23rd April
Ive been married to Olivia for ten years now. We live in a modest two-bedroom flat in Oxford, still chipping away at the mortgage, and though the thought of children crosses our minds, it never seems quite the right time. We want to stand on our own two feet firstsave a bit more, get the flat in our name, that sort of thing.
Then theres my brother, Henry, whos also married. He shares a cramped one-bed with his wife, Michelle. Henrys always graftingtwo full-time jobs, picking up extra shifts, you name it. Michelle, well, she doesnt work. Shes got her hands full, to be fair; three kids already, expecting a fourth, and already talking about a fifth. Its like shes trying to field her own football team.
Theyre forever skint, what with loans for fridges, washers, telliesyou name it, theres a finance agreement for it. Olivia and I end up handing them cash or doing a food shop for them more often than Id care to admit. Sometimes Michelle doesnt even bother asking politelyshe just demands it, as though its a given.
When it gets too much, we have to put our foot down. Of course, this doesnt go down well. They kick up a fuss, give us the cold shoulder for a bit, but a few weeks later theyre back, asking for something new.
A week ago, Michelle came out with this: Since you and Olivia have no kids, and well soon have four, you should give us your flat.
I nearly spat out my tea. Where exactly are we meant to go, Michelle? Back to your shoebox one-bed? I asked, genuinely bewildered by her cheek.
Oh, no, well let out the one-bed, she said, nodding as though the plan made perfect sense. You two can rent somewhere. So, when are you moving out?
At that, I told her she must be off her rocker. Why dont you go have a word with a doctor, I snapped. Now, kindly leave my flat.
She stormed out, muttering, Fine, if anything happens to the baby, itll be your fault, and slammed the door behind her.
Turns out she left for good, that very afternoon. Quiet as a mouse, she packed a bag and disappeared. She was only three months along.
At two in the morning, Henry turned up at our door, wild-eyed and accusing. My anger flared, but Olivia kept her cool, asking what on earth had happened. When I laid it all out for him, Henry was in bits. I dont know what came over me, but I ended up marching him to the sink and splashing his face with cold water to snap him out of it before ushering him out the door. After that night, its as though I lost my brother for good.
Looking back, some lines cant be crossed, not even for family. No flat or favour is worth your peace of mind or dignity.
