My niece, Imogen, drifted into my flat one fogladen afternoon, but she sulked the moment I didnt set a plate before her.
My sister Rachel lives in Manchester, while Im tucked away in a cramped London tower. Rachels daughter has been nursing a fevered dream of getting into the university that towers over my own street, a place where shell soon sleep in a dormitory. For now shes popped over for a couple of weeks to sort out some exams or perhaps just to hand in paperwork in person the details slipped through the cracks of my drowsy mind, but I know its perfectly normal to arrive before the term begins. Rachel had arranged for Im Imogen to stay with me while she was away.
Who should lay the table?
We never talked about meals. If her mother kept silent about it, they would sort it out between themselves. I glanced into the living room and saw Imogen fuming, arms folded like a wilted rose. Whats the bother? I asked. She shot back that shed expected a warm lunch on my table. I snapped, Im not only refusing to feed you, Im sticking to my own schedule. Ive got to dash! Call your mum and have her ping some pounds onto your card, then buy yourself a packet of biscuits, a few rolls, and a cup of tea. And fetch tea Ive run out! Youre not a child any more; youre eighteen!
Her mother, Helen, hadnt spoken to me in ages, and she has no clue that ever since the kids fluttered out of the nest, my husband vanished into some unknown direction and I buried myself in work. My calendar is a snarled beast, and Im only home in erratic bursts; the energy for domestic chores has fled me. A proper nights sleep feels like a distant star.
Im not prepared to sacrifice anything for a guest.
Its lovely, undeniably, to see Imogen again. Shes blossomed into a graceful young woman, but Im no longer the spry Aunt Lucy who could once whip up an entire feast without blinking. Let her fetch her own groceries, chop, boil, fry, and steam. Better still, let her buy something premade so she doesnt scorch the stove or my flat.
Instead she wound herself up, calmed a little, and now broods in silence each day, apparently counting on a full board and mothers allowance. Perhaps things will settle. Its hard to drop the habit of being the everready, convenient caretaker after years of fostering peaceful ties with everyone in my circle. Even now Im still peaceloving: I offered a free mattress, though stripped of the amenity she expected. I saw a therapist to learn how to gently explain to my kin that Im no longer the fully functional hub I once was. Theyll have to lean on me a bit less.
