Megan turned up at my flat without asking, and I shoved her suitcase into the hallway.
Whose leopardprint boots are those in the hallway? I asked, standing in the doorway of my own flat, a grocery bag weighing down each arm.
Oliver, my husband, slipped out of the living room, rubbing his neck sheepishly. He looked as if a schoolboy whod just smashed his mothers favourite vase and was now trying to hide the shards under the carpet.
Dont worry, love, he began, and a chill ran down my spine. Normally that line was followed by news of a dented bumper or an unexpected visit from my motherinlaw. Theres a bit of a situation Margarets arrived.
A visitor? I asked, moving to the kitchen to unload milk and veg. Odd that she didnt ring first. And why are there three pairs of boots?
Not exactly a visitor, Olivers voice dropped low as he shifted from foot to foot by the fridge. Shes had a fallingout with Victor. He kicked her out, can you imagine? He told her to gather her things and go. Shes got nowhere to go. Our mum lives in a onebedroom flat with her dad and a cat, so theres no room for her. Shes asked to crash here, at least for a week.
I placed the bag of buckwheat on the table and turned to my husband.
For how long, Oliver? And why am I learning this after the leopardprint boots have taken over my rug?
Darling, dont get worked up. She called during my meeting, you didnt answer, and she was crying on the pavement with her suitcases. I cant send my sisterinlaw to the station, can I? Shell stay a week or two, sort out a flat or make up with Victor, then shell be on her way. Shes quiet, she wont be a problem.
At that moment the bathroom door burst open and Margaret emerged, wrapped in my plush white bathrobe the one I only wear after a long soak. Shed fashioned a towel turban and was chomping on a ham sandwich, taking massive bites.
Oh, Irenes here! she chattered with her mouth full. Listen, Ive used the last drop of your hair balm. Buy a new one tomorrow, or my hair will go berserk from stress.
I glanced at the crumbs scattering across the floor, at her round, cheeky face, and realised my quiet life was about to explode.
Take the robe off, I said, my tone as cold as ice.
Come on, dont be a spoilsport. My things are all wrinkled in my suitcase, Im too lazy to dig them out, Margaret waved off and flopped onto the sofa, snatching the TV remote. Oliver, could you make me a tea with lemon? My throats gone dry from nerves.
The evening unfolded in tense silence from me and a relentless monologue from Margaret. She ranted about how Victor was a scoundrel, how hed wasted her best years, and how she was now starting a new life. That new life began with her devouring all the meatballs Id prepared for two days and turning the bathroom into a halfhour spa.
When they finally went to bed, I snapped at Oliver:
This is unacceptable. Why is she in my robe? Why is she bossing me around? One week is the limit. Got it?
Patience, love. Shes grieving, its a personal drama. Shell settle down soon enough. Show some mercy shes my sister, Oliver pleaded.
The next morning I left for work early. As chief accountant, the numbers were already making my head spin. All I could think about was getting home, taking a shower, and relaxing with a book.
Reality hit the moment I turned the key in the door.
Loud pop music blared from the flat, the kind that makes windows vibrate. The hallway reeked of nail polish and something burnt.
I shuffled into the kitchen. A pan sizzled with blackened bits that must once have been potatoes. Margaret was nowhere in the kitchen; she was in the living room. The sisterinlaw sat on the floor, a whole arsenal of my cosmetics spread across the coffee table. She was painting her toenails a bright scarlet, her foot firmly planted on the sofa upholstery.
Margaret! I shouted, cutting the music off. What on earth is happening?
Oops, scared you! she squealed, smearing polish onto the beige velvet of the sofa. Blimey, Irene! Why are you sneaking around? Look, youve got a stain now.
I stared at the red streak on my favourite sofa, anger swelling in my eyes.
Did you take my makeup bag?
I needed to look decent Ive got a date tonight. You know what they say, fight fire with fire. And the potatoes? I forgot about them.
You almost caused a kitchen fire! Get your feet off the sofa! Your own nail polish, your own creams, okay?
Theyre in my suitcase, she flicked away. Itll take ages to dig them out. By the way, do you have a decent pair of tights? Mine are all runout. I saw a pack called OmSocks in the dresser fortytwo days left. Lend me, will you?
No, I snapped. Im not lending you anything. Put my cosmetics back and clean the pan.
Youre such a nitpicker, she huffed. Ill tell Oliver youre a miser.
When Oliver returned from work, Margaret greeted him with a mournful expression.
Oi, Ollie, I think Ill spend the night at the station. Your wifes screaming about polish, shes a right mess. I feel like the unwanted relative.
Oliver, exhausted, looked pleadingly at me.
Are we fighting again?
Shes ruined the sofa, Oliver. She almost started a fire and keeps taking my stuff without asking.
I didnt mean to! Margaret wailed. Shes shouting like a servant!
Alright, girls, calm down. Margaret, Ill buy you tights, youll be fine. Irene, well have the sofa cleaned professionally. Lets try to get along.
Living together proved impossible. Days slipped by and the flat devolved into chaos. Margaret left piles of dirty dishes to dry, some even underneath the sofa. She hung her underwear on the towel rail despite having a dryer.
I tried to set boundaries.
Margaret, we usually wash dishes straight after eating.
Later, Ill do it. Its soaking for now.
Dont blast the TV after eleven; we need to get up early.
I cant wear headphones, they hurt my ears. Im suffering from insomnia and depression.
Oliver, my normally gentle husband, began to change under Margarets influence. She whispered in his ear when I wasnt around.
Youre a henpecked husband, she would say, stirring my tea with my own spoon. Shes pulling your strings, taking your salary, keeping you from friends. Victor was a goat, but at least he could stand up for himself. Youre sigh.
He started snapping back.
Irene, why didnt you make dinner? Margarets been home all day, shes starving, and all we have is yesterdays soup.
Margaret is an adult, she could cook herself, I retorted.
Shes a guest! And shes stressed!
Guests dont live for months and dictate everything to the host.
Three weeks passed and I felt like a squeezed lemon. I dreaded returning home, stayed late at the office, walked the park just to avoid the inevitable clash with my lovely sisterinlaw.
The climax came on a Friday.
Id been given a day off for overtime, so I planned a deep clean while Margaret was out she had claimed she was going to a job interview at the shopping centre, though I suspected shed simply be out shopping.
I got home around one oclock. The front door was unlocked, odd. I slipped into the hallway and saw a pair of massive, mudcaked mens boots, size fortyfive.
From the bedroom came muffled laughter and music.
I crept to the bedroom door and flung it open.
On our double bed, atop the duvet, lay Margaret in a lace nightgown the very one Oliver had given me for our anniversary and a strange man with a tattoo on his shoulder. Empty beer bottles and a pizza box sat on the bedside table, next to a framed wedding photo.
Oi! the stranger shouted, pulling the blanket over himself. The lady of the house is here.
Margaret, unfazed, stretched.
Irene? What are you doing up early? Were watching a film. Meet Stan.
A cold wave washed over me, like a bulb burning out. All the anger from the past weeks snapped into a calm, icy resolve.
Out, I said quietly.
What? Stan asked.
Out of here. Both of you. You have two minutes to dress and leave, or Ill call the police.
Are you losing it? Margaret protested. We were just relaxing. Stan helped me with my CV
I said out! My voice rose, startling even the tattooed man. You brought a stranger into my bedroom? You wore my nightgown? Youre eating pizza on my bed?
Whatever, love, Margaret sneered, pulling on her jeans. Wash up, youll be fine. Lets go, Stan, the airs too stale.
When Stan left, Margaret tried to act as if nothing had happened.
You just ruined my night, she muttered.
I moved to the hallway, grabbed three large black garbage bags and carried them back to the living room where Margaret was still on the sofa.
Get up.
Why?
Im packing your stuff. Youre leaving now.
You have no right! This is my brothers flat too! He invited her! I wont go until Oliver returns!
I didnt argue. I opened the hallway closet where Margaret had strewn her belongings, pulling out sweaters, jeans, that leopardprint dress, dirty socks, everything piled under the armchair.
Hey! What are you doing? Thats cashmere! Youll ruin it! she shrieked, lunging at me.
Adrenaline gave me strength. In five minutes I had three massive bags filled with her laundry, shoes, cosmetics and chargers. Her suitcase sat open, spilling its contents.
Youre insane! Im calling Oliver! she snapped, snatching the phone.
I slipped the bags and suitcase onto the stairwell.
You too, get out, I said, pointing at the door.
I wont!
Fine, Ill call the police. Ill say a stranger refuses to leave and is threatening me. Wheres your address? Moms in Birlington? Thats where youll go.
Seeing the resolve in my eyes, Margaret realised the joke was over. She bolted for the corridor, clutching her bag.
Youll regret this! Youll crawl back begging for forgiveness! Oliver will dump you, you witch!
I slammed the door shut, twice turned the lock and bolted the chain. My heart hammered. I leaned against the door, slipped to the floor. From the hallway Margarets screams echoed, her feet pounding the door, shouting that shed been robbed and left out in the cold even though it was a warm September evening.
I dialled Oliver.
Oliver, I said, trying not to let my voice shake. Your sister is now in the stairwell with her luggage.
What? Irene, what have you done? Why?
She brought a man into our bedroom. They were in our bed. She was in my nightgown.
Silence hung on the line. Oliver processed the news.
The bedroom? Our bedroom?
Yes. If you keep defending her, you can go straight to Moms with her. Im changing the locks today.
Im on my way.
An hour later the flat was quiet. Margaret, having exhausted her screams and realising the neighbours were about to call the police, lugged her bags down to the lift and waited for her brother outside.
Oliver arrived, pale. He didnt rush upstairs; first he put Margaret and her luggage into a cab and sent her to her mothers house, then he went up.
I sat at the kitchen table, sipping tea, my hands still trembling. I had already tossed the soiled bedding into the washing machine on a hot cycle and thrown the lace nightgown into the bin I could never wear that again.
Did she leave? I asked, not looking at him.
Yes. Shes at her mums. Mum called, screaming that were monsters.
We? I raised an eyebrow.
Just you, he said. But I told her not to meddle.
Oliver sat opposite me and took my hand.
Im sorry, Irene. I was a fool. I thought shed just stay a week and calm down. I didnt realise shed go that far. The guy it was too much. I felt sick just thinking about it.
And the three weeks of her terrorising me? The ruined sofa, my things stolen, the endless nagging? You saw it all.
I did, he sighed. But I was scared to hurt Mum. She always says, Family is sacred, you must help. So I put up with it, hoping it would fade.
Its fade, it didnt. Parasites dont just fall off on their own. You have to pull them out.
Olivers phone buzzed. Mum flashed on the screen. He looked at it, then at me, and hung up without answering.
Shall we just sit in silence? he suggested. No TV, no talk about Victor or anything.
Alright, I agreed.
Peace lasted only a short while. The next day my motherinlaw, Natalie Peterson, turned up at the door, determined to sort things out with her daughterinlaw.
It was a weekend. She knocked hard, her voice booming through the peephole. When I opened, Natalie stood there, handbag clenched like a weapon.
Open up! I know youre home! she shouted.
I opened the door.
Natalie, good afternoon. If youre here about Margaret, theres nothing to discuss.
Natalie stormed into the hallway like a corkscrew.
How can you say that? You threw the girl onto the street with garbage bags! She has a psychological trauma! She was crying all night!
My trauma is having strangers tumble onto my bed, I retorted sharply. Your daughter has crossed every line. She cant behave as a guest.
She isnt a guest, shes at my brothers house! Natalie snapped. And youre an intruder too! The flat may be shared, but Oliver poured his heart into it!
I poured money into it, Natalie. Were paying the mortgage together, the deposit came from my grandmothers flat. So I have more rights here than your daughter.
Youre selfish! she shouted. Were all family here, and youre hoarding the boots! The underwear! What do you care about?
Exactly human relationships. Margaret behaved like a pig. I tolerated three weeks. Thats it. The doors closed.
Oliver emerged from the kitchen.
Mother, stop, he said firmly.
Natalie froze. She was used to him nodding or agreeing.
What do you mean, stop? Do you hear how shes speaking to us? Shell ruin everything! she wailed. Oliver, gather Margarets things the hair dryer, the straightener and apologise to my daughter.
I wont apologise, Oliver said, placing his hand on my shoulder. Margaret acted disgustingly. Irenes right. She has no place here until she learns to respect the owners.
You youre choosing her over your own blood? I asked, astonished.
Im choosing my wife, my family, my peace. Margaret is thirtytwo, she can get a room elsewhere and stop bringing men into our home, Oliver replied. She should work, rent a flat, and stop being a leech.
Natalie gulped, her breath like a fish out of water.
I curse you! she spat. I never want to see you again! I wont set foot in this flat!
Fine, mother, Oliver said calmly. When youre calmer, call. For now, please leave. We need quiet.
Natalie turned, almost stumbling, and slammed the door behind her.
When the house finally quieted, I leaned into Oliver.
Thank you, I whispered. I thought youd stay silent again.
I imagined what would happen if she came back. I realised I couldnt survive a second round. I want peace too.
A week later the tension eased. Margaret, realising the free ride had ended, quickly patched things up with Victor. The prospect of moving back into her mothers cramped onebedroom flat and listening to endless advice frightened her more than any fallout. She even texted Oliver: Alright, Ill stop pestering. Tell Irene Im sorry, even if she calls me a witch.
I read it and laughed. It didnt matter what she thought of me. The flat was clean, quiet, no one was eating my meatballs at night or borrowing my underwear.
The sofa finally went to the drycleaner the nailpolish stain refused to budge. Watching the fresh beige fabric, I thought of it as a small price for the lesson learned. From now on, no stay for a week ever again. Never.
The ordeal brought Oliver closer to me. He finally saw that I wasnt just a convenient housemate, but a person whose boundaries must be defended. He felt, for the first time, like theNow, with the locks changed and the house finally our sanctuary, we both learned that love means protecting each other’s peace above all else.
