Helen was washing the breakfast dishes when her mother-in-law, Margaret, rang. Six-month-old Oliver slept peacefully in his pram on the balcony, giving her a quiet moment to chat.
“Hello, love, Ive got a favour to ask,” Margaret began brightly. “Id love to see my grandson. Fancy a visit?”
Helen sensed no ulterior motive. Her mother-in-law lived in Cornwall, and they rarely met. Since Oliver was born, their contact had been limited to phone calls.
“Of course, Margaret. You should see himhes growing so fast.”
“How about a week? Would that suit?”
“Absolutely,” Helen agreed warmly. “The sofa in the lounge pulls outyoull be comfy.”
Margaret sounded delighted. “Oh, lovely! Ill be there in a couple of days. Bought my train tickets already, just in case.”
After hanging up, Helen told her husband, James, about the visit.
“Fine by me,” he said. “Havent seen Mum in ages.”
Three days later, Helen got a text from Margaret: “Arriving todayno need to collect me, Ill take a taxi.”
Helen prepped the sofa bed, stocked up on groceries, even bought a cake.
Margaret arrived that evening with two large bags and a beaming smilebut behind her stood a man.
“Helen, love, meet George,” she announced cheerfully. “My friend. He had business in London, so we thought wed travel together and introduce him properly.”
Helen stared at the unfamiliar man in his sixtiesgrey-haired, wearing a worn suit, clutching a scuffed suitcase.
“Hello,” she managed.
“Pleasure,” George said, offering his hand. “Margarets told me so much about you.”
Helen ushered them into the lounge, struggling to process the situation. Their two-bedroom rented flat was tight enough for three, let alone five.
She pulled Margaret aside. “Wheres George staying? You never mentioned bringing someone.”
“Whats the fuss? The sofas big enough. George isnt fussy.”
Helen stood frozen. “Margaret, I only prepared for you. Weve got a babyspace is tight.”
Margaret waved her off. “Dont fret, love. We wont take up much room. Right, George?”
George nodded, eyeing the flat. “Nice place. Decent area, good transport linksperfect for job hunting.”
“Job hunting?” Helen echoed.
“Aye,” George explained. “No prospects back in Truro. Worth a shot here.”
Helens head spun. So this wasnt just a weekend visit.
“How long are you planning to stay?”
“As long as it takes,” Margaret said airily. “George needs time to settle in.”
Helen bit her tongue and retreated to the kitchen to cook. Just then, James returned from work.
“Hello, love. Mum here?”
“She is. And she brought company.”
James stopped. “What?”
“A gentleman friend. Go meet George.”
In the lounge, Margaret was showing George family photos on her phone.
“Mum, you never said you were bringing a guest.”
“James, darling!” She beamed. “Meet Georgeweve been friends for months.”
The men shook hands. George grinned. “Your mums told me all about you. Lovely family youve got.”
“Cheers,” James said curtly. “Mum, a word?”
Out in the kitchen, Helen pretended to focus on dinner as James hissed,
“Have you lost the plot? Bringing a stranger into our home?”
“Dont shout! George is lovelyweve been close for ages.”
“Be as close as you like, but not under our roof!”
Margarets lip trembled. “So thats it. Your own mothers a nuisance.”
James sighed. “Its not you. But you shouldve asked. Weve got a babyroutine matters.”
“Well be quiet,” Margaret promised. “Wont be long. George just needs time to find work.”
James relented. Turning them out felt cruel, and Helen stayed silent.
The first few days passed smoothly. Margaret doted on Oliver; George scoured job listings. But cracks soon appeared.
Mornings meant bathroom queuesGeorge took ages shaving. Margaret cooked breakfasts no one wanted. Evenings were spent trapped in their bedroom while guests commandeered the lounge.
“Lena, youve got a laptop, yeah?” George asked over dinner. “Need to send my CV.”
“We use it for work,” she said.
“Just borrowing it. Wont be long.”
He camped in the lounge all day, calling potential employers loudly.
“Aye, decades of experienceforeman in Truro. Age? Still sharp as a tack!”
Oliver woke crying. Helen soothed him while George boomed on.
“Sorry, thats the grandson. Bit fussy, you know how it is.”
Margarets parenting “help” clashed with Helens.
“Why pick him up straight away? A crys good for his lungs.”
“Hes hungry.”
“Cant behe ate an hour ago. Must be teething.”
Helen bit her tongue.
By weeks end, patience wore thin. George remained jobless but cheerful. Margaret acted like lady of the manor.
“Lena, whys the fridge so bare?” she asked, peering in. “Need proper food.”
“We buy what we eat,” Helen said tightly.
“George needs hearty mealsjob huntings taxing.”
Helen seethed silently. Their budget was stretched thin, yet the guests had only shopped once.
Then came Georges calls to mates:
“Dave! In London now. Staying at my partners sons placenice two-bed in a posh area.”
Helens blood boiled. They were housing and feeding a freeloader who bragged about it.
The final straw came when Oliver fell ill, feverish and restless. Helen was exhausted, but George demanded silence for “crucial calls.”
“Sorry, but hes poorly,” she said.
“This is a recruiter! Its important!”
James snapped. “Mum, how longs this going on?”
“Be patient, love. George needs time.”
“And if he never finds work? Lives here till retirement?”
Margaret gasped. “How could you? Were family!”
“Hes not,” James said coldly. “Youve got two days to leave.”
Margaret cried; George sulked. But James stood firm. Two days later, they boarded a train back to Truro.
As she left, Margaret whispered, “Shant see my grandson for a while, then.”
The rift lingered. Helen vowed never to host again. Hospitality had limitsespecially in a cramped flat with a baby.
Was James right to draw the line, or did he go too far? Share your thoughts below.
Friends, if you enjoyed this, do comment and likeit keeps us writing!
