Marina Stephens stood by the kitchen window, watching a battered old Rover pull into the driveway. A tall lad in a crumpled t-shirt and jeans climbed out slowly, hauling two large rucksacks and a sports bag from the boot.
“Well, he’s finally here,” she muttered under her breath, wiped her hands on the tea towel, and went to greet her nephew.
Danny had grown. The last time she’d seen him, he was fourteen—a lanky boy with ears that stuck out. Now a proper young man stood at her door, though he looked a bit lost.
“Aunt Marina?” he asked uncertainly when she opened it.
“Of course it’s me! Come in, come in, Danny! Goodness, look how tall you’ve got!” She hugged him, catching the scent of motorway service stations and cheap aftershave. “Go on through to the spare room—make yourself at home. You must be exhausted?”
“Nah, it’s fine. Cheers for letting me stay. I swear I won’t be long—just till I find work and a flat,” Danny shifted from foot to foot, glancing around the hall.
Marina nodded, though doubt had already begun to creep in. Words were one thing—actions another. Her sister, Danny’s mum, was the same—always full of grand promises before vanishing for months.
“Right through here,” she gestured to what had been her study just yesterday. The desk, the bookshelves, her favourite reading chair by the window—all dragged into her bedroom to make space.
Danny hesitated at the threshold.
“Y’know, maybe I should just kip on the sofa? Don’t wanna be in your way.”
“Don’t be silly! A young man needs his privacy,” she replied, though something inside her clenched. Twenty years she’d spent arranging that room—every book, every trinket had its place.
He dropped his bags, surveying the space.
“Where’ll you work now? Saw your desk was here before.”
“Moved it to the bedroom. No bother,” she said brightly, though her voice wavered.
Danny didn’t seem to notice, already unzipping a rucksack.
“D’you mind if I unpack a bit? Everything’s creased from the drive.”
“Go ahead! I’ll get supper on. What d’you fancy?”
“Whatever, not picky.” He grinned, and in that grin, she saw her late brother’s features. “Just don’t go to trouble, Aunt Marina. Knackered today, but I’ll start job-hunting first thing.”
She nodded and retreated to the kitchen, hearing the scrape of furniture being rearranged behind her. Danny clearly wasn’t content with the layout she’d left.
As she fried sausages, she recalled that morning’s chat with her neighbour, Margaret.
“You sure you’re doing the right thing?” Margaret had asked, eyeing Marina’s flat. “Young ones these days… First it’s the nephew, next they’ve mates round, then some girl moves in. Before you know it, they’ll be hosting weddings in your lounge.”
“Oh, don’t be daft, Margaret! He’s family. My brother’s boy.”
“Family, family,” Margaret huffed. “Where was this family when you were poorly? When you were in hospital after your op?”
At the time, it had seemed unfair. Now, listening to Danny reshuffle her study, she wondered.
“Aunt Marina!” he called. “Mind if I shift the telly into my room? Better position in there.”
She froze, wooden spoon in hand. That telly had sat in the lounge for fifteen years. She liked watching the news from her armchair.
“What’ll I watch, then?” she asked carefully.
“Use the bedroom telly. Or come in with me—we’ll watch together,” he said breezily.
She bit her lip. Needing permission to enter her own room? Watching telly in bed, like some invalid?
“Let’s leave it for now, Danny. We’ll see,” she said as gently as she could.
A sigh came from the room, but he didn’t press it.
Over supper, he talked about his plans. Construction work, he reckoned—had experience, “hands of gold,” as he put it. The pay was decent; he’d have his own place in a month or two.
“What about college?” she asked. “Your mum said you were at tech.”
Danny pulled a face.
“Dropped out. Dead boring, all theory. I’d rather get stuck in.”
“Shame. Qualifications always help.”
“You’re an accountant, got all your certificates—what’s your wage?” He shrugged. “I’ll earn in a week what you do in a month.”
She said nothing. Explaining she worked for more than money—that she loved her job—was pointless. Young people thought differently.
After eating, Danny vanished to his room, claiming exhaustion. Marina cleared up, then settled in the lounge with a book. But the music through the wall—not loud, but there—made reading impossible.
She nearly knocked twice to ask him to turn it down but stopped herself. First night. He was tired, adjusting.
At half six the next morning, the shower woke her. Usually, she rose at seven-thirty, had a leisurely breakfast. Now her nephew had commandeered the bathroom precisely when she needed it.
Knocking, she called, “Danny, I’ve got work!”
“Five minutes, Aunt Marina!”
Five became twenty. She ended up rushing, skipping breakfast.
“Bit grim today,” her colleague Elaine remarked at the office. “Rough night?”
“Nephew’s staying. Settling in.”
“Long-term?”
“Says just till he finds work and a flat.”
Elaine gave a knowing shake of the head.
“Had a cousin like that. ‘Temporary’ turned into eighteen months.”
All day, Marina thought of home. Had Danny gone job-hunting? He’d still been asleep when she left—though he’d said he was worn out from travelling.
Returning, she found he hadn’t left the flat. Dirty plates sat in the sink; breadcrumbs and an empty baked bean tin littered the table.
“Danny!”
“Right here!” He emerged from his room, bleary-eyed in boxers and a vest.
“Any luck with jobs?” She eyed the mess.
“Gonna go tomorrow. Woke up with a banging headache—needed a lie-in.” He yawned. “What, can’t I have one day?”
“Of course. Just asking.”
“Don’t stress, I’ll find something quick. Meantime, I’ll help out—noticed the bathroom bulb’s gone.”
True—it had been dead for a week.
“Ta, but you’d need to buy a new one.”
“No bother. Just need a tenner.”
She handed over a fiver, though bulbs cost two quid.
“Bring the change.”
“Natch.” He pocketed it.
He returned with the bulb—plus a pack of fags and a Red Bull.
“Your change,” he said, handing her two quid.
“What about the rest?”
“Got smokes—gotta have ‘em. And this—proper zonked. You don’t mind?”
She minded very much—she wasn’t funding his habits—but arguing over cigarettes seemed petty.
Changing the bulb, he swore about blunt screwdrivers and wobbly step-ladders. Marina steadied the ladder, ignoring the language.
“Sorted,” he said, jumping down. “Proper bright now.”
“Thanks, love.”
“No sweat. Told you I’d help.”
At dinner, he devoured his food, complimented her cooking, told funny stories about his hometown. Marina listened, thinking he wasn’t a bad lad—just young, still learning responsibility.
But when he disappeared to his room after, blasting music, then shouting into his phone till midnight, her patience frayed.
Next day: same. Late riser, bathroom hog. Coming home, she found Danny at the kitchen table with a mate, cracking open lagers.
“Aunt Marina, this is Mike—old mate,” Danny introduced. “He’s got work for me.”
Mike, mid-twenties, tracksuit, gold chain, gave a half-arsed nod.
“Pleasure,” Marina said thinly. “What sort of work?”
“Bit of this, bit of that. Deliveries,” Mike said vaguely.
“What deliveries?”
“Whatever people need.” He exchanged a look with Danny.
Something felt off.
“Danny, what about that construction job?”
“Aunt Marina, that’s graft! This way, I pick my hours.”
After Mike left, she tried to talk sense into him.
“This mate—you sure it’s legit? Don’t like the sound of it.”
“Christ, you’re paranoid! Mike’s sound—you just don’t know him.”
“I worry. For both of us. Don’t want trouble in my flat.”
“What trouble? It’s just business! You watch too much telly.” He stood. “Anyway, I’m not some freeloader. I’ll pull my weight.”
The next morning, she woke to silence—Danny and his things were gone, leaving only a scribbled note on the kitchen table: “Cheers for now, ta for everything,” and the faint smell of smoke lingering in the air, just like all the other promises that had blown away.
