June 16
I caught my sisterinlaw rummaging through my wardrobe without asking.
Simon, please, no overnight stays, I begged, wiping the glasses with trembling hands. Were not a hotel, and your sister has her own house in Brighton, even if its just next door. The water spots on the crystal irritated me as much as the thought of his family arriving later.
Lucy, why are you getting worked up? Simon replied, rubbing his nose without looking away from his laptop. Ivy and her mum are just passing through; mum has a cardiology appointment, and Ivy is coming along for company. We cant have them stuck on the train all night.
Just passing through, right, I muttered. Last time they went through and ended up staying a week while Ivy searched the whole of London for proper winter boots because, you know, our selection is better. I fed, watered and entertained them while you were at work.
I promise this will be different. One evening: dinner, a nights sleep, breakfast, then theyll leave. Be a bit more lenient; theyre family.
The word family for Simon was almost sacred, a blanket forgiveness for any misdeed. Yet his younger sister Ivy and his mother Margaret had a habit of being… uncouth. Not criminals, just blunt, the sort of simple rudeness that, as we say, is worse than theft.
I am head of a logistics division at a large firm, earn a decent salary, and love order and quality. My wardrobesilks, cashmeres, designer bagsis my pride and, perhaps, my only weakness. I tend to the garments like a gardener with rare orchids. That very collection was the red flag for Ivy.
Exactly six oclock, the doorbell rang. Margaret stood on the step with a bag of greasy, deepfried pasties that always gave me heartburn, and Ivy followed, eyes scanning me from head to toe.
Oh, Lucy, hello! Ivy barged in without taking off her shoes and planted a kiss on my cheek. Whats with the fancy dress? New? Expensive, I bet?
Hey, Ivy. Just a simple house dress. Come in, I said, forcing a smile, though Ivys lingering gaze on the fabric made me uneasy.
Simple? That cotton with embroidery? That would cost a halfsalary around here. Lucky you, Simon spoils you, she snorted, shrugging off her jacket.
I work too, Ivy, I reminded her, hanging the jacket in the wardrobe.
Come off it, youre working. Simon doesnt earn pennies either. Mum, hand me the bag, Ill take it to the kitchen.
The evening unfolded in the usual pattern. Margaret immediately began rearranging the spice jars as she liked, while Simon, delighted to have his family back, poured tea and listened to his mothers endless anecdotes about neighbours, mortgages and the price of buckwheat.
I kept my composure, refilling plates and counting the hours until they left. Tension rose when the conversation drifted to Aunt Zinnias upcoming birthday.
I dont even know what to wear, Ivy complained, stuffing a bite of cake into her mouth. Ive put on weight over the winter; nothing fits. And its a restaurant, everyone will be dressed to the nines. I cant embarrass myself.
She stared at me. I took a sip of tea and stayed silent. I knew that lookshe was about to ask for a favour.
Ivy, you have plenty of clothes. Could you lend me something for the weekend? Were almost the same size almost. Remember that blue sequined dress I have?
No, were not the same size. Im a size 12, youre a size 20. And you know I never lend my things. Thats my principle, I said firmly.
Typical principle! Ivy rolled her eyes. Just a piece of cloth. It hangs in your wardrobe, gathers dust, I wear it once, then Ill send it to the dry cleaners.
Why do you need someone elses clothes? Simon tried to intervene, noticing my knuckles turning white. We could buy you something new, Ill transfer a bit of money.
What would we buy? Margaret interjected. Why spend cash when theres a cupboard full of goodies? Lucy, why are you being such a tightfisted? You have so many dresses you could spare. The girl would be thrilled. Were family, not strangers.
My wardrobe is my wardrobe, I cut in, my voice sharper than intended. I dont take what isnt mine, nor do I give away what is mine. Lets change the subject, please.
The rest of dinner passed in strained silence. Margaret pursed her lips, Ivy avoided my eyes, and Simon glanced anxiously between them, unwilling to provoke further.
The next morning I left for work early. The guests were still asleep. Simon took the day off to accompany his mother to her appointments, so the house was his domain.
Ill be back around seven, I told him as I slipped on my shoes. Please make sure they dont move anything in the bedroom. You know I cant stand that.
Lucy, youre being paranoid, Simon laughed, kissing my cheek. Who cares about the bedroom? Theyll have breakfast, well head to the clinic, then a walk, and straight to the station. By the time you get back, theyll be gone.
I walked out, but a knot of anxiety gnawed at me all day. I knew Ivys refusal the night before would not be taken as a final no, but as a challenge.
At threeish, a migraine hit hardrainbow circles over my eyes, pills doing nothing. My deputy, Charlotte, noticed.
Eleanor, you look pale, she said. Go home, well finish the report.
I didnt argue. I needed quiet and darkness, so I called a taxi.
When the cab pulled up, I glanced at the thirdfloor flats windows. Light burned in every room despite the bright morning outside. Strange, I thought. Simon said theyd be out by evening.
I slipped inside. A sweet, cloying scentcheap perfume mixed with hairsprayfilled the air. Music and loud laughter echoed from somewhere deeper.
I slipped off my shoes and moved silently down the hallway. Laughter came from the bedroom; the door was ajar.
Mom, is this really happening? Ivys voice sounded thrilled. Look at this dress! The colour, the cut! And that frog said wrong sizeliar! It fits perfectly!
Darling, youre a vision! Margaret cooed. The fabric is Italian, not that cheap Chinese rubbish.
I pushed the door open.
The scene before me resembled a lowbudget soap opera, but I could not find humour in it. Ivy was standing in front of the fulllength mirror, squeezed into the darkemerald silk gown I had bought in Milan two years ago for an extravagant New Years party. The dress was tearing at the seamsliterally. The back zipper had split down the middle, exposing her undergarments; the silk stretched over her hips as if it might burst.
On her feet were my favourite beige pumps, now halfslipped off, the heels dangling. The neatly made bed was littered with my cashmere sweater, two blouses, scarves, and a box of jewellery. Margaret perched in a chair, holding my handbag and inspecting its contents with a curious smile.
Whats going on here? I whispered, my voice low but echoing in the sudden stillness.
Ivy shrieked, and the zipper gave a ripping sound.
Oh she froze, eyes wide with fear as she looked at my reflection.
Margaret dropped her lipstick, which rolled across the parquet.
Lucy? Why are you up so early? Simon said youd be back by seven she began, trying to sound casual, but it came out uneven.
I entered the room, my anger cold and measured, pushing aside the lingering headache.
Take it off, I said, meeting Ivys gaze directly.
Lucy, I was just trying it on I wasnt planning to keep it, Ivy stammered, flailing at the jammed zipper. Simon said it was fine!
Youre lying, I snapped. Simon knows the bedroom is offlimits. Remove the dress. Now.
Its stuck! Ivy shouted, panic in her voice. The zipper wont move!
I stepped closer. The silk under her arms was damp with sweat and perfume; the seam on the side gaped like a wound.
Youve just ruined a dress worth £1,500, I said, my tone flat. Do you understand?
What £1500? Its just a seam! Margaret interjected. We can have it sewn. She just wants to feel pretty. Your husband barely makes a penny, and youve got a whole wardrobe.
Margaret, put the bag down and leave the room, I said, not turning. Otherwise Ill call the police and treat this as a breakin.
Youre threatening the mother of your husband with the police? she blurted, cheeks flushing. Were guests!
Youre not guests. Guests dont rummage through someones bedroom. Youre thieves who invaded our private space. Get out!
Margaret muttered curses and stalked out. I was left with Ivy, who huddled, her head tucked into her shoulders, eyes brimming.
Turn around, I commanded.
I examined the zipper. The pull tab was jammed in the lining. Ivy was indeed trapped, but the fabric alongside the zipper was shreddedtorn beyond repair. The dress was a wreck.
Ill have to cut it, I said calmly.
No! You cant! Im in it! Ivy tried to pull free, but the shoes that were a size too small gave her no balance; she swayed and almost fell.
Either I cut the dress to free you, or you leave it like this and go home. Choose, I warned.
Just then the front door burst open.
Girls, Im home! Mum, where are you? Ive got a cake! Simons voice was bright, oblivious to the storm inside.
He stepped in, a cake box in hand, his smile fading as he took in the scene.
What on earth Ivy? Why are you in Lucys dress? he asked, bewildered.
Simon! Shes trying to kill me! Shes got scissors! I was just trying it on and now shes shouting, calling the police! Ivy wailed, stumbling forward in her tiny shoes.
Simon looked at me, bewildered, while I stood with arms crossed, disdain written across my face.
Simon, your sister put on my designer dress without asking, ripped it, broke the zipper and even ruined my shoes. Your mother was digging through my bags. Im giving them ten minutes to get out, I declared.
Lucy, maybe Simon began, the peacemaker in him surfacing.
Look at the dress, Simon, I cut in. Come and see.
He approached, saw the gash, the wet stains, the torn zipper, the scattered belongings I always kept immaculate.
Ivy why did you do this? I asked, Lucy asked, he said, eyes pleading.
Its just a piece of cloth! Ivy snapped back. Were rich, we can buy another! You think my brother cares more about his wife than his own sister?
Take it off, Simon said flatly.
What? he repeated, confused.
Take the dress off. Now. I said, my voice hard.
It wont come off! Ivy shrieked. The zipper is stuck!
Simon grabbed a pair of scissors.
The rescue took five minutes, accompanied by Margarets groans from the hallway and Ivys pained noises. I slit the silk along the back, each cut feeling like a slice through my own patience. The dress fell to the floor, a limp heap of expensive fabric.
Ivy was left in her ripped underwear and sheer tights, grabbing her own clothes off a nearby chair and muttering under her breath:
Your trash, you posh snob. Let the moths have it.
Fifteen minutes later the flat was empty. Simon booked a taxi for Ivy to the station, slipped her a few notes (I saw the exchange but said nothing), and returned to the empty living room.
Silence filled the space. I sat on the sofa, staring at the ruined dress on the coffee tablea tangible proof of the offence.
Simon sat beside me, hesitant to reach for me.
Im sorry, he finally said.
For what? I asked, not turning.
For not listening to you. For bringing them here. For letting this happen.
You cant control who they are, but you can control where they are. I never want them in our house again, Simon. Not for an hour, not for a minute.
I understand.
You dont, I said, turning to face him. Its not a whim. Its a breach of every boundary. Your sister invaded my space. That dress it wasnt about the moneythough it cost as much as a carbut about entitlement. She thinks she can take anything because youre her brother, and your mother encourages it. If you ever suggest they visit again, Ill file for divorce. Im serious.
He looked at the dress, then at me, seeing that I wasnt playing games.
I promise. No more visits. If I need to see my mum, Ill go to her. They wont come here again.
And tomorrow well change the locks. Your mother still has a spare key you gave her just in case a year ago. I want to be sure that just in case never becomes a reality when were not home.
Simon nodded.
Alright. Ill call a locksmith first thing.
I picked up the dress.
What will you do with it? he asked.
Ill throw it away. Its defiled. I cant wear it even if it could be mended.
I tossed the silk into a bin, the plastic bag sealing away not just the dress but also the lingering hope of normal family relations. Relief washed over me, though the wound remained fresh.
A week later my phone erupted with messages from Ivyinsults, accusations, demands for compensation. I blocked each number without a word.
That night Simon came home, thoughtful.
Mum called, he said over dinner.
I braced for another apology or a request for money.
She found the same dress online, a cheap Chinese copy, and wants me to buy it as a peace offering for the scissors incident, he explained.
I laughed, genuinely for the first time in days.
And what did you say?
I told her I have no sister, only a woman who owes me £2,000 for the ruined dress. Until she pays, theres nothing to discuss.
I looked at him, surprised and proud.
You really said that?
Exactly. Id had enough. I thought we were all a bit petty, a little jealous maybe, but when I saw what they didsifting through our bedroom, Mom digging through my bagI was frightened. Frightened by who Id let into our home. You were right. Simple rudeness can be worse than theft.
I moved to hug him.
Thank you.
And Ive changed the locks, by the way. I told the concierge not to let anyone in, even if they claim to be the Pope.
Life has settled back into a familiar rhythm. I bought a new dressbetter than the one I lostbut I now lock the bedroom door every time I leave, just in case. My husbands relatives remain where they belong: on my blocked contact list and in a past that no longer haunts our present.
