we have house rules. Were up at six, in bed by eleven. No parties, no randoms in the flat.
Owen arrived the next evening. He burst into the hallway with a massive tartan holdall that stank of a sleeper carriage and something sour, and at once filled up all the airspace. He was bigger than Simon, louder and much brasher.
All right, landlady! he boomed, moving in for a bear hug while Emma dodged out of the way. Here I amyour guest! Wont get in the way, promise! Quiet as a church mouse, I will be. Just need a sofa and somewhere to plug my phone, heh.
The first three days even went all right. Owen genuinely kept quiet: slept on the living room sofa until noon, then wandered out scouting for work, and got back in time for dinner. Though his appetite was something else. Emma was a bit shocked to find the five-litre pot of stew, which normally lasted the two of them three or four days, gone in twenty-four hours. The batch of cottage pies shed made for two dinners was gone by morning.
Still growing, arent I! Owen cackled, mopping up sauce with a heel of bread. London air does somethingappetite like a horse.
Emma said nothing, just made a mental note to buy more groceries. He was a guest, after all, and it felt rude to mention his massive helpings.
End of the week, when the agreed deadline was up, Emma gently asked over dinner, So, Owen, any luck with jobs? Found anything promising?
Owen pulled a face and put his fork down dramatically. Its all lies, Em. Advertise one thingfifty grand a year, flexible hours, and you turn up, its just some pyramid scheme or minimum wage delivery job. Im a technician, I cant just take anything. But theres a lead at a proper firm, they said theyll call me Monday. Just have to wait a couple more days.
A few days? Emma glanced toward Simon. He focused on chewing his salad, avoiding her gaze.
Course. Not going to chuck me out for the weekend, are you? Owen flashed his disarming grin. Me and Si can nip round the garage, bit of brotherly time, eh?
Emma gave in. Two more days wouldnt kill her.
Monday became Tuesday, and then Wednesday, with no proper firm phoning. Owen stopped heading out in the mornings altogether. Coming home from work, Emma now always found the same scene: sofa unfolded, telly blaring, crumbs all over the coffee table, empty mugs everywhere, and a lingering scent of stale body spray mixed with booze.
Owen, did you ring about jobs today? shed ask.
I did, hed say lazily, eyes glued to the screen. HR ladys off sick. Said to ring next week. Anyway, Em, is there any more mayo in? Fancied a sandwich, but the fridge is bare.
That we grated on her nerves. Inside, her irritation began to simmer. Owen was treating their flat like his own. He borrowed Simons pricey medicated shampoo without asking, snuggled up in her fluffy throw blanket, changed the channel when she wanted to watch the news.
A month passed. The snow outside turned to grimy slush, the same kind filling up Emmas daily life.
One evening, she lost patience. She found Simon in the kitchen, fixing the toaster.
Simon, we need a proper talk. About Owen.
He deflated instantly. About him, yeah
Its been a month. Hes not working, hes not even looking. Hes just lounging on our sofa, eating us out of house and home, and hes got no intention whatsoever of leaving. I cant even walk into my own living room in my dressing gown. When does this end?
I have spoken to him. He says itll all come good soon. Hes just unlucky at the moment. Em, I cant put my brother on the street. Mum would never forgive me. You remember, she always said we had to stick together.
Your mum, bless her, lives in Leeds and has no idea what our lifes become. Simon, were hemorrhaging money. Food bills doubled, our utilities have shot uphe spends ages in the shower, all the lights are left on. He should at least contribute something!
Hes got no cash right now, Simon mumbled. Bank froze his cards because of loan debts. He only told me a couple of days ago.
Emma sat heavily at the table, feeling the floor drop away.
Loan debts. And when exactly did you learn this?
A couple days ago. He swore that once hes working, hell start paying us back. Em, can you just be a bit more patient? Spring soon. If an office wont take him, hell try construction.
Be patient. Those words became the theme for the coming months.
Spring came and went. Owen didnt go anywhere near constructionclaimed his bad back prevented heavy lifting. He was, however, perfectly able to lift pints, planted in front of the telly. Emma soon noticed the contents of the drinks cabinet diminishing. At first, it was subtle; then she discovered the bottle of Simons twenty-five-year-old single malt, a birthday present, was gone. A full-blown row erupted.
I never touched it! Owen shouted, spitting with rage. Making me out to be a thief? Maybe you drank it and forgotyou or your precious Simon, drinking on the sly!
Dont talk to my wife that way! Simon tried to step in, though feebly.
Control your wife! snapped Owen. Cant let a relative have a dram? Ill buy you a case of it when Ive made it big, youll see!
That night, Emma issued an ultimatum: Owen leaves by the end of the week, or she files for divorce and splits the flat. The mortgage was in both their names, but her family fronted the deposit and it was mostly she who paid it off as the firms accountant.
Simon panicked. He spent ages whispering with his brother on the balcony, chain-smoking. Owen sulked and gave Emma the evil eye, but went quiet.
It looked as if they had a breakthrough. Owen said hed found a room to let in Reading, would move out in two weeks after getting his first wage packet from his new job (he claimed to have found work as a security guard).
Emma breathed easier. She could stomach another fortnight.
A week later, Owen came home with his arm in a cast.
Fell down the stairs, he announced solemnly. Twisted my ankle, went flying, broke my wrist.
Emma eyed the white plaster cast and thought: This is the end. No security work. No moving date.
Youre not really going to kick out a cripple, are you? Owen asked, and Emma saw real mockery in his eyes. He knew hed found his golden ticket to stay.
Summer was a nightmare. Owen, now milking his injury, demanded care. Em, can you slice the bread? Hard with one arm. Em, can you help me with my back? Cant reach to scrub. On that last one, Emmas answer made sure he never dared try again, but the mood in the flat became unbearable.
Simon practically lived at the office, taking every overtime or side job possible, just to avoid home. Emma, too, started lingering at cafés or walking in the park so as not to go back to her own flatwhere King Owen ruled the sofa.
Half a year passed, then eight months. The cast was long gone, but Owen claimed he still needed to strengthen the arm, moaning at every change in the weather. He had truly made himself at homerearranged the living room just how he liked, brought a couple of dodgy mates round while the owners were out (the neighbour snitched). If anyone complained, he exploded:
You owe me! Im family! By rights, you have to help. Youve a three-bed (it was really a two-bed, but Owen counted the kitchen as another room), whats it matter to you? Im not even nicking your bedroom!
The final straw came in November, exactly a year after Owens fateful arrival.
Emma left work early with a headache and let herself in. Loud music and a womans laughter greeted her.
In the hallwaystrangers battered boots. On the coat hook, a cheap fake leather jacket. In the living room, she found Owen on the sofa, arm round some hair-dyed blonde of indeterminate age, both smoking and flicking ash onto the rug. The table was covered with food from their fridge and an open bottle of vodka.
Oh, the lady of the house is back! Owen slurred, grinning. Were just having a civilised one. This is Lisa. My muse!
Something snapped in Emmaprecisely, coldly, and finally. No more pity, no more doubt, no more tiptoeing round her husband.
Out, she said quietly.
What? Owen blinked. Oh, dont stress, Lisa will leave in a sec, were just
I said out. Both of you. Now. Five minutes.
Are you mad? Owen started getting up, face purpling with temper. Where am I meant to go at this time of night? Its my home too! Simons the ownerwho are you, just a lodger?
He lurched toward her, fist raised. Emma stood her ground and took out her phone.
Im calling the police.
Go on then! he bawled. They wont do nowt! Im a guest, Im family, Simon invited me!
Emma hit the dial.
Police? Yes, I need officers at my address. There are unauthorised people in my flat, threats of violence, both intoxicated. No, not on the tenancy. Yes, Im an owner. Waiting for you.
Lisa sobered up fast at the word police, snatched her boots and jacket, muttered an apology and bolted. Owen stayed put, lighting another cigarette and sneering.
Right, lets see what happens. Wait til Simon gets home, hell give you what for. Turning his own brother in! Witch.
Emma locked herself in the kitchen and rang Simon.
Ive called the police, she said, as soon as he answered. Your brothers brought a woman home and got drunk. Smoked all over the flat and tried to threaten me. If you start defending him, dont bother coming backIll file for divorce tomorrow.
There was a long pause. Finally Simons voice: Im on my way. Do whatever you have to. Im done.
Police arrived in fifteen minutes. Two solid officers, tired but professional.
Whos the owner here? the sergeant asked, glancing at the smoky living room and the sprawled, red-faced Owen.
I am, said Emma, showing her passport and a copy of the land registry. Joint owner with my husband. This man isnt on the tenancy, hes here against my wishes, hes aggressive and threatening. I want him out.
The sergeant turned to Owen. Name and address?
Owen rummaged, flashed a Manchester address. No London postcode.
She wants you to leave. If you dont, youll be trespassing. Time to go.
You cant! Simonll set you right!
If your brother wants you here, thats a civil matter for the courts. For now, your presence isnt wanted and youre disturbing the peace. Neighbours have already complained on our way up. Either you go, or well take you to the station for a formal warningand that could be up to two weeks in the cells for disorderly conduct. Your call.
Owen looked from the officers to Emma, hands folded across her chest. Finally he realised he was up against people who wouldnt cave. His usual tricks hadnt worked.
Fine, he spat. Choke on your precious square footage. Ill remember this.
Packing took twenty minutes. Owen hurled his things into his endless tartan bag, cursing all the while, deliberately scraping furniture and trying to mark it as he passed. The police watched from the doorway.
Just as Owen clomped into the hall, Simon arrived. He looked ten years older.
Si! Owen bawled. Back me up! Shes throwing me outyour own brother! Say something!
Simon looked at his brother, then at Emma, then at the cigarette butts on the carpet and the empty bottle.
Go, Owen, he said quietly.
What? Owen choked on his own rage. Youre picking her over your own blood?
Youve lived off us for a year, Simon answered, meeting his eyes at last. Youve lied to me, shamed my wife, turned our home into a pigsty. I put up with it because youre family. But today, you went too far. Go back to Manchester. Or anywhere. Dont ask me for money again.
Owen stood there, mouth open, stunned at Simons sudden backbone.
Stuff you! he sneered. Whole lot of you are trash. Dont want to see any of you again.
He grabbed his bag and stormed out. The police made sure he left the building.
Thank you, Emma nodded to the sergeant.
Lock your door and change the locks, he advised. Relatives like that have a habit of coming back.
Once the door shut, silence hovered. Simon opened the living room window wide, letting Novembers chill sweep the stench of smoke and stale beer away, and then began silently picking up the cigarette butts.
Emma stepped over and put her hand on his shoulder.
Im sorry, Simon said, head bowed. Shouldve handled it myself. Ages ago.
As long as its over, Emma replied.
They spent the next weekend deep cleaning. The sofa Owen had hogged went to the tipthere was no saving it. They called a locksmith and Simon suggested changing the cylinder himself, without prompting.
Owen rang from odd numbers, demanded train fare, threatened, guilt-tripped. Simon hung up every time, blocking each attempt.
Gradually, life fell into place again. Emma looked forward to coming home, where it was peaceful, clean, and smelled of good cooking instead of sour sweat. Simon seemed to have learned the most important lesson of his life: Family are the ones who support and respect younot the ones who use you as a free ride.
Sometimes, you truly have to go through the hell of unwanted houseguests to learn how to defend your own spaceand cherish the peace of your own home.
