On Holiday with Brazen Family: Time to Set the Record Straight
Ive put up with this for two weeks, George! Two weeks in this shed they have the cheek to call a hotel.
Why did we even agree to come, Libby?
Because Mum begged us. Poor Sadie needs a break, Sadies been through so much, mimicked my brother in Mums voice.
Auntie Sadie, Mums sister on her mothers side, did have a less-than-glamorous life, but for Libby, sympathy just wasnt in her skill set. Sadie had always been the poor relativethe one everyone else apparently owed something.
Libby was wrestling with her suitcase, knee pressed into the lid, shoving the zipper home. It, however, betrayed her by spitting out the corner of her beach towel with all the subtlety of a pantomime villain.
From across the thin plywood walldignified as a partition in this sorry guesthousecame the shrieking of Sadies six-year-old, Alfie.
I dont want porridge! No! I want chicken dippers! The kid wailed like he was being chased by the Hound of the Baskervilles.
This was followed by a loud SPLAT, a chorus of clattering crockery, and Sadies trademark, smoke-rough voice:
Go on, my little lamb, just a spoonful for Mummy.
Heather, could you nip to the shop and get him those dippers? My feet are killing me, I can barely move.
Libby froze, clutching the suitcase zip. Heather! Mum would dash off without a peep.
George, her brother, was slumped on the one wobbling chair in their pokey room, glumly scrolling his phone, showing zero interest in packing. His bag remained a lumpy heap in the corner.
Do you hear that? Libby whispered, nodding at the wall. Shes bossing Mum about. Again.
Heather, bring, Heather, fetch. And Mum will be up in a flash.
Dont start, George muttered, not looking up. Tomorrow were home.
But Ive endured two weeks here, George! Two weeks in this cow shed they insist is an inn! Whyd we say yes?
Because Mum twisted our arms. Sadie needs a break, Sadies had a rough run of it, he echoed, putting on a plaintive falsetto.
Libby slumped on the lumpy edge of the bed, making the springs whinge in protest.
Auntie Sadie, bless her, really hadnt had an easy road. But somehow, Libby just couldnt muster pitynone. Sadie, the perennial poor relation, was convinced the universe owed her a favour.
Sadies first child came and went far too soona family tragedy spoken of in whispers. The next husband, rather too fond of the bottle, didnt lastburned out from that particular hobby a couple of years back.
Now Sadie was raising two kids with two fathers, sharing a flat with Grandma, plus her latest Prince Charming (number eight, if youre counting). A true ensemble cast.
Working had never really fit into Sadies worldview. She believed she was put on this Earth to sprinkle magic and suffer, while others footed the bill. Chief amongst those others was Libbys mum, Heather, who, in Sadies mind, was rolling in money.
Libby peered out the window. The lovely view overlooked an army of wheelie bins and, beyond, a view of the neighbours chicken run.
This whole break was Heathers big idea. Lets holiday together, help Sadie cheer up family time!
Which translated to Mum paying for most of the holiday, shopping, and cooking for this rabble, while Sadie and her new pal Sharon (met poolside, united by a shared love of doing naff all) laid around sunning themselves.
Start packing, Libby told her brother. Tonight were eating outlast supper.
***
Obviously, the restaurant wasn’t their choice.
Sadie announced she wanted something posh.
The place was right on the seafront. They had to shove two tables together to fit the whole gaggleLibbys private name for the lot.
Sadie, in a sequined dress audibly gasping at the seams, presided at the top of the table, flanked by Sharona loud, peroxide-blonde lady built like an armchair.
Waiter! Sadie bellowed, not so much as glancing at the menu. Your best! Grilled meat on skewers, salads, and a jug of that red, the nice stuff!
Heather, perched on the edge, tried to look cheery and mostly looked exhausted. Not a minutes rest these two weeks: Alfies outbursts, Sadies fainting fits, Millies boredom
Mum, order some fish for yourselfyou keep saying you want it, Libby whispered gently.
Heather waved her off: Its too dear, love. Ill make do with salad. Sadie needs a treat, shes had such a year.
Libby wanted to scream. Oh, shes had it tough? Right
Next to them, Alfiesmall tyrant, aged sixbanged his spoon on the plate.
Feed me! he demanded, mouth wide, eyes glued to his tablet.
Sadie dutifully shovelled mash into his gob. Mummys little darling! Eat up, get strong.
Hes six, Libby said, exasperated. Doesnt he know how to feed himself?
A hush fell. Sadie turned, slow as a ship.
Did I ask your opinion, Libby dear? she sneered. You have one yourself, then you can lecture.
My Alfies a sensitive soulhe needs special care!
What he needs is to learn there are limits and stop bringing gadgetry to meals, Libby replied. He screams blue murder when hes denied anything. Youre raising a spoilt brat.
Oh, listen to her! Sharon joined in, arms flailing. Sadie, did you hear that? Ms Freud, is it now?
The chicken telling the hen how to lay. You, missy, know nothing of life. Try raising one yourself before you judge your elders.
Libby, please, Heather tugged at her sleeve. Dont spoil the evening. Please.
The evening dragged on and on. Sadie and Sharon cackled over men, gossiped cruelly about other guests, complained about the sorrows of womanhood.
Millie sulked behind her phone, scowling at the ancients. Alfie alternated between wailing for pudding and stuffing in the most massive ice cream on the menu.
When the bill arrived, Sadie gasped theatrically:
Oh, silly memy purse is in the room! Heather, could you get this one? Ill pay you the moment were home.
Libby watched her mum reach for her card, resigned. Shed seen this performance before.
***
Back at the inn after midnight, Libby beelined for the shower to cleanse herself of the sticky feeling that was this evening. Only the water was either freezing or trying to boil her alive.
Stepping out, she was headed to bed but stopped sharp at the kitchen, half-hearing a distinct hissed gossip.
Did you see the look on her? Sharon chattered. Snooting up her face.
He should feed himself, she says. Mind your nosiness, little madam! Thinks shes something special.
If it werent for you, Heather, shed be mucking out cows instead of turning her nose up in restaurants.
Snooty, empty-headed girl. No boyfriend, no brains, just stuck-up pride.
Libby froze, heart pounding. She waited. Will Mum finally stand up? Surely shell put her foot down, tell Sharon to shut it? Speak up for her own daughter?
But only Sadies weary whine came after a sigh:
Oh Sharon, dont get me started. Shes a difficult lass. Takes after her fathers lot, all full of themselves
Not like mineMillies a tough nut but shes soft at heart, bless. But that Libby looks at us like dirt. I cant eat when shes in the room.
Thats what you get, Heather, for spoiling her, Sharon piled on. You shouldve given her a good smack years ago. Now she sits around acting queenly, no respect for you.
Libby pressed her forehead to the doorframe, silent. Mum said nothing. Just sipped her drink while these women trashed her only daughter.
Something in Libby gave way. She pushed the kitchen door open with a bang, rattling the plates.
The trio stared, frozen in shock, amongst empty wrappers and left-overs. Sadies dress now splitting under her arm, Sharon pink-faced and sweating, and Mumshrinking in her seat.
So Im an empty-headed girl, am I? Libbys voice was solid stone.
And you, Auntie Sadie, are what, heart of gold?
Sadie hiccuped in shock. Sharon lumbered to her feet. Listening in, nosy little brat? You warming your ears?
I dont need to listen in, Libby stepped forward. Youre bellowinghalf the county can hear.
That piece you cant swallow when Im around? Funny, the payment for your meal didnt stick in your throat when Mum covered it.
You ungrateful child! Sadie shrieked, flushing purple. Weve treated you with open arms, and youre unkind!
I could be your mother, and you throw my bread back at me? Stuff your money!
Its not the money I mindits your cheek! Libby spat back, finally done. Youve spent your life riding on Mums coat-tails.
Husbands, kids, imaginary ailments Mum toils away to buy you a holiday, and you use her as your doormat.
Your Millies a mouthy brat who swears like a dock worker and wipes her feet on you, and youve the nerve to preach to me? Your son has a meltdown if denied chocolate but youve never told him no.
Sadie gaped, stunned.
Libby! Heather yelped, jumping up. Thats enough! Get to your room!
No, Mum, Libby said, hollow-eyed. Why should I? You sit here listening while these strangers slander me and you say nothing? Thats okay with you?
Sharon pushed her chair back, lumbering forward, sausage-fingers balled.
Right, brat, Ill teach ye to respect your elders
Her heavy hand swung upLibby jerked, but George caught Sharons arm mid-air.
Touch her, and youll regret it, he said cold. Auntie Sadie, pack your things. Were leaving.
Whos we? Sadie squawked, panic rising. Im not going anywhere! Weve two days left, paid for!
Heather, your kids have gone doolally! They’re violent!
And right then, finally, Heather spoke. She bustled to Libby, grabbed her shoulders, and shook.
Why start this?! Mum sobbed, tears spraying. Why couldnt you just keep out of it?!
Youve ruined everything. Were family! How can you bring shame on us in front of others?!
Libby gently removed Mums hands. Something snapped, quietly and for good.
Im not ashamed, Mum, she whispered. You should be. For letting them treat us like dirt.
She turned and left. George followed.
They packed in silence. Next door, Sadie began wailing about her tragic lot, Sharon adding vile children in between mouthfuls.
Millie, woken by the commotion, moaned loudly about how Noahs Ark-level drama was stopping her sleep.
We cant leave tonight, George said, hoisting his bag. First bus is at dawn. Well have to wait at the coach station.
I dont care, Libby started stuffing makeup into a bag. Better the coach station floor than spend another second in this dump.
What about Mum?
Libby paused, t-shirt in hand.
Mums made her choice. She stayed with them in the kitchen. Let her comfort her sister.
***
Libby doesnt speak to her mum anymore. George neitherthey never forgave her.
Heathers called a few times, saying shell forgive the kids if they apologise to Sadie, but Libby and George have decided that sort of forgiveness isnt worth tuppence.
Theyve had enough.
If Mum wants her lifes joy to be peering up at Sadieits her business. Libby and George do just fine, thank you, without any more brazen family to coddle.
