So, you know how Id been looking forward to finally having a lie-in this weekend after surviving that nightmare quarterly report at work? Well, guess what, the universe had other plans. At exactly seven in the morningon a Saturday, no lessthe entry phone starts going off, making this awful wailing noise that practically shakes the flat. I groggily checked the time, muttering curses under my breath.
I look at the panel, and theres my sister-in-law, Victoria (my husband’s sister), practically banging down the gates of Buckingham with her furious face right up at the camera. And behind her? I clocked her three scruffy kids, all looking like theyd spent the night rolling round in a hedge.
David! I shouted without so much as picking up the handset, Your familys here. Go sort them out.
David is my husband, lovely most of the time, but when it comes to his family, the man turns to mush. He stumbled out of our bedroom, pulling his shorts on backwardsI kid you notalready knowing from my frosty tone that his stocks were plummeting.
While he fumbled with the intercom, I stood at the front door, arms folded like a nightclub bouncer. This flat in central London is mine. Literallymy names on the mortgage. I worked myself ragged to buy it years before David ever came along, and the last thing I wanted was a crowd of houseguests trashing the place.
The door flung open and in crashed the circus. Victoria, arms full of shopping bags, didnt even look in my direction. She just barged me to one side, practically shoving me into the coat rack.
Oh, thank God, weve finally got here! she puffed, dumping her bags straight onto my brand-new Italian tiles. Emily, why are you faffing about in the hallway? Put the kettle on, the kids are starving.
I levelled my gaze at her, voice cool and controlledbut David was already cringing, sensing trouble. Victoria, whats going on?
She gave me this wide-eyed, innocent look, like butter wouldnt melt. Didnt David tell you? Were having the house done up! Full worksfloors up, pipes out, total carnage. Complete tip. Cant have the kids living in the rubble. Well just park ourselves here for a week. Surely youre not short on space in this palace?
I shot a look at David, who by now was examining the ceiling, clearly dreading the showdown to come.
Is that true, David? I asked.
He gave me this sheepish little moo. Em, honestlyits only for a week. Victorias got nowhere to go with the kids. Just until it’s liveable
One week, I said, sounding like the headmistress. Seven days. You handle your own meals. Kids dont run wild. No touching my office. Quiet after ten. Understood?
Victoria rolled her eyes so hard I thought shed pop a vessel. Honestly, Emily, youre such a killjoy. What are we, on parole? Fine. So, where are we sleeping? Not the floor, I hope?
And so began my descent into actual hell.
Their quick week stretchedfirst to two weeks, then three. My beautifully designed flat, usually spotless, looked like a bombsite. The hallway had this permanent mountain of muddy shoes that I kept tripping over. The kitchen became a wreckgreasy fingerprints across the granite, crumbs everywhere, sticky puddles that glued your slippers in place. Victoria, not content just being a visitor, acted like she was Lady of the Manor and I was some hired help.
One night, she peered into my fridge and called out, Emily, fridge is bare! Dont you buy yoghurts for the children? And I reckon David and I deserve a nice bit of steak too. Youre doing alright for yourselfsurely you can look after family?
Youve got a bank card and legs, Victoria, I replied, not even looking up from my laptop. Tesco delivers, you know.
Stingy, she muttered, slamming the fridge hard enough to rattle the pickle jars. Cant take it with you, love. Remember that.
But the real tipping point? I came home from work early one evening, and what do I see? Her kids in my bedroom! The eldest was using my orthopaedic mattresscost me more than my first caras a trampoline, and the little one oh, youll love this. She was scribbling on my wallpaper, giddy as anything. With my Tom Ford lipstick. Limited edition.
OUT! I bellowed, and the kids scarpered.
Victoria wandered in at the commotion, barely glancing at the mess. Oh, calm down, love. Kids, innit? Bit of lippy on the wall, wipe it off. And as for your lipstickwho cares? Buy another one, youre hardly on the breadline. Anyway, change of plan. The builders uselesssays it’ll be summer before things are sorted. Well stay. Itll be fun with all of us, right?
David just stood there, silent. Honestly, I dont know what happened to the backbone I thought he had.
I said nothing. I stormed off to the bathroom before I did something criminal.
Later that night, Victoria left her phone on the kitchen table charging as she went for a shower. The screen lit upgiant WhatsApp preview. Message from a Marie Lettings person: Victoria, heres the transfer for next month. Tenants are happy, asking if they can extend until August? Then a notification from the bankanother £850 landing in her account.
It all clicked. There was no renovation. She was letting out her own poky flat short-term and swanning it here on my dime, raking in easy cash while I footed the bill for her and her brood.
I snapped a quick photo of the messages with my phone. My hands were steadyif anything, I felt calmly, coldly determined.
David, come here a second, I called.
He walked in. I showed him the photo.
He went from red to white in a heartbeat. Emily, maybe its some kind of mix up?
No, David. The only mistake is you not kicking your family out right this minute. Heres your choice: by lunchtime tomorrow, theyre goneor youre gone too. Take your mum, your sister, whoever you please. But I want my home back.
But where will they go?
I dont care. Under Waterloo Bridge for all I care. Or The Ritz, if shes feeling flush.
Next morning, Victoria breezed in, talking about popping to Selfridges for new boots (guess where the money came from). She dropped the kids on David and swanned out the front door.
I waited until I heard it click shut.
David, take the kids and get them outside. Go to the park, stay out for hours.
Why?
Because Ill be cleansing the place. Exterminators orders.
As soon as theyd gone, I grabbed my phone. First call: emergency locksmith. Second: community support officer at the local station.
Hospitality was out. Time for scorched earth.
The locksmith showed up in no timea burly guy with Mum inked on his forearm. Nice door, he said, but this new locks a beastnobodys getting through.
Thats the idea, I smiled, sending him enough money via app for a posh dinner at The Ivy. Worth every penny.
Then it was black bin liners. Huge ones120 litres. I swept up every Bra, every odd trainer, every faded toy. Victorias ever-growing collection of face creams filling half my bathroom shelfI dumped the lot, one go. I didnt even bother folding. I just rammed it all in. No mercy.
Forty minutes later, the landing outside my door was a sad tableau: five bulging bin bags, two lopsided suitcases, and me with a folder of proof I owned the place.
About then, the community officerfresh out of training, probablyambled over. Alright, miss. Whats happening?
I handed him title deeds and my passport. Propertys mine. Registered only to me. Some people are about to turn up trying to force their way in. Please note this as an unauthorised entry attempt.
Family? he asked.
Ex-family, I grinned. Lets call it a property dispute.
Victoria arrived about an hour later, loaded with designer bags, face absolutely glowing. The smile dropped right off as she saw the pile of binbags and me standing with a copper.
Whats going on? she screeched, prodding her bags with a talon. Emily, youve lost the plot! Thats my stuff!
Exactly. Take it. Dont let the door hit you on the way out. Hotels over.
She tried to dart past me, but the officer blocked her. Do you live here, love? Got proof of address?
I Im his sister! Were guests! She turned beet red, glaring daggers at me. Wheres David, you cow? Let me at him, hell show you!
Ring him, I shrugged. But he wont answer. Hes probably explaining to his children why their mum is such a schemer.
She did ring him. Straight to voicemail. I guess David finally found some spine or just panicked about losing everything in a divorce.
Youve no right! she shrieked, shoving a bag so hard a pair of Louboutin boxes tumbled out. Were homeless, Emily! Weve got children!
Try telling that to Marie, your new tenant. See if shell extend the rental on your flator will you have to move back in?
She froze, jaw flapping silently.
How did you?
Next time, lock your phone, brilliant businesswoman. A whole month on my groceries and my heating, while you let your flat and save for a new car. Impressive. But listen up.
I dropped my voice and let the landing echo: You pack up. If you or your kids come within a mile of my front door again, Ill file a report with HMRC. Under-the-table rentals. Tax dodging. Think theyll let that slide? And while Im at it, maybe Ill add theft. My gold ringgone missing. Want to guess which bag theyll find it in?
Of course, the ring was in my safe, but she didnt know that. Her foundation turned chalky white.
Youre a bitch, Emily, she snapped. May God judge you.
Gods busy, I told her, but Im free. And now, sos my flat.
She dragged her bags away, cursing, frantically calling a cab. The cop just watched, bemused.
As the lift doors closed on Victoria, her dreams, and every last one of her Sainsburys bags, I turned to the copper.
Thanks for coming.
No worries, he shrugged. Next time, just get decent locks!
Finally, the flat was mine again. I closed the door and heard that final, solid clicka new lock, a new start. Even the lingering whiff of bleach from the cleaner was bliss. The kitchen spotless, my room being aired out. Silence. Absolute silence.
David returned a couple of hours later. Alone. He delivered the kids back to Victoria as she loaded the cab. He tiptoed into the flat as if expecting another war.
Shes gone, he said.
I know.
She was raving about you downstairs
I dont care what rats squeak when you kick them off a ship.
I sat at the kitchen table, enjoying a cup of fresh, strong coffee in my favourite unspoilt mug. No more lipstick murals on the wallthe cleaner sorted that. Fridge full of only my food.
Did you know about the rental? I asked David, eyes never leaving my coffee.
No! Honestly, Em! If I had
If you had, youd have kept quiet, I finished. Listen carefully, David. That was the last time. If any of your family try anything like that again, your suitcase will be outside with theirs. Understood?
He nodded, very quickly. He knew I wasnt bluffing.
I took that first perfect sip. Hot, delicious, andfor the first time in weekssipped in utter, heavenly peace in my own home.
Turns out, the crown fits just fine.
