The Relatives Came – and Stayed
Edith was just taking an apple pie out of the oven when the doorbell rang. She glanced at the clock—half-past nine in the morning. Too early for visitors.
“Coming, coming!” she called, wiping her hands on her apron and hurrying to the front door.
On the doorstep stood Margaret with her husband, Geoffrey, laden with bags and suitcases. Her cousin looked frazzled and weary, while her husband scowled impatiently.
“Oh, Edith, love!” Margaret babbled, throwing her arms around her. “We’ve come to stay! You wouldn’t turn away family, would you?”
“Margaret?” Edith blinked at them in confusion. “What’s happened? Where have you come from?”
“From Manchester,” Geoffrey grumbled, dragging a hefty suitcase into the hall. “Took forever to get here—bloody traffic.”
“Come in, come in,” Edith flustered. “Take off your coats. Only, I don’t understand… You didn’t tell me you were coming.”
Margaret shrugged off her jacket and hung it on the hook.
“Edith, love, it’s like this—Geoffrey’s lost his job, we’ve got no money left. And then we had to sell the flat.”
“Sell it?” Edith gasped.
“Debts, loans,” Geoffrey waved a hand dismissively. “Anyway, we thought we’d come to you. You’ve got this big three-bed all to yourself. Plenty of room for us.”
Edith stood there, blinking in disbelief. Margaret, meanwhile, had already wandered into the kitchen, sniffing the air.
“Oh, that smells lovely! Is that pie? Just what we need—we’ve been starving all the way here, saving every penny.”
“Sit down,” Edith offered weakly. “I’ll put the kettle on.”
Geoffrey flopped onto a chair and glanced around.
“Nice place you’ve got here, Edith. Fresh paint, decent furniture. Must be nice living alone with no one to bother you.”
There was something accusatory in his tone that stung. Edith had been a widow for eight years, used to quiet and order. She worked at the library, earned modest wages, but it was enough for her needs.
“Where are all your things?” she asked, pouring the tea.
“Right there in the hall,” Margaret nodded toward the suitcases. “Geoffrey, take them into the spare room.”
“Which spare room?” Edith asked cautiously.
“Well, any of them! You’ve got three bedrooms.”
“Margaret, wait. Let’s talk first. How long are you planning to stay?”
Margaret and Geoffrey exchanged glances.
“Well, until we get back on our feet,” Margaret hedged. “Find work, sort things out.”
“And when might that be?”
“How should I know?” Geoffrey cut himself a hefty slice of pie. “Could be a month, could be six. Depends.”
Edith felt something tighten inside her. She knew it would be cruel to turn family away in their hour of need—but the thought of her peaceful life being upended by permanent guests filled her with dread.
“Edith, you wouldn’t throw us out, would you?” Margaret grabbed her hand. “We’re family. Family helps each other.”
“Of course I won’t,” Edith sighed. “It’s just… unexpected.”
By evening, they had settled in completely. Geoffrey sprawled on the sofa with the TV remote, flipping channels and loudly commenting on every programme. Margaret bustled about the kitchen, rearranging spice jars and washing every dish in sight.
“Edith, your system’s all wrong,” she remarked, drying a plate. “Tea beside the salt, sugar shoved in the corner. I’ve sorted it properly.”
Edith stared in dismay. Everything in her home had its place—neat, practical. Now, she couldn’t even find her coffee.
“Margaret, why did you move everything? It worked fine for me.”
“Oh, don’t be silly—it was all backwards! I’ve got an eye for these things.”
“Oi, women!” Geoffrey bellowed from the living room. “When’s dinner? I’m starving.”
“Coming, coming,” Margaret fussed. “Edith, what have you got for supper?”
Edith opened the fridge. A bit of cheese, two eggs, and a small pack of ham—her usual modest dinner for the week.
“Not much,” she admitted.
“Oh, that’s barely anything!” Margaret exclaimed. “Not enough for three! Geoffrey, take some money and run to the shop.”
“What money?” he grumbled. “We’ve barely got enough for the bus fare back.”
They both looked at Edith. She understood the hint and reached for her purse.
“Take what you need,” she said, handing over a few notes.
“Oh, you’re a saint!” Margaret beamed. “We’ll pay you back soon as we’re sorted!”
At the shop, Margaret piled the trolley high—smoked salmon, expensive meats, a cake, chocolates. Edith said nothing as she paid, watching half her week’s wages disappear.
“Now we’ll live proper!” Geoffrey grinned, inspecting the haul. “Can’t get far on scraps.”
Late that night, when they’d finally gone to bed in her study, Edith sat in the kitchen, trying to make sense of it all. She usually turned in at ten—now it was nearly midnight. Geoffrey had blared the TV till late, Margaret clattered dishes and chattered nonstop.
“Edith, love, why aren’t you asleep?” Margaret shuffled in, wrapped in a dressing gown. “Let’s have another cuppa, have a proper chat.”
“It’s late. I’ve work tomorrow.”
“Oh, don’t be boring! Your library won’t vanish. Tell me—don’t you get lonely, living alone?”
“I’m used to it.”
“No gentlemen callers? Still a widow after all these years?”
Edith winced. She hated personal questions, even from friends.
“No one.”
“Shame. A woman needs a man’s protection. My Geoffrey’s a handful, but he’s solid as a rock.”
“Margaret, shouldn’t we sleep?”
“Yes, yes. But I’ll need the washing machine tomorrow—mountains of laundry! And, love, d’you mind if I borrow your creams? My skin’s gone all dry.”
The next morning, Edith woke to chaos in the kitchen—Margaret frying eggs, Geoffrey coughing loudly and spitting in the sink. Her usual quiet breakfast routine was shattered.
“Morning!” Margaret chirped. “Full English today—eggs, bacon, tomatoes!”
“Thank you, but I don’t eat much in the mornings,” Edith said. “I’ll be late.”
“Oh, don’t be silly! Eat properly—you’re wasting away.”
“Margaret, I really must go.”
Edith gulped down a coffee and hurried out, tripping over a suitcase still blocking the hall.
“Geoffrey!” Margaret called. “Move that case—Edith’ll break her neck!”
“Nowhere to put it!” he grumbled.
At work, Edith couldn’t concentrate.
“You’re not yourself today,” the head librarian remarked. “Guests still with you?”
“Yes.”
“Lovely! Company’s good.”
If only she knew, Edith thought.
When she returned, the flat was unrecognisable—Geoffrey’s socks on the sofa, dirty plates on the table, a mountain of laundry drying in the bathroom.
“Edith, love! How was work?” Margaret popped her head out.
“Fine. What’s all this?”
“Oh, just tidying up. Did a big wash, sorted the dishes. Geoffrey fixed your telly—channels were all fuzzy.”
Edith walked into the living room. Geoffrey lounged on the sofa, an action film blaring loud enough to rattle the windows.
“Geoffrey, could you turn it down?”
“Eh? Sounds fine to me.”
“I don’t like it so loud.”
“Tough. It’s not forever.”
Dinner was an ordeal—Geoffrey chewing noisily, Margaret prattling about old neighbours and distant cousins. Edith missed eating in peace with a book.
“Edith, could we borrow your car tomorrow?” Margaret asked suddenly.
“Why?”
“Geoffrey’s got paperwork to sort, and I’m off to the job centre.”
Edith’s old car was her pride—rarely used, meticulously maintained.
“I don’t lend it out.”
“Oh, nothing’ll happen! Geoffrey’s a careful driver.”
“Twenty years, not a scratch,” he boasted.
“But… you don’t have a licence, do you?”
“Course I do! Left it at home, didn’t I?”
Edith hesitated but gave in.
They took the car in the morning and returned late. Geoffrey looked pleased; shopping bags filled the back seat.
“Runs smooth, yours,” he said. “Bit thirsty on petrol, though.”
