I often recall that autumn evening, the rain drumming against the windows of our flat in Manchester, when I, Eleanor Ellie Hart, finally drew the line and became the familys numberone enemy.
It began with a frantic call from my sisterinlaw, Sarah Whitcombe. Her voice cracked like a whip as she shouted into the handset, You cant be serious, Ellie! Ive got nowhere to put the twins, and youve got a day off!
I pulled the phone from my ear, grimaced, and pressed it back to my ear after a heavy sigh. Friday night, the one I had been looking forward to all week after a relentless stretch at the accounts department, was already unraveling. Outside, Octobers showers hammered the sill, while on the stove a pot of beet soup simmered more out of habit than hunger.
Sarah, I hear you perfectly, I replied, steady despite the ladle clinking against the pot. And Ive already said no. I have a doctors appointment tomorrow and then I plan to sleep the rest of the day. This is my only day off in two weeks; I deserve some peace.
Youve got a doctors appointment! Sarah sneered. I know your doctors. Another massage? A manicure? Im not going for a stroll, Ive got errands at the council officequeues that stretch for miles. Where will I take the twins? Theyll turn the place into a circus!
Exactly, Sarah. Theyll turn anything into a circus. Imagine what theyd do to a council office, then think of my flatrenovated just a month ago, I said, turning off the burner and slipping onto a stool. Last time Pavel, the boy, doodled on the fresh wallpaper with a marker. You laughed it off, saying kids, itll wash away. It didnt. We had to redo an entire strip.
Oh, come on, give me a break for the wallpaper! Sarah whined. Im sorry! And Sergey promised youd helphes my brother, after all!
I rolled my eyes. Of course it was Sergey, the everagreeable brother who could never say no to his little sister. Sarah knew how to pull at his sense of duty like a piano player coaxing a reluctant melody.
Then talk to Sergey, I snapped. But remember, he wont be home tomorrow until evening; hes off to the garage for a gearbox issue. If you bring the twins, theyll be left at the door.
Youre selfish! Sarah snapped and slammed the phone down.
I set the handset on the kitchen table and massaged my temples. The silence that fell felt fragile, as if the whole house might shatter at any moment. I knew this argument was only the first gust of the storm to come.
Half an hour later the lock clicked. Sergey trudged in, shaking the rain from his coat, cheeks flushed from the cold.
Smells like beet soup! he said, planting a quick kiss on my cheek. Ellie, why the sour face? Bad day at work?
I ladled him a bowl, added a dollop of sour cream and sliced some bread. Only when he settled with appetite did I speak.
Your sister called.
His spoon paused midair. He gave a guilty grin, already guessing why.
Ah, Sarah She said shes got to be away tomorrow. Thought you could look after the twins for a couple of hours. Theyre a bit older now, not as wild. Put on a cartoon, hand them a tablet, and youll have quiet.
Simon, I said, crossing my arms, a couple of hours with Sarah always stretches to a whole day. Last time she vanished to the shop for a minute and returned six hours later with cocktail perfume and a fresh haircut. Meanwhile I was scrubbing a cat out of modelling clay and rescuing your vinyl records from being used as frisbees by the twins.
She laughed, a little too harshly. She overdid it, Ill give you that. But she really needs the help. Shes alone with them, its tough. Mum called, she cant take themher blood pressures gone through the roof.
My blood pressure? I snapped. My nerves are on the brink. Im the chief accountant, the books are closing. I come home and I collapse. Tomorrow is my day. I want a bath, a book, no one bothering me. I didnt sign up to be a freerange nanny. Sarah has a husband, albeit estranged, alimony, even the means to hire a sitter for an hour. Why should we be the everready lifeline?
Simon set his spoon down, appetite vanished.
Its family, Ellie. You dont see it that way? Help today, well get help tomorrow.
Help? I laughed bitterly. When was the last time they helped us? When we moved, we asked Sarah to watch the cat for a day; she claimed an allergy that didnt existshe just didnt want fur on her sofa. When I had the flu and asked your mother to pick up medicine because you were away on business, she said she was afraid of catching it. Its a oneway street, Simon.
He fell silent, the plate clinking as he stared at his food. He knew I was right, but the habit of being the good son and brother was nailed into his bones.
Fine, he muttered. Ill talk to her. Tell her we cant.
I didnt believe him, but I nodded. The rest of the evening passed in a tense hush. Simon typed on his phone, frowned, sighed heavily, and never broached the subject again.
Saturday morning did not begin with birdsong or sunshine, but with the insistent buzz of the intercom. I had just rolled out of bed, stretching lazily, when the clock read nine oclock.
Who could that be? I whispered, already knowing the answer.
Simon, already in his tracksuits, rushed to the door.
I think theyve dialed the wrong flat, he muttered, avoiding my gaze.
The intercom rang again, shrill and demanding, then his mobile pinged.
Yes, Sarah? he answered, guilt flickering across his face. We agreed we spoke you cant do that!
Sarahs voice erupted from the handset, loud enough for the whole flat to hear.
Im at the gate! I have a booking, I cant cancel! Bring your nephews, dont be a wimp! Ill call Mum if you dont answer!
Simon looked helpless.
Shes already here. What do I do? I cant leave them out in the cold.
Something inside me snapped. The thin thread of patience that had held our marriage together frayed beyond repair. I slipped into the bathroom, slammed the door, and turned the tap to full blast, drowning out the sound of Simons clumsy footsteps toward the intercom.
Five minutes later the flat erupted into chaos. Four small feet pounded the hallway, shrill childrens voices filled the air, something crashed in the entrance and a roar followed.
Uncle Simon, do you have any sweets? one shouted.
Wheres the cat? We want a cat! another demanded.
Ugh, whats that smell? I wont have porridge! a third complained.
I stood before the mirror, applying cream, my hands trembling. From the hallway I heard Sarah barking orders.
Pick them up at five. Ive left food, but make sure Ellie doesnt bake pancakes. And no sweets for Poppyhes got a diet. Im off, love, cheerio!
The front door slammed shut. Sarah vanished, leaving the mess behind.
I emerged from the bathroom already dressedjeans, a sweater, light makeup, bag slung over my shoulder. The hallway was a battlefield: shoes strewn, the twins, fiveyearold Tom and Sam, trying to cram my boots onto their feet. Simon darted around, bewildered.
Ellie, where are you going? he asked, spotting me.
Just as I said, I replied, stepping over discarded shoes. I have plans. Doctor, then a walk, perhaps a film.
What about me? What about them? I have a garage appointment at eleven, cant move itqueues are two weeks long! his eyes widened.
Thats your problem, dear, and your sisters. You both sort it out. I said no yesterday, and I meant it.
You cant do that! his voice rose, panic creeping in. I cant handle them alone, and the car needs work! Stay until lunch at least!
Uncle Simon, Im thirsty! one twin shouted, tugging his trouser leg.
Sams pinched me! the other wailed.
I looked at the pandemonium, at my husband on the brink of collapse, and felt a strange lightness. The pity that always kept me tethered to other peoples messes evaporated.
The garage keys are on the hall table if you decide to go, I said. Theres no food in the fridge, I didnt cook. Order a pizza, Ill be back late.
I slipped out, shutting the door behind me, cutting off the shouting.
Outside the rain had stopped, a pale autumn sun peeking through. I inhaled the damp air, feeling like a felon fleeing a prison. My phone buzzed in my bagmy motherinlaw, Mrs. Nina Whitcombe, calling.
I hesitated, then silenced it. No calls today.
The day unfolded oddly. I visited a manual therapist who cracked my aching back, then lingered in a cosy café, sipping a cappuccino with a mountain of foam while reading a novel, untouched by the twins cries for where are my socks? or the question whats for dinner?. Later I watched a lighthearted comedy in the cinema, laughing wholeheartedly.
I returned home near dark, about nine oclock. My heart thumped with worrywhat havoc had they wrought? The flat was eerily quiet. Shoes still littered the hallway, a halfopened pizza box and empty soda bottles sat on the kitchen table. On the sofa, amidst scattered cushions and toys, Simon lay on mute TV.
I walked into the bedroom; the twins were goneSarah must have taken them. I changed into a robe, brewed tea, and settled at the kitchen table. My phone displayed a flood of missed calls: twenty from my motherinlaw, five from Sarah, ten from Simon, and a slew of angry messages.
You selfish thing! my motherinlaw typed. You left your husband in that mess! Simons blood pressure spiked! How could you betray family?
Thanks for the help, sister, Sarah wrote sarcastically. I got back an hour early because of you, all my plans ruined. Didnt expect such a betrayal.
I deleted them without replying.
Simon trudged in, looking as if hed been hauling coal. His hair was a mess, dark circles under his eyes.
Done with it, he muttered, bitterness tinged with hurt. Do you know what went on?
I do, I said, sipping tea. Thats why I left. Did you make it to the garage?
What garage? he waved a hand, pouring water for himself. I had to cancel. They drove me mad. Fights, shouting, spilled cola on the sofa I tried to clean it, only made it worse.
I looked over his mug.
Exactly. Imagine if it had been me. Id feel used too.
My mother called, Simon said, sitting opposite, staring at the table. Shes angry, says I dont respect them. Sarah says she wont step foot in this house again until I apologise.
Me, apologise? I raised an eyebrow. For what? For not letting her sit on my neck? Simon, lets be clear. Sarah never went to the council office. The office closes by noon on Saturdays, yet she dropped the twins off at nine and planned to collect them at five.
How do you know? he snapped.
Because I didnt sit idle. I checked social media. She posted a story at oneoclock from the shopping centre, sipping something bright with two friends. Girls having a day out, the caption read. I can show you.
Simons face flushed.
Ononon shopping? She claimed it was urgent paperwork
I handed him my phone, showing the screenshot of a beaming Sarah with a glittering drink, timestamp three hours earlier.
He stared, his lips turning a shade of red.
So thats, he breathed. And Ive been singing about a hardup motherinlaw and nasty officials.
Yes, I said, taking the phone back. I wont apologise. And the next time your mother or sister call with complaints, youll explain it yourself. Or shall I forward this picture to Nina?
No, mother will just get upset. Pressure and all that Ill talk to Sarah. Seriously talk.
He stood, clumsily wrapped his arms around me.
Sorry, Ellie. I was a fool. I thought I had to help, and it just
Lets get the drycleaning for the sofa, at Sarahs expense, of course, I sighed.
The following Sunday passed in a grim silence from the relatives. No calls came, and I didnt return any. Simon spoke to his mother only sparingly, cutting off any discussion about me.
Sarah tried a few more times to ring my brother on Friday evenings, whining. This time Simon answered on speaker, looking at me and saying, Sarah, weve got plans. Hire a nanny. The line crackled as if it might break.
I knew that, behind my back, the whole clan would keep trying to grind my bones. I was now the chief villain in my husbands family sagaan egoist, a witch, a divider of mother and son.
Yet, on a Saturday morning, waking in the quiet of my own flat, brewing coffee, knowing no one would tumble onto my sofa and scribble on the walls, I realised that being the numberone enemy wasnt so terrible. It was the price of freedom and selfrespect, and I was prepared to pay it.
One day, while walking down the lane, I met Mrs. Margaret Lawson, a neighbour whod heard all the gossip.
Ellie, you must be softer. Blood is blood. Women are meant to endure and smooth over the edges, she said.
I smiled my brightest smile, adjusted the new scarf Id bought with the money saved from never buying gifts for the evercomplaining relatives, and replied,
My part, Margaret, is simply to be happy. Let others smooth the edges they create.
I walked on, heels clicking on the cobblestones, feeling the autumn wind lift my coat like a heros cape, having finally vanquished the greatest villain of allanothers audacity.
