**Diary Entry**
I was just pulling the apple pie from the oven when the doorbell rang. I glanced at the clock—half past nine in the morning. Far too early for visitors.
“Coming!” I called, wiping my hands on my apron as I hurried to the door.
Standing on the doorstep were my cousin, Valerie, and her husband, Geoffrey, laden with suitcases and shopping bags. Valerie looked exhausted, her hair mussed, while Geoffrey scowled, clearly irritated.
“Oh, Nina, love!” Valerie gushed, throwing her arms around me. “We’ve come to stay! You wouldn’t turn away family, would you?”
“Val?” I blinked at them, confused. “What’s happened? Where have you come from?”
“Manchester,” Geoffrey muttered, dragging an enormous suitcase into the hall. “Took us ages. Bloody traffic.”
“Come in, come in,” I said automatically, though my mind was racing. “Take your coats off. But… you didn’t tell me you were coming.”
Valerie shucked off her jacket and hung it on the hook.
“Nina, listen, things have been awful. Geoffrey lost his job, and we’ve run out of money. Then we had to sell the flat.”
“Sell it?” I gasped.
“Debts, loans,” Geoffrey waved a hand dismissively. “Anyway, we thought we’d come to you. You’ve got this big three-bed house all to yourself. Plenty of space.”
I stood frozen, blinking. Meanwhile, Valerie had already wandered into the kitchen, sniffing the air.
“Oh, that smells heavenly! Is that pie? Perfect—we’re famished. Didn’t eat a thing on the way, trying to save money.”
“Sit down,” I said weakly. “I’ll put the kettle on.”
Geoffrey slumped into a chair, eyeing the room.
“Not bad, this place. Fresh paint, decent furniture. Must be nice living alone, eh?”
There was something accusatory in his tone that stung. I’d been on my own since my husband passed eight years ago, used to quiet and order. I worked at the library, made just enough to get by, but it was *my* life.
“Where are your things?” I asked as I poured the tea.
“Right there in the hall,” Valerie nodded at the suitcases. “Geoffrey, take them to the room.”
“Which room?” I asked carefully.
“Well, whichever’s free! You’ve got three.”
“Val, wait. Let’s talk first. How long are you planning to stay?”
They exchanged a glance.
“Until we get back on our feet,” Valerie said vaguely. “Find work, sort ourselves out.”
“And when might that be?”
“How should I know?” Geoffrey cut himself a thick slice of pie. “Could be a month, could be six. Depends.”
My stomach twisted. I knew refusing family in their hour of need was unthinkable, but the idea of permanent houseguests filled me with dread.
“Nina, you wouldn’t throw us out, would you?” Valerie grabbed my hand. “We’re family. Family helps each other.”
“Of course not,” I sighed. “It’s just… a bit sudden.”
By evening, they’d settled in completely. Geoffrey sprawled on the sofa, remote in hand, flipping channels and loudly commenting. Valerie buzzed around the kitchen, rearranging my spice jars and washing dishes that didn’t need washing.
“Nina, your system’s all wrong,” she said, drying a plate. “Tea next to the salt? Sugar hidden away? I’ve fixed it.”
I stared in horror. Every inch of my home had its place—thoughtful, practical. Now I couldn’t find the coffee.
“Val, why did you move everything? It worked for me.”
“Oh, don’t be silly! It was chaos. I’ve got an eye for these things.”
“Oi, women!” Geoffrey bellowed from the living room. “When’s dinner? I’m starving.”
“Coming, coming!” Valerie chirped. “Nina, what have you got for supper?”
I opened the fridge. A bit of ham, some cheese, two eggs—my usual modest dinner for the week.
“Not much,” I admitted.
“Oh, that’s nothing!” she exclaimed. “Not enough for three. Geoff, grab some cash—we’ll pop to the shop.”
“What cash?” he grumbled. “We’re skint.”
They both looked at me. Resigned, I fetched my purse.
“Take what you need,” I said, handing over a few notes.
“Oh, you’re a saint!” Valerie beamed. “We’ll pay you back, promise!”
At the shop, she stocked up for the week—expensive sausages, smoked salmon, a cake, chocolates. I silently paid, watching half my wages disappear.
“Now we’re living!” Geoffrey grinned, inspecting the haul. “Can’t survive on scraps.”
Later, when they’d finally gone to bed in what used to be my study, I sat at the kitchen table, shell-shocked. I usually turned in by ten—now it was past eleven. The telly had blared all evening, Valerie chattered nonstop, and Geoffrey’s laughter rattled the walls.
“Nina, still up?” Valerie wandered in, robe tied tight. “Let’s have a cuppa, yeah? Proper chat.”
“Val, it’s late. I’ve work tomorrow.”
“Oh, your library won’t vanish! Tell me, how do you stand living alone? Don’t you get lonely?”
“I’m used to it.”
“No blokes, then? Still a widow?”
I winced. Even with close friends, I avoided personal talk.
“No one.”
“Shame. A woman needs a man’s protection. Geoff’s a handful, but he’s steady. Fiercely loyal.”
“Val, let’s just sleep.”
“Fine. Oh—can I borrow your washing machine tomorrow? Mountains of laundry! And… mind if I use your moisturiser? My skin’s gone dry.”
The next morning, I woke to clattering pans. Valerie was frying eggs while Geoffrey hacked and spat into the sink. My peaceful routine—quiet breakfasts, slow preparations—was obliterated.
“Morning!” Valerie sang. “Made us a fry-up. Sausages, tomatoes—proper start!”
“Thanks, but I don’t eat big breakfasts,” I said. “I’ll be late.”
“Oh, don’t be silly! Eat up—you’re too thin.”
“Really, I have to go.”
I gulped my coffee and fled, tripping over their still-unpacked suitcase in the hall.
*“Geoff!”* Valerie yelled. *“Move that! Nina’ll break her neck!”*
*“Nowhere to put it!”* he shouted back.
At work, I couldn’t focus. My boss frowned.
“Nina, you’re miles away. Everything alright?”
“Fine. Just… unexpected guests.”
“Oh, lovely! Bit of company.”
*If only you knew*, I thought.
By evening, the house was unrecognisable. Geoffrey’s socks littered the sofa, dishes piled in the sink, and a laundry line sagged under their damp clothes in the bathroom.
“Nina’s back!” Valerie chirped. “How was work?”
“Fine. What’s all this?”
“Bit of tidying. Did a big wash, sorted the dishes. Geoff fixed your telly—signal was dreadful.”
I walked into the living room. Geoffrey lounged, blasting an action film so loud the windows shook.
“Geoffrey, turn it down.”
*“Eh?”* He barely glanced up. *“Sounds fine.”*
“It’s too loud.”
*“Tough. Not forever, is it?”*
Dinner was torture. Geoffrey chewed noisily, Valerie prattled about old neighbours, and I ached for my book and silence.
“Nina, can we borrow your car tomorrow?” Valerie asked.
“Why?”
“Geoff’s got paperwork for benefits, and I’m off to the job centre.”
My old car was my pride—rarely used, meticulously cared for.
“I don’t lend it out.”
*“It’ll be fine!”* she insisted. *“Geoff’s a safe driver.”*
*“Thirty years, no crashes,”* he boasted.
“But you left your license at home?”
*“Yeah, but I’ve got it.”*
Reluctantly, I handed over the keys. They returned late, Geoff smug, bags in the back.
*“Nice motor,”* he said. *“Smooth ride. Bit thirsty on petrol, though.”*
“Did you fill it?”
*“Put in a tenner,”* Valerie said.
The gauge hovered near empty. I’d filled it yesterday.
“Where did you go?”
*“Oh, here and there. Big city, everything’s miles apart.”*
Later, Valerie unpack
