Where am I supposed to put this basin of brawn? grumbled the woman, squinting into the fridge, jostling neat little tubs of smoked salmon and avocado. Honestly, you and your posh grub smoked salmon, avocadobreak your teeth just pronouncing it. No room for good, honest food.
Eileen, standing with a wooden spoon beside the stove, closed her eyes for a moment and silently counted to ten. The guests had been in the house barely twenty minutes, yet it felt as if a gang of travelling show folk had swept in, determined to rewrite every rule of the household. And she knew this was only the beginning.
Aunt Margaret, would you mind putting it on the patio? Eileen said as kindly as possible, keeping her voice leveled. Its cold out there and sheltered, nothing will happen to it. I need fridge space for the salads; they cant be frozen.
On the patio! snorted Margaret, a formidable woman with a perm as bristly as her mood and a floral dressing gown shed unpacked the instant she stepped through the door. Therell be city dust blowing all over! And food isnt meant for floors. Never mind, Ill move all your little tubs of grassLord knows no one wants rabbit food anyway. Men need meat, not leaves.
Eileen cast an SOS look at her husband. John, tall and even-tempered, was sitting at the kitchen table, slicing bread as if he wished to melt into the furniture. He knew all too well Aunt Margarets temperament, and her daughterEileens cousinLucy, who was currently inspecting the bathroom tiles, pointing out flaws.
John, will you help Aunt Margaret take the brawn to the conservatory? Eileen said, more firmly this time. Ive cleared space in the cabinet and wiped it down. No dust.
John obediently stood, gathered up the heavy basin from his protesting aunt, and vanished down the hallway. Margaret, divested of her load, promptly switched her attention to Eileen.
Why do you look so pale, Eileen? Let me guessstill on those funny diets of yours? Youll vanish if you turn sideways! Now, look at my Lucy, picture of health, isnt she? And you, always wilting away. And this renovation of yoursits got the air of a hospital. All white and grey. Dull as dishwater! You should paper the walls in gold, they sell lovely ones now, make a place look proper grand.
We rather like things simple, Eileen replied coolly, tasting the sauce. Each to their own.
Just then, Lucy drifted in, trailed by her two boysaging five and six, chocolate smudged over their fingers. Lucy, three years older than Eileen, had always treated their age gap as some vast gulf granting her the right to lecture on life.
Youve only got a shower in your bathroom? Lucy sighed, flopping onto a chair and crossing her legs. I thought thered be a proper bath. How am I supposed to wash the boys tonight? Theyre used to splashing about.
We remodeled for ourselves, Eileen said, pulse ticking up, and prefer a shower. The boys just need a rinsetheyre not babies anymore.
This holiday visit had been announced long ago, but Eileen had privately hoped Margaret and Lucy might change their plans. The twoplus boyshad invited themselves to London for the festive season, citing family ought to see each other and lets at least stroll past the pretty lights. And Eileen, raised on old English hospitality, hadnt managed a refusaleven though their last visit had left her nerves and floors rung out for a week.
But that was at the old semi, carpet threadbare and all. Now Eileen and John had finally moved into a bright, three-bedroomed flat, with the designer finish just set. Their sanctuary. Every element laboured over. Especially the bedroomEileens retreat: midnight blue walls, blackout curtains, a giant bed with a mattress that cost more than a small hatchback, and thick, cloud-soft carpet. She and John had made one rule: no guests in the bedroom, door shut at all times. The sitting room, with its pull-out sofa, was for guests; failing that, Johns study with the daybed.
Mum, Im thirsty! whined Lucys youngest, tugging at her sleeve.
Oh, Eileen, get them some squash, will you? Lucy waved him off. Theyve been stir crazy on the train.
Eileen fetched apple juice from the fridge, pouring out two glasses.
Careful, dont drip, this is real oak flooring, she cautioned.
Oh, stop fussing about your parquet, scoffed Margaret. Things are for people, people arent for things. Kids will be kids. If they spill, youll mop up. Honestly, Eileen, youre going all jittery nowadays, living high in London.
John reappeared, sensing the tension. Shall we sit down to dinner? Nearly five, and Old Years Night is slipping away.
The meal began in a flurry. Kids zipped round the table, snatching cheese and ham; Lucy nattered to a friend on the phone about their journey, and Margaret critiqued each dish.
Prawn salad? Margaret prodded at a prawn. I just dont see it. Now, a proper bit of pickled herring, thats the thing. This is nothing but weeds and rubber. Eileen, why not at least boil some real potatoes with a bit of parsley, instead of this truffle oil mash? Smells like something gone off.
Its a delicacy, mum, Lucy drawled, setting aside her phone. But I prefer ordinary food too, Eileen, pass me the mushrooms. Did you pickle them yourself or just buy them?
From a farmers market, Eileen replied.
Of course. Too much faff doing it by hand, Margaret stated. Well, I brought some myselfreal mushrooms. Ill pop them open; youll taste the difference.
Eileen picked at her plate in silence. John squeezed her hand under the table: Three days, just three days, his eyes said.
As evening drew in, with the kids finally pacified by screens and the first bottle of sparkling wine gone, the talk moved to sleeping arrangements.
Oof, Im sore after that journey, Margaret announced, rubbing her back. Train shook me to bits. I need to stretch outgive my legs a rest.
Yes, mum, you need a proper nights sleep, Lucy added. Eileen, where are we staying?
Eileen was prepared: Weve set up the loungethe sofa pulls out, its king-size, two adults fit easily. Lucy and the boys, theres the studys daybed turns into a full-size bed. We also have an inflatable mattress thats high and comfy if needed.
Silence fell. Margaret stopped chewing, Lucy raised her brows.
What do you mean, the sofa? Margaret asked, staring as if Eileen had grown horns. Eileen, is this a joke? My backs in shreds, I need a real bed. Soft, levelnot that old sofa.
Aunt Margaret, its an orthopedic sofa, no lumps, no bumps, we bought it for guests
A sofas a sofa! Margaret interrupted. For young folk. Im an older lady with ailments. I expected your bedroom, since youve got that magic mattress.
Eileen froze. She anticipated demands and dramatics, but hadnt quite foreseen a full-fledged land grab on her personal haven.
Our bedroom? John frowned. Margaret, thats our room. We sleep there.
And? piped up Lucy. You two are fit as fiddles, surely you can rough it a few nights; its comfort mum needs. And its easier with the boys and her togetherthe bedroom door closes, and the kids wont wake you.
Hold on, Eileen felt her face heat. You want John and I to vacate our bedroom, let you use our bed, and we sleep out in the lounge?
Oh, dont be dramatic, Eileen, Margaret flapped a hand. Were not asking forever, just the holidays. Guests get the best! Thats real English traditionmy mother always said as much. Youve gone all metropolitan and forgotten
Aunt Margaret, tradition is feeding your guests, Eileen said firmly. But your own bedthats hygiene, like a toothbrush. We sleep there. Im sorry, but it isnt possible.
Lucy slammed her glass down. Are you serious? You cant spare a bed for your own aunt and cousins? After we trekked two hundred miles, brought you presents, and now you treat us like mongrels putting us on a sofa?
Its not ‘like mongrels,’ John said, surprised. The sofa cost over two thousand poundsits very comfy. I nap there all the time.
I dont care what it cost! Margaret shrieked. Its about respect! If your motherbless hercould see this, shed be mortified. Selfish! Just like your dad!
That was low. Eileens mother, gentle and self-sacrificing, had always indulged her sister Margaretmoney, babysitting, picking up after her. Eileen recalled how every visit left her mum exhausted and their cupboards bare.
Leave mum out of this, Eileen said quietly, with chilly steel. She was saintly and you took advantage. Im not her. I have boundaries. The bedroom is ours. End of. If you dont like the sofa, theres a hotel round the cornerI can book a room.
A hotel?! Lucy spluttered. Youre tossing us out? To pay money! Mum, did you hear?
Im hearing, darling, I am, Margaret clutched her heart theatrically. Oh, I feel faint quick, water!
Lucy dashed for water and heart tablets; her boys grew quiet, sensing a spectacle.
Right, Lucy decreed. Either we sleep in the bedroom, decently, or were leaving now. Not a step more in this housewell tell the whole family how youve turned cruel, Eileen the spoilt Londoner. Your choice!
Eileen looked at John. His face was stone, but his eyes were loyalhed had enough too. Enough rudeness. Enough entitlement.
Its not much of a choice, Eileen replied, standing. Im offering good food, generous space, a comfortable sofa. You demand my bed and set ultimatums. If your priority is my mattressnot seeing familythen maybe parting ways is best.
Fine then! Margaret leapt up, back suddenly forgotten. Pack up, Lucy! Get the boys coats! I wont stay one minute in this vipers den. Id rather sleep at the railway station!
Mum, its latethere arent any trains! Lucy blanched, surprised that her bluff hadnt worked.
Well get a cab! Well go to Gladys, round the other side of town! She may be in a council flat, but shes kindshed give you the shirt off her back! You lot can wallow in your truffle mash!
The flurry began. Lucy shot Eileen daggers, stuffing belongings into bags. Margaret trod the hallway, lamenting to absent friends about hard-hearted kin.
Give back our presents! Margaret demanded at the door. I brought you linen towels! You dont deserve em. Ill give them to Gladys instead.
Eileen silently gathered the prickly towel bundlenever destined for useand handed them over.
Here you are. And your mushrooms, dont forget.
Well take them! Lucy snatched the bag. And the sweets we brought for the boys too!
John watched all this quietly, leaning against the wall, stung by the childishness of it all.
It took fifteen minutes. Margaret never stopped cursing Eileen and John, reliving ancient slights and predicting a lonely old age, with no one to bring a cup of tea.
Summon a taxi? John asked as they tied shoelaces.
We dont want your charity! Well phone it ourselves! Lucy barked, stabbing her phone. Mum, out we go. The cars five minutes awaywell wait outside, cant breathe in here!
Out they trampeda noisy, irate crowd. Margaret slammed the front door with such force the ceiling plaster rattled.
Silence flooded the flat. Only the hum of the fridge and a clock ticking in the front room. On the table, half-eaten prawn salad, unfolded napkins, sticky juice stains.
Eileen sank into a chair and covered her face. Her shoulders shook.
John came over, hugged her, and kissed her hair.
Thats it, darling. Its over. Theyre gone.
Eileen looked up, not in tearsbut laughing, a nervous, relieved laugh.
Did you hear them, John? Rather sleep at the station than here! Absolute bliss!
Bliss, John agreed. And heythey left the brawn! Its still out on the patio!
Eileen laughed until she wheezed.
Imagine! Their prized brawn left behind! And Gladys, she lives in two rooms with her drunken husband. I can just picture her delight at a midnight invasion.
We dont have to worry about it, John said, pouring champagne. I felt awkward at first, but when she mentioned your mumI nearly tossed them out myself. Youre brave, you really are.
I just love our bedroom, Eileen admitted, stealing his drink. And you. And the peace. You know, I think this might be our best New Year ever. Just us, piles of food, and no one nitpicking the salad.
They set about clearing away extra place settings. Eileen gathered up dirty dishes and John ran them to the dishwasher. The air felt purified, cleansed of all resentment.
Eileen gazed through the window. Snow fell thick and soft, covering the tracks of departed taxis. The city glimmered. Somewhere, her relatives whisked along, carrying a bundle of bitterness. She felt almost sorry for themit must be heavy, that burden on the heart. Heavier than sleeping on a sofa.
John, she called, Shall we put some music on? Light some candles? It is New Years Eve, after all.
Definitely, chimed John from the kitchen. The ducks nearly donethe one they wouldnt try.
An hour later, they sat at a reset table: candles aglow, soft jazz in the background, duck with apples roasted perfectlycrispy, juicy, fragrant.
To us, toasted John, To our home. And may it always welcome those who respect us.
And to boundaries, Eileen clinked glasses. Which weve finally learnt to defend.
Late that night, lying on her favourite mattress in her cherished bedroom, Eileen felt bliss. No unfamiliar perfume, only fresh linen and lavender; no clamour, only the hush. Somewhere, surely, Margaret and Lucy were camping on Gladys floor or sulking at the station, cursing spoiled Eileenbut the thought brought no guilt.
Shed learned: you cant please everyone, and especially not at your own expense. If a bit of honest outrage from greedy relations is the price of tranquillitywell, its a fair deal.
Next morning, Eileens phone buzzed incessantly: messages from the extended family, already buzzing with the retellinghalf-fantasywhere Eileen had tossed poor sick Margaret shoeless into the snow. Eileen didnt open a single one. She flicked the phone to silent, curled up anew, and greeted the day with a smile.
Later, she and John fed the brawn to the street dogs. The dogs were delightednever critiqued the garlic, nor fussed at the jelly. Unlike some, animals know how to appreciate a kindness.
