I Kicked My Brother-in-Law Out from Our Anniversary Dinner After His Crude Jokes Ruined the Celebration

Author Mitsuko NagasakiReading 12 minViews 3

James, did you get out the best china? The set with the gold rim, not the everyday plates. And check the napkins, will you? I starched them especiallywant them standing up straight, like in a proper restaurant, said Helen, bustling about the kitchen, brushing a loose strand of hair back into her elegant bun. The oven was wafting the rich aroma of roast duck with apples, vegetables simmered gently on the stove, and the fridge was bursting with salads she’d been chopping until midnight.

James, Helen’s husband, obediently climbed up to the top of the cupboard.

Helen, whats the need for all this ceremony? Its only family. Mum, Uncle Bob, and Aunt Valerie. We could give them their tea in tin bowls and they’d be happy as long as you keep their drinks topped up, he groaned, pulling down the box of Royal Doulton porcelain.

Dont whinge. Todays our anniversaryfifteen years, the crystal one. I want everything perfect. And you know your brother, Graham: if I put out an ordinary plate, hell laugh that weve gone broke. If its chipped, hell call me a slattern. For once, Id like him to have no material for those crude jokes of his.

James heaved a sigh as he came down the steps. He knew she was right. His older brother Graham could be, to put it politely, difficult. Or, as Helen would say to her friends, he was the textbook definition of an oafa man who viewed rudeness as the hallmark of an honest, salt-of-the-earth bloke.

Just try not to rise to him tonight, love, James muttered, drying the plates. Hes not himself lately. Lost his job, wifes left him. Hes as sour as a lemon.

James, hes been not himself for forty years. His wife left him because she finally grew a backbone, said Helen, tasting the sauce. Ill bear it as long as I can. But if he comments on my figure or your salary again, I will not be responsible for what happens.

The doorbell rang at five sharp. First to arrive was Jamess mum, Dorothygentle, devoted to her sons, especially her eldest, whom she doted on despite his waywardness. Then came Aunt Valerie with her husband, and finallylate, as alwaysGraham. He burst in forty minutes after the rest, while they eyed the cooling starters in silence.

He crashed through the hallway, reeking of cheap cigarettes and cold winter air.

Look what the cat dragged in! And you thought I wouldnt show. James, you mustve thought I was going to turn up empty-handed, eh? Here, Graham announced, handing over a lumpy package wrapped in a copy of The Sun.

Whats this? James blinked.

Its a present! Screwdriver set from Poundworld. Youll need it, knowing as you do your way round a hammernever can find your bloody tools.

Helen plastered on a smile as she came to greet him.

Evening, Graham, come on through, go and wash your hands. Weve been waiting.

Graham gave her a look up and down, making Helen shiver as though doused in ice water.

Blimey, all dolled up for the occasion? New dress? Shiny as a Quality Street wrapper. Or is it to distract from the crows feet? Only joking! Fair play, you scrub up all right. Still got some curves.

James cleared his throat, desperate to defuse the awkwardness.

Come on, Graham, sitducks getting cold.

At the table, Graham immediately took over. He poured himself a full measure of vodka, not waiting for a toast, and speared a piece of pickled herring.

To the happy couple! Fifteen yearsthat takes some doing. How you havent throttled each other, I couldnt say. My wife lasted five years, and I was ready for the noose. Birds, theyre like leechesnever stop bleeding you dry. Youve landed lucky, James, at least Helen can cook. Bit heavy with the salt, mind. Love struck, Helen? Or is it shaky hands, getting on?

Dorothy smiled nervously.

Graham, now really. Helens a marvelous cook. Try this tongue salad, its beautifully tender.

Tongue? Ell if she needs any more of thatnever short on chat. Only joking, Mum. Criticisms good for you. You know mecall a spade a spade. Thats why people respect me.

As Helen served the hot dishes, she felt resentment simmering inside her. James was hunched over his plate, studying the tablecloth pattern as though it might save him. He was afraidof a row, of spoiling the evening, of Graham.

Its just one night, she thought. For James. For his mum.

Hows work, Graham? she tried, steering things to safer ground. Wasnt your interview last week?

Graham waved her off, topping up his glass.

Dont ask. Idiots everywhere. They had me in, and this snot-nosed twenty-something starts grilling me about computers. I told him, Mate, I was grafting when you were still in nappies. Turns me down. Their loss. Maybe Ill start my own business. Just need a bit of capital. Speaking of, Jameslend us a fiver till next month? Pipes at my place are knackeredneed a new plumber.

Helen stiffened, holding the salad bowl.

You still owe us the last £200 you borrowed for the car repairs, Graham, she said, quietly.

Graham went red but lashed back.

Here comes the accountant! Watch out, James, shes got you under the thumb, eh? Im asking my brother, not you. Or are you that henpecked you cant help your own kin?

James looked between wife and brother, guilt etched on his face.

Honestly, Graham, were counting pennies at the moment. Just cleared the mortgage and splashed out for the spread…

Oh, I see your just about managingliving it up with red caviar and salmon! Look at you, posh as lords but grudging bread to your own brother. Thats your missus through and through, James. All for herself, stuff everyone else.

Graham, calm down, Dorothy said nervously, offering a sausage roll. Come on, eat up, Helen went to such trouble.

Oh, she went to trouble, did she? I bet she goes to plenty for her boss as well, eh? He winked at James, a gesture so repugnant Helen nearly choked. Heard you got a promotion, Helen? Deputy Head, is it? What strings you pullin, staying late at the office?

A hush fell. Even Aunt Valerie, forever talkative, stopped chewing. James went scarlet.

Graham, watch it, he said quietly.

Just calling it like it is! You work your fingers to the bone at the factory for peanuts, James, while she climbs the ladder. Think shes with you because she loves you? Shes only here because its convenient. Shes got you trained like a little lapdog. Look at yourselfspineless.

Helens voice, steady as steel, sliced through the tension.

Get up and leave.

Graham gawked at her. Whats your problem, Helen? Have you lost the plot?

I said get out of my house. Now.

This is my brothers house too! Graham shouted, urgent and shrill. Jamesshes throwing me out! Your own brother! Say something!

James lifted his eyes, misery behind them. He saw the resolution in Helens expression and realised: if he didnt stand up for her now, the marriage was finished.

Go, Graham, James croaked. Just go.

Grahams mouth flapped, stupid with disbelief. He was ready for tears, for pleas, for a screamnot this united wall.

What, youre both in on it? Mum, do you see? Blood, thrown out! Just for a joke!

It wasn’t a joke, Graham, Helen came round the table, voice like winter. You insulted me, humiliated your brother in his own home, at his table. Ive fed you, poured your wine, put up with your filth. Im done. Fifteen years its been, for the sake of family peace. But there isnt any peaceonly your nastiness and our patience. Thats finished. Out.

Fine! Dont need you! Graham leapt up, knocking his glassred wine blooming into a crimson wound on the white cloth. Sit there choking on your posh salads! Stuffed shirts! Over my dead body am I coming back!

I sincerely hope not, said Helen, composed. And by the way, you wont get any more money. Not now, not ever. Find a job, Mr Entrepreneur.

Graham turned puce, grabbed the open vodka bottle (Waste not, want not! flickered in his eyes), tucked it under his arm and stomped to the hallway.

Jamesyoull regret this! he bawled from the doorway. You picked your wife over your own blood! Muppet! Enough!

The door slammed, the glass cabinet rattling with the impact.

A thick hush descended. The clock ticked. Dorothy sat dabbing her eyes with her handkerchief.

Helen, dear… her voice trembled, Was it really necessary, all that? He didnt mean any real harm. Hes just blunt. Bit too much drink

Helen turned calmly, though her hands suddenly shook again.

Dorothy, being blunt is when you laugh just a bit too loudly. But when you call a woman names and treat your own brother like dirt, thats just low. I wont let my home be his dumping ground for nastiness anymore. You can feel sorry for him if you like. But not here. Not at my table.

Dorothy sniffled, mute. Aunt Valerie, ever practical, clinked her fork on her plate.

That ducks cracking, Helen! she declared. Melts in the mouth. And good on you. Shouldve sorted that oaf ages agohe trod on my foot at your wedding and never said sorry. James, pour me another glass. Im in need.

The spell snapped. James, startled back to life, reached for the wine. His hands trembled, but he looked at Helen with sudden gratitudeand a respect shed nearly forgotten.

Im sorry, he whispered while pouring her juice. I should have done it myself. Im a fool.

Its fine, Helen squeezed his hand. What matters is, were together. And hes not here.

The rest of the night was unexpectedly delightful. Without Graham, the air itself was fresher. Jokesand kind onesflew, with happy reminiscences. Dorothy slowly thawed after a couple of homemade sherry trifles and even sang along when Aunt Valerie started a tune.

When everyone finally left, Helen and James slumped amid a mountain of dishes. Helen glanced at the wine stain.

The tablecloths probably ruined, she murmured, fingers trailing over the red mark. Shame. Mums present.

James came up behind her, arms around her shoulders.

Never mind the tablecloth. Well buy anotherten more, if you like. You were incredible tonight. Ive wasted years letting him make your life miserable. I just got used to ithes the older brother, the loud one, the one who always got away with it. Mum always said, Let Graham have his wayhes complicated. And I did.

I know, James. Old habits are hard to break. But were a family. Crystal, like the anniversary: fragile, but beautiful. Im not letting some lout with a screwdriver set smash it.

They laughed, shaky at first, but freer each second.

Speaking of screwdriverslook, James retrieved the infamous Poundworld parcel. You know the best bit? He got me the same set three Christmases ago. Mustve pinched it back at some point and re-gifted it.

Thats some consistency, Helen grinned.

The next morning, Jamess phone rang, Grahams name flashing on the screen. He stared at it, then over at Helen, peacefully reading over her coffee. James set the ringer to silent and flipped it face down.

Not answering? asked Helen.

No. Let him sleep it off. Maybe I never will answer. I rather liked how peaceful it was last night.

Mum will fret, Helen remarked.

Shell cope. Might do her good to see Ive got a backbone. Weve got a team now, havent we?

A team, said Helen, smiling. The peace-and-duck-with-apples appreciation society.

A week later, Helen heard from Dorothy that Graham was telling the family hed been chucked out for nothing by a demented sister-in-law while poor James cowered under the table. The relatives nodded, tutted, but somehow, soon enough, they all started inviting themselves to Helen and Jamess more often and arrived exceedingly well-behaved. Evidently, word had got round that rudeness wouldnt fly in this house.

And as for the tableclothit washed out in the end. Helen got the stain out with her grans old trick: salt and boiling water. Just like shed got Graham out of their liveswith a bit of effort, a little sting, but now everything was clean and bright again.

The Carer for the Wife — “What do you mean?” Lida thought she’d misheard him. “Where am I supposed to move? Why? For what reason?” — “Oh, do we really have to have this scene?” he grimaced. “What’s not clear? There’s no one left here for you to look after. Where you go isn’t my concern.” — “Ed, what? We were planning to get married, weren’t we?” — “That was all in your head. I never had any intentions like that.” At thirty-two, Lida decided to make a fresh start and leave her small hometown. What was there for her? Just her mother’s constant criticism – why, she’d never stop bringing up Lida’s divorce and blaming her for “losing” her husband. That ex, Vas, wasn’t worth a kind word anyway – a drunk and a womaniser! How had she managed to marry him eight years earlier? Truth be told, Lida felt relieved after the divorce—like she could finally breathe again. Still, the fights with her mother were endless—about the divorce, about never having enough money. At least she’d be better off moving to the city! Her old school friend, Sue, had married a widower years ago—so what if he was sixteen years older and no heartthrob? He had a flat and money. And Lida, she thought, was just as good as Sue! — “Thank goodness! You’ve come to your senses!” Sue cheered Lida’s plan. “Get packing—you can crash at ours for now. We’ll sort out a job.” — “Are you sure Mr. Peterson won’t mind?” Lida hesitated. — “Of course not! He does anything I ask. Don’t worry—we’ll manage!” But Lida didn’t outstay her welcome. After a couple of weeks—once she’d made her first pay—she rented a room. Then, remarkably, fortune smiled on her. — “Why on earth is a woman like you still working the market?” one of her regulars, Mr. Edward Barrington, asked sympathetically. By now, Lida knew all her regulars by name. — “It’s cold, it’s rough—but bills need paying,” she shrugged, then added playfully, “Or do you have a better offer?” Edward Barrington was not Prince Charming: at least twenty years her senior, getting pudgy and balding, with that sharp stare. He was fussy choosing his vegetables and always paid exactly to the penny. But he was tidily dressed and drove a nice car—not some bum or drunk. He did wear a wedding ring, though, so husband material he was not. — “You seem like a careful, reliable, tidy sort,” Edward slipped into ‘you’ easily enough, “Ever looked after an invalid before?” — “As a matter of fact, yes. I helped care for my neighbour when she had a stroke. Her kids lived too far, so they asked me.” — “Perfect!” he brightened, face shifting to sorrowful. “My wife, Tamara, has just had a stroke too. She’ll probably never recover… I brought her home, but there’s never time to care for her. Could you help? I’d pay you the going rate.” Lida didn’t have to think twice. Far better to be warm in someone’s flat—even if it meant emptying the commode—than freezing ten hours a day at the market. Even better, Edward offered her a room in their flat—no rent required! — “Three separate rooms—they’re huge! You could play football,” she enthused to Sue. “No kids in sight.” Tamara’s mother was a bit of a piece herself—sixty-eight and still acting young, a new husband distracting her. No one else to look after the patient. — “Is his wife truly that ill?” — “Oh yes… It’s bad. Poor woman’s like a log, can barely mumble. She’s unlikely to recover.” — “You’re not happy about that, are you?” Sue looked Lida hard in the eye. — “Course not!” Lida looked away. “But… Edward would be free after, wouldn’t he…” — “Lida, have you lost your mind? Hoping someone dies for a flat?!” — “I wish nobody anything—but I won’t miss my chance. Easy for you—your life is all roses!” They fell out, hard. Lida only told Sue about her affair with Edward six months later. Not that they could live without each other—but Edward would never leave his wife! That wasn’t the kind of man he was. So, for now, they’d just have their affair. — “So, you two are carrying on, and his dying wife is in the next room?” Sue didn’t approve. “Don’t you see how grim that is? Or do you just see his riches—if he has any at all?” — “I never get a kind word from you!” Lida snapped. They stopped talking, but Lida hardly felt guilty (well… maybe just a little). She cared for Tamara as devotedly as possible. Once the affair began, she also took over everything in the house—because a man needs looking after beyond the bedroom: feeds, clean shirts, ironed things, floors scrubbed, the works. As far as Lida could see, her “lover” was content. And honestly, so was she. She barely noticed that Edward had stopped paying her wages for caring for his wife. But what did money matter when they were “almost married” already? He gave her cash for groceries and she managed the budget, barely realising she was squeezing every penny. His salary, as a foreman, was nothing to sneeze at. But never mind—once they married, it’d be all sorted. Their passion faded, and Edward became less eager to come home, but Lida thought he was just tired from dealing with his sick wife. She couldn’t say how, though he barely visited Tamara daily. Still, she felt sorry for him. Of course, when Tamara finally passed away, Lida cried. She’d spent a year and a half caring for her—not time you could just write off. She handled the funeral arrangements too—Edward was “overwhelmed with grief.” He barely gave her enough for funeral costs, but she made it work, and nobody could fault her. Even the neighbours who frowned on her affair nodded approvingly at the funeral, as did his mother-in-law. The last thing Lida expected was what happened next. — “As you can see, I no longer need your assistance,” Edward said dryly, ten days after the funeral. “So, you’ve a week to move out.” — “What do you mean?” Lida thought she’d misheard him. “Where am I supposed to go? Why?!” — “Oh, spare me the drama,” he grimaced. “What’s not clear? There’s no one for you to care for now. Where you go is not my concern.” — “Ed, what are you doing? We were getting married, weren’t we?” — “You imagined all that. I had no such plans.” The next morning, after a sleepless night, Lida tried to talk to Edward again, but he repeated himself and told her to get a move on. — “My fiancée wants to get the place done up before the wedding,” he let slip. — “Fiancée? Who is she?” — “Not your business.” — “Oh, not my business? Fine. I’ll leave—but first, you pay me for the work I’ve done. Yes! Don’t look at me like that. You promised forty thousand a month and only paid twice. That means you owe me six hundred and forty thousand!” — “Look at you—quick with the numbers!” he sneered. “Dream on.” — “You owe for the cleaning and cooking too! All right—I won’t nitpick. Pay me a million, and we’ll part like ships at sea.” — “And what if I don’t? Ready to go to court? You haven’t even got a contract.” — “I’ll tell Tamsin—your mother-in-law. After all, she gave you this flat. Believe me, if I talk, you’ll lose your job too. You know her better than I do.” Edward paled, but recovered fast. — “Nobody will believe you. Quit the threats. And you know what? I don’t want to see you—get out, now!” — “Three days, darling. No million, there’ll be a scandal,” Lida said, packed her bags, and headed to a hostel. She’d managed to stash a little of the housekeeping money. On the fourth day, when he hadn’t returned her calls, she went back to Edward’s flat. Luckily, Tamsin, the mother-in-law, was there too. Lida could see by Edward’s face he had no intention of paying, so she told Tamsin everything. — “She’s talking nonsense! Delusional! Don’t listen to her!” Edward barked. — “I’d heard rumours at the funeral, but I didn’t believe them,” Tamsin fixed him with a stare. “Now I see. And you remember well, son-in-law, whose name the flat is in?” Edward froze. — “I want you out of here in a week. No—three days.” Tamsin turned to leave but paused. — “And you, young lady—what are you waiting for, a medal? Out!” Lida bolted from the flat, knowing there’d be no payout. Back to the market it was—there was always work there to be found… The Carer for the Wife

010

We Didn’t Let Our Daughter in the House — Why didn’t you let her in? — Veronica finally asked the question that had haunted her most. — You always have before… Her mother gave a bitter smile. — Because I’m scared for you, Nicky. Do you think we don’t see how you shrink into the corner when your sister barges in at all hours of the night? The way you hide your textbooks so she doesn’t ruin them? She looks at you and gets angry. Angry because you’re normal. You’ve got a future ahead of you, while she lost hers to the bottle a long time ago… Veronica hunched over her open textbook as yet another family row erupted in the next room. Her dad hadn’t even taken his coat off — he stood in the middle of the hallway, clutching his phone and shouting. — Don’t try your tricks on me! — he roared into the receiver. — Where’s it all gone? It’s been two weeks since I was paid! Two weeks, Larissa! Tanya peered out from the kitchen. She listened to her husband’s monologue for a minute, then asked: — Again? Valery just waved her off and put the call on speaker — the sound of sobbing filled the air. Veronica’s older sister had a natural talent for wringing out sympathy, even from a stone. But years of heartbreak had made her parents tough. — What do you mean, “he’s thrown you out”? — Valery paced the narrow corridor. — Good for him. Who’d put up with this drunken mess constantly? Have you looked at yourself in the mirror? You’re thirty, but look like a beaten dog. Veronica cracked her bedroom door open a few centimetres. — Dad, please… — suddenly the sobs stopped. — He’s chucked my things into the stairwell. I’ve got nowhere to go. It’s raining, it’s cold… Can I come back for a few days? Just to sleep it off. Mum lunged forward to grab the phone but Valery quickly turned away. — No! — he snapped. — You’re not coming near this house. We agreed last time, didn’t we? After you pawned the TV while we were away, the door’s closed to you! — Mum! Tell him! — came the scream through the phone. Tanya covered her face with her hands, her shoulders shaking. — Larissa, how could you… — was all she could manage, not looking at her husband. — We took you to the doctor. You promised. They said that last treatment would last for three years. You couldn’t even go a month! — Those treatments are a joke! — Larissa snapped back, her tone shifting from pleading to aggressive. — They just want your money! I feel awful! I’m burning up inside, I can’t breathe! And you’re still on about the TV… Like he’s more bothered about it than me! I’ll buy you a new one! — With what money? — Valery stopped and stared at a spot on the wall. — With what, when you’ve wasted it all? Borrowed off your boozy mates again? Or nicked something from your latest boyfriend? — Doesn’t matter! — Larissa shouted. — Dad, I’ve got nowhere to go! Do you want me to sleep under a bridge? — Try a homeless shelter. Go wherever you want — father’s voice was now frighteningly calm. — You’re not coming here. I’ll change the locks if I see you at the door. Veronica sat on her bed, knees pulled up to her chest. Usually in moments like these, when her sister made their parents furious, the anger would rebound and hit Veronica instead. — And what are you sitting there for? On your phone again? Gonna end up just like your sister — useless! — the sort of thing she’d heard for three years. But today, they’d forgotten her. Nobody yelled, nobody blamed her. Dad hung up, changed and he and mum went to the kitchen. Veronica crept into the corridor. — Val, we can’t do this, — her mum sobbed. — She’ll get lost completely. You know how she is when she’s in that state. She can’t control herself. — And I should have to? — her father slammed down the kettle. — I’m fifty-five, Tanya. I just want to come home and sink into my chair. I don’t want to sleep with my wallet under my pillow! Or have the neighbours telling me they saw her with shady blokes and mouthing off! — She’s our daughter, — her mother said quietly. — She was our daughter till she was twenty. Now she’s just something tearing our lives apart. She’s an alcoholic, Tanya. You can’t fix that if she doesn’t want it. And she doesn’t. She likes that life. Wake up, find a drink, pass out! The phone rang again. They went still for a second, and then Dad answered. — Hello. — Dad… — it was Larissa again. — I’m sitting at the train station. The police keep coming through, they’ll take me in if I stay here. Please… — Listen to me, — Dad cut her off. — You’re not coming home. That’s final. — So you want me to top myself then? — there was a challenge in Larissa’s voice. — Want the morgue to ring you? Veronica froze. That was always Larissa’s ace — when nothing else worked. It used to do the trick. Mum would start crying, Dad would clutch his chest, and her sister would get cash, a warm bed, food, a bath. But today, Dad didn’t fall for it. — Don’t threaten us, — he said. — You love yourself too much for that. Here’s what’s going to happen. — What? — a flicker of hope in Larissa’s voice. — I’ll find you a room to rent. Cheapest I can, out near the ring road. I’ll pay for the first month and get you some groceries. That’s it. After that — you’re on your own. Find a job, sort yourself out — you’ll get by. If not — after a month, you’re back on the street and I won’t lose sleep. — A room? Not a flat? Dad, I can’t live alone. I’m scared. And what if I get dodgy neighbours? And how am I supposed to make do with nothing? I don’t even have bedding — that bastard kept it! — Mum’ll pack some up in a holdall. We’ll leave it with the concierge — you can pick it up. Don’t try coming back here. — You’re monsters! — Larissa screeched. — Putting your own daughter in a hovel! While you sit comfy in a three-bed and I have to creep about like a rat! Mum couldn’t take it. She snatched the phone. — Shut up, Larissa! — she shouted so fiercely that Veronica jumped. — Listen to your father! This is your last chance. Room or the street. Choose now — tomorrow it’ll be too late even for the room! The line went quiet. — Fine, — Larissa muttered at last. — Text me the address. And send some money… I’m hungry. — No money, — Valery replied flatly. — I’ll put food in the bag. I know what you really spend cash on. He hung up. Veronica decided it was time to face the music. She tiptoed into the kitchen for a “drink of water.” She braced herself for the usual blow-up. Dad would look at her T-shirt and call her a slob. Mum would have a go — with everything going on, how could she just mooch about like nothing mattered? But they didn’t look her way. — Veronica, — her mum called softly. — Yes, Mum? — There are some old sheets and pillowcases on the top shelf in the cupboard. Get them down and pack them in the blue sports bag in the utility room. — Okay, Mum. Veronica set off to do as she was told. She found the bag, tipped out the junk. She couldn’t get her head around it: how would Larissa cope on her own? She couldn’t even boil pasta, and her drinking… Veronica knew her sister wouldn’t last two days without a bottle. Veronica clambered onto a stool, rummaging for linen. — Don’t forget towels! — Dad called from the kitchen. — Already packed them, — Veronica answered. She saw her dad stalk out to the hall, pull on his boots and leave with barely a word. Off to find that “hovel”, she guessed. Veronica wandered back to the kitchen. Her mum was sitting just as before. — Mum, do you want a tablet? — Veronica asked gently. Her mum looked up. — You know, Nick… — she began in a strange, colourless voice. — When she was a little girl, I thought she’d grow up and be my helper. We’d talk about everything. Now I just pray she remembers the address for that room. Just pray she gets there… — She’ll manage, — Veronica perched on the edge of a chair. — She always manages. — Not this time, — her mum shook her head. — There’s nothing in her eyes now. Just emptiness. Like only her shell is left, always needing another fix. I see how scared you are of her… Veronica fell silent. She’d always thought her parents never noticed her fear — that they were too busy saving “lost cause” Larissa. — I thought you didn’t care about me, — she whispered. Her mum stroked her hair. — Of course we care. But we’re out of strength. You know what they say on a plane? Put your own mask on first, then help your child. We tried to put the mask on her for ten years. Ten years, Nick! We tried everything. Hypnosis, healers, pricey clinics. In the end… we nearly suffocated ourselves. There was a ring at the door. Veronica jumped. — Is it her? — she asked, frightened. — No, your father’s got keys. It’s probably the supermarket delivery. Veronica got the door. The delivery man handed her two heavy bags. She carted them to the kitchen and began unpacking. Groceries, tinned food, tea, sugar. Nothing extra. — She won’t eat this, — Veronica said, laying aside a bag of rice. — She likes ready meals. — If she wants to live, she’ll cook, — her mum snapped. That old steel was back in her voice. — No more spoiling her. We’ll kill her with our sympathy. An hour later her dad dragged himself back in, looking spent. — Found it, — he said briefly. — Got the keys. Landlady’s a strict old lady — retired teacher. Said if there’s any booze or trouble, she’ll turf her out no questions asked. I told her: “Go ahead, do it early.” — Oh, Valery… — her mother sighed. — What? Tired of lying. People deserve the truth. He grabbed the packed bag, seized the grocery bags, and headed out. — I’ll leave it all with the concierge. I’ll call her, tell her where to pick it up. Veronica, deadbolt the door after me. If she calls on the house phone — don’t answer. Dad left, and Mum hid in the kitchen and broke down. Veronica’s heart was aching. How could it come to this? She didn’t even live, just drifted from one drink to the next, ruining her own life and her parents’… *** Her parents’ hopes were dashed. A week later the landlady called Valery — the lodger had been turfed out along with the police. Larissa had brought three men back and partied all night. And once again, her parents couldn’t turn their back — Larissa was taken to rehab. A closed clinic this time — a proper one, locked and guarded — they promised to cure her in a year. Who knows? Maybe this time there really will be a miracle…

011

My Husband’s Family Invited Themselves to Our Holiday Cottage for Christmas Break, but I Refused to Hand Over the Keys — “So, we had a little chat and decided there’s no sense letting your cottage sit empty! We’ll take the kids there for the Christmas holidays—fresh air, nice big hill, and we’ll even heat up the sauna. Len, you’re always working anyway, and Vitya needs a break, though he insists he’d rather catch up on sleep. So give us the keys, we’ll pop round first thing tomorrow.” Svetlana, my husband’s sister, was shrieking down the phone so forcefully I had to hold it away from my ear. I stood in the middle of my kitchen, drying a plate, trying to get my head around what I’d just heard. The brazenness of my husband’s family was already a running joke, but this was a new level. “Hold on, Svet,” I said slowly, doing my best to keep the irritation out of my voice. “How did you come to this decision, exactly? With whom? The cottage isn’t a public park or a holiday camp. It’s our home—mine and Vitya’s. And we were planning on spending the holidays there ourselves.” She scoffed. “Oh, get over yourself! You were planning, honestly! Vitya told Mum you’d be spending Christmas at home, watching telly. You’ve got loads of space—two floors! We won’t bother you if you do decide to turn up, but honestly, best not—our crowd gets noisy. Gena’s inviting mates, barbecue, music—know what I mean? You and your books would just get bored.” My cheeks burned. I instantly pictured Gena’s rowdy mates, his taste for loud music and cheap spirits; their two teenagers who treated “no” as a foreign language; and my poor cottage—my pride, my savings for five years—turned upside-down. “No, Svet,” I said firmly. “You’ll get no keys from me. The place isn’t ready for guests. The heating system’s complicated, the septic’s temperamental, and I’m not having a load of strangers trashing my sanctuary.” “We’re strangers now, are we?” she squealed, finally pausing her chewing. “Your husband’s actual sister! And your own nephews! You’ve turned into a right cold cow with all that accountancy. I’ll tell Mum how you treat family!” The line went dead. I set the phone down, my fingers trembling. I knew this wasn’t over—soon Nina Petrovna, my notorious mother-in-law, would arrive with an ultimatum. Viktor came in moments later, trying to wrap an arm round me. “Len, bit harsh, wasn’t it? Svet’s a pest, but family’s family. They’ll be hurt.” I shook off his arm. The exhaustion and resolve in my eyes stopped him short. “Vitya, remember last May?” He winced. “I suppose…” “Suppose?” I snapped. “They came for a weekend ‘barbecue.’ They snapped Dad’s old apple tree, burned a hole in the front-room carpet with a coal, left mountains of filthy dishes with congealed grease—Svet claimed her manicure was too precious, said ‘You’ve got a dishwasher’, then stuffed it with food-covered crockery and blocked the drain! Remember the smashed vase? The trampled peonies?” “They were… just kids. Playing,” Viktor mumbled, examining the lino. “Kids? Your nephew’s fifteen, Vitya, your niece is thirteen! They’re hardly toddlers. They turned the sauna into a bonfire and almost burned the place down! And you’d let them in alone? In winter?” “They promised they’d behave… Gena said he’d watch them.” “Gena will only watch the vodka bottle. No, Vitya. I won’t budge. That cottage is my home, legally and otherwise. I spent my inheritance to fix it up. I know every timber. I’m not letting it become a pigsty.” We spent an evening in stubborn silence. Viktor tried (and failed) to watch telly, then retreated to the bedroom. I nursed a lukewarm tea and remembered scraping paint off pine logs with my bare hands. That house was more than a cottage; it was a dream, my sanctuary. Viktor’s lot saw it as a ‘free resort.’ Next morning, the bell rang. Through the peephole, I saw Nina Petrovna in her best mink hat, lips scarlet, clutching a massive carrier bag with a slab of frozen salmon poking out. “Open up, Lena! We need to talk!” she barked, ignoring basic greetings. She swept into the hallway like a ship in stormy waters. Viktor darted out but was met with a withering look: “Can’t a mother visit her son without an appointment? Put the kettle on. And fetch my valerian—I haven’t slept in two nights, thanks to you two.” At the table, she went straight for the jugular. “Now, what’s all this about? Why won’t you give Svetochka the keys? Genuine family—your husband’s sister—just asking to take the kids to the cottage for the holidays. There’s renovation dust everywhere in their flat. Your palace is sitting empty. Is it really so hard, Lena?” “Nina Petrovna,” I replied calmly, meeting her stare, “It’s not a palace—it’s a house that needs looking after. Svetlana’s ‘renovation’ has dragged on for five years. That’s no excuse to seize our property. And to be honest, I remember their last visit all too well. I still can’t get the smell of smoke out of the curtains, even though I asked them not to light up indoors.” “Oh, so they smoked, big deal!” she threw up her hands. “You care more about your things than about people. That’s materialism, Lena! We raised Vitya to be generous, not a skinflint. You can’t take the cottage to your grave, you know!” “Mum, Lena really poured her heart into that place…” said Viktor, in a rare show of courage. “Be quiet! Are you a man or a doormat? You let your wife run the show while your own sister and her kids freeze? Gena’s 45th is on the third—they’ve bought the steaks, invited half their mates. You’d have them humiliated in front of everyone?” “That’s not my problem,” I said coolly, “if they planned a party in someone else’s house without asking. That’s just rude, Nina Petrovna.” She paled with fury. Normally her sheer force flattened opposition—especially soft-touch Viktor. But I was no pushover. “Rude, is it? I took you in like a daughter, and you… Vitya, hear how she talks to me? If you don’t hand over the keys this instant, I swear I’ll curse that cottage. You’ll never see me there again!” “You don’t like the garden anyway,” I muttered. “You snake!” She shot to her feet, toppling her chair. “Vitya, give me the keys! I’ll pass them to Svet myself. Are you the man of this house, or what?” Viktor, torn in two, shrank under her glare. He remembered what it was like patching the porch after Gena’s last blunder with the barbecue… “Mum, Lena’s got the keys. We might go ourselves, anyway.” “Liar!” she snapped. “Fine—Svet will be here first thing. The keys had better be left out, along with instructions for the boiler, or you’re no son of mine. And you,” she jabbed at me, “will remember this day. The world goes round, Lena.” She stormed out. For a while, only the tick of the kitchen clock dared disturb the silence. “You’re not really giving them the keys, are you?” Viktor asked softly. “No. In fact, Vitya, tomorrow we head to the cottage ourselves. Early. The only way to keep them out is to actually be there. Your sister would climb in through the window if she decided she ‘needed’ to. This way, she’ll have to turn back.” “…This is war, Len.” “No. This is border control. Pack your things.” We left at dawn. London was magical in the frost, but we weren’t in festive spirits. Viktor fidgeted with his muted phone the whole way. When we got out, the cottage—pretty, warm, snow-topped—was a postcard. I breathed in relief. By noon, there were fairy lights, scent of pine, and mandarins in the air. Viktor, clearing the drive, found a rare contentment. I could see it. At three, trouble struck: cars sounding at the gate. Gena’s Jeep and another car, their whole lot spilling out: Svet, Gena, the teens, some random friends, and a huge Rottweiler without a muzzle. And of course, Nina Petrovna, looming like a general. Viktor hovered, shovel in hand; I pulled on my boots and went to the door. They yelled, rattled the latch, banged on the gate: “Let us in! Surprise! Might as well celebrate together since you’re here!” Hand on Viktor’s shoulder, I said, “We weren’t expecting guests—go celebrate elsewhere.” Svet scoffed and Gena waved a crate of vodka. “Come on, don’t be such a princess. We’ll be good…” “Keep your dog out of my garden!” I snapped as it lifted a leg on my topiary. “Oh, it’s only a tree!” Svet squealed. “Toilets are at the petrol station, five miles that way,” I said crisply. “This place is occupied. We’re here to relax. There’s no room for a party of ten plus a dog.” They stared, slow on the uptake—they’d expected their usual ambush tactic to work, especially with their matriarch in tow. “What, you’re keeping us out in the cold?” Nina Petrovna shrieked. “Vitya, say something!” Viktor, eyes pleading, looked at me. “If you open that gate,” I said levelly, “it’ll be an all-night booze-up. Dog will wreck the flowerbeds, kids will trash the upstairs, your sister will boss me around in my own kitchen, and Gena will chain-smoke all night. Our holiday—ruined. Is that what you want? Or do you want a peaceful Christmas with me? Your call, now.” Viktor turned to the mob at the gate—Gena kicking his tyres, Svet yelling, the kids pelting the house with snowballs, Nina Petrovna clutching her chest in operatic anguish. He straightened, walked to the gate and said—not loudly, but steady: “Mum, Svet. Lena’s right. We already said no keys. Turn around, please.” “What?!” they chorused. “You heard. This is my home too. I don’t want your circus here. Go.” Gena growled, trying to reach through the bars. “You… I’ll—” “Leave, Gena,” Viktor gripped the shovel. “Or I’ll call the police. This estate has private security.” “Strangers, are we now?!” Nina Petrovna gasped. “We’re off, then!” yelled Svet, yanking her family away. “You pair are mad! We’ll go to Tolyan’s place—proper people, even if it’s half-finished!” Engines revved. The motley crew trundled away, Svet flashing a rude sign. Silence returned, broken only by their dog’s signature ‘gift’ on my evergreen. Viktor sank onto the porch steps, head in hands. “God, the shame… my own mother…” I sat beside him. “It’s not shame, Vitya. It’s finally growing up. You stood up for us—our family, not theirs.” “She’ll never forgive me.” “She will—as soon as she wants something. That’s how they are. But they’ll know the boundary now.” “You think so?” “I know so. If not, at least we’ll have peace. Let’s get inside—I’ll make some mulled wine.” Inside, I drew the curtains, shutting out the cold and the past. That night was quiet and warm—companionable, not bitter. Three days of bliss—walks, steak-for-two, sauna, books. The phones stayed silent in family boycott. On January third, as predicted, Svet sent Viktor a photo—not an apology but a boast: bleak shed, battered stove, vodka and rowdy faces. “We’re having a ball without you—jealous?” I glanced at swollen-faced Gena in the mess, then at my husband, serene and dozing by the fire. “Nothing to envy, Svet,” I whispered, deleting the message. A week later, Nina Petrovna called—icily polite, asking Viktor to run her to the GP and mentioning the cottage not at all. The boundary was set. There’d be skirmishes yet, but our little fortress stood. And I realised: sometimes you have to be “bad” for others to stay true to yourself and protect your own. The cottage keys now live safe and sound—tucked away in my safe, just in case.

019