My sister-in-law spent her holidays at a seaside resort while we were hard at work renovating, and now she wants the luxury of a comfortable home for herself.
I suggested that she and I pool our money and do up the family house together, but she dismissed the idea out of hand, saying she didnt need any help. Now, suddenly, she wants to move in with us because her own half of the house is falling to pieces. Well, thats her own fault!
The house belonged to my husbands grandmother, who left it to him and his sister after she passed away. It was quite old, but we decided it was worth restoring so we could finally have a place of our own. Fortunately, it had two front doors, so two families could live side by side without being under each others feet. The garden and back yard were shared, and both halves had the same number of rooms.
We sorted out the inheritance after my husband and I were married. The whole process was very amicablemy mother-in-law wanted nothing to do with the place, having grown used to city life, and told her children to do as they pleased.
At first, my husband and his brother-in-law chipped in and sorted out the roof and repaired the foundations. We were eager to keep going with the renovations, but my sister-in-law, Abigail, was having none of it. She refused to put a penny into what she called that chicken-legged cottage. Her husband, Henry, simply stayed out of it, never one to argue.
Our dream was to make a home for ourselves in that house. The village was just a short drive from the city and, with our own car, commuting was no trouble. More than anything, we were desperate to escape our cramped one-bedroom flat. Wed dreamt for years of owning a house, but knew we could never afford to build from scratch.
To Abigail, though, it was always just going to be a holiday cottage. Shed come down for a barbecue in the summer or to relax when it suited her but made it clear we shouldnt rely on her.
Over four years, we spent every spare pennyand took out a loanfixing up our side. We put in a new bathroom, installed central heating, rewired the electrics, swapped out the drafty old windows, and gave the conservatory a fresh coat of paint. It felt like non-stop work, but the thought of a home kept us going.
Meanwhile, Abigail was always off somewhere sunny on her holidays. She never asked after the house or gave her half a second thought. She was perfectly content living for herself. Then she had a baby and went on maternity leave.
Suddenly, the holidays stopped and money got tight. Thats when she remembered her half of the old house. Funny how she hadnt cared before, but now, cooped up with a little one, the idea of a big garden where her child could run around all day was appealing.
By that time, my husband and I had moved in and started letting out our old flat. Abigails half of the house was untouched and, after years of neglect, nearly falling apart. There was no proper heating, so I cant imagine how she survived that month she turned up with her suitcase. She asked to stay with us for a weekI gave in.
Her son was loud, and so was Abigail, thoughtless as ever about anyone elses comfort. Working from home, I was at my wits end, so I moved in with a friend for a bit. Abigail, always one for looking after herself, took full advantage of my absence.
I was away for nearly a month in all. When I returnedafter a week with my friend, then nursing my own mother whod fallen illI assumed Abigail had long since left.
Imagine my surprise to find her still in our home, acting as if she owned the place. I asked when shed be going.
Where should I go? Ive got a young child. I like it here, Abigail replied.
Well drive you to the city tomorrow, I told her firmly.
I dont want to go back.
If you havent even bothered to dust in all this time, perhaps you should go. This isnt a hotel.
What right have you got to throw me out? Its my house too!
Your house is just across the hallwaygo there.
She tried to get Henry to stand up to me, but he told her the same thing: shed outstayed her welcome. Offended, she finally packed her bags. Not long after, my mother-in-law started phoning.
You had no right to put her out, its her property too.
She could have stayed in her own half, my husband replied. Shes free to do as she likes there.
How could a child live there, without any heating, with the loo outside? You ought to look after your sister.
That was when my husband lost his patience and told his mother the whole storyhow wed offered to do the place up together, which would have been easier and much cheaper, but Abigail had refused. So why blame us now?
We came up with another idea: perhaps Abigail could sell her half to my own mother. She agreedthen named a ludicrously high price, enough to buy a brand-new house elsewhere. We refused.
These days, theres always a row. My mother-in-law takes offense at everything. Abigail is a nightmareon her rare visits, she throws noisy parties, leaves a mess, and causes damage in the garden.
Weve finally started putting up a fence to separate the properties for good. No more compromises; this is what Abigail wanted.
Sometimes, life teaches us that looking after what we have, making an effort, and thinking ahead are worth more than fleeting comforts or selfishness. In the end, sharing only truly works when everyone is willing to make an equal effort.
