These are not my children. If you want to help your sister, go ahead, but not at my expense. She broke up her own family and now tries to foist her children on us while she goes off to sort her own life.
What a lovely home youve found, brother. I must say, Im a little envious.
Joanna trailed her finger along the edge of the tablecloth, casting her critical gaze around the kitchen as if she were an antiques dealer at auction. Susannah set a salad bowl down and took her place across from her husband. Stan beamed disarmingly at his sister, oblivious to the way his wife clenched her napkin inside her fist.
We really did our best, he replied. Spent half a year searching before this little gem in Chesterfield turned up.
Theyd sold up their London flat and moved north, nearer Stans relatives. Their own little plot, a garden of their own, peaceSusannah had dreamed of it for three years. Two months ago, that dream finally crumbled into reality.
I couldnt keep my marriage together, Joanna sighed, examining her plate intently. Its been three months and everythings still fogged up. I wake at night and theres no one there. The kids keep asking where their dad is. How do I even answer that?
Mrs. Turner, perched at the head of the table, reached out to stroke her daughters hand.
Itll all settle itself, love. The main thing is the children are well. As for that louthell regret walking out before long, mark my words.
Connor, her four-year-old nephew, suddenly slipped from his chair and dashed into the sitting room. There followed a crash, as though a shelf had surrendered its burden.
Careful, Connor! Joanna called out, barely moving.
Alice, whod just turned three, began to fuss in her mothers lap. Joanna bounced her absentmindedly, picking up the thread: At least youre nearby now. After my op, Mums barely able to get about, and theres no one else to help.
Youre lucky I even made it here by taxi, Mrs. Turner chimed in, rubbing her knee. Fourth floor, no lift, blood pressure all over the place. By the time I reached the top, I thought Id keel over. Hardly what Id call looking after the grandkids.
Susannah rose to fetch the hot food. Her tomato seedlings lined up on the kitchen sill, little green spirits imprisoned in peat potsnext month shed finally set them out in the ground. Her first tomatoes: her secret victory.
I hope you wont mind if I leave the children with you every now and then? Joannas question snaked out from behind her back. Just when its really urgent. I mean, I need to find work, see the GP, meet with a solicitor about the divorce. But the kidswhere do I take them?
Susannah paused. Joanna looked at Stan with the transparent helplessness of a child trying on innocence. Twenty-seven, and still playing every note to perfection.
Of course, Jo, Stan said gently. We can help. Right, Susannah?
Three pairs of eyes pressed in on her, weighted with rules older than memory.
Yes, Susannah said. If its absolutely needed.
Joanna glowed.
Youre my lifesavers. Ill only ever be a couple of hoursI promise.
They trickled away by eleven. Stan called a taxi for his mother, escorted her down each stepshe whimpered melodramatically all the way to the car. Joanna bundled the sleepy children into her battered old Ford and left, waving out the window: Thank you for tonight! Youre stars!
Susannah cleared up, plates clicking into the sink. Stan slung his arms around her waist and kissed the top of her head.
Lovely evening, wasnt it? Mums happy. Joanna was positively cheerful. Moving up here was the best choice we made.
Mmm.
Tired?
A bit.
She didnt say what was grinding at her. Only when its urgent rolled round and round in her mind. Shed lived enough to know what it would become: Every day. Because its easier that way.
A week later, Joanna rang early in the morning.
Susie, lifesaver, can you watch the kids, please? Doctors appointment, cant leave them with Mum. Just three hours, Ill collect them at lunchtime.
Susannah eyed her laptop, the quarterly reports glowing in neat rows. The client was expecting it by Friday.
Jo, Im a bit pressed for time
Theyre so quiet, honestly. Theyll play, just pop on the telly! Please, Susie, I really need this.
Half an hour later, two children inhabited her living room. Lunchtime came and went, with no sign of Joanna. Evening tiptoed in on slippered feet.
At six, Stan came home. He peered into the sitting room.
Ohstill here?
Joannas promise echoed silently somewhere. Shes delayed, Susannah murmured.
Never mind, he shrugged, reaching for a beer. Theyre family, arent they? Let them stay.
Keen on diplomacy, Susannah said nothing. By then, Connor had upended juice all over the living room rug, and Alice was down to her last nappy.
Joanna breezed in around nine, perfumed, fresh, glowing like a festival lantern.
Sorry, sorry, all a bit hectic. Thank you so muchyoure brilliant!
Susannah finished her report at three in the morning, head pounding, childrens cries reverberating somewhere in her skull.
Four days lateragain. Job interview, very important. Jo dumped the kids at nine, promised to collect them by three. Stan was home that day, catching up on sleep after night shift. He surfaced near lunchtime.
Still here?
As you see.
He made tea, flicked the TV on. Dont fuss, Im here.
He was here, that much was true: engrossed by the football match, while Susannah dashed between the children and her laptop. Connor asked twice, Uncle Stan, come play? but Stan merely waved him off: After the match, champ.
Joanna collected the children at eight.
By the end of week three, these visits were clockwork. Three days a week, sometimes four. Doctors, interviews, urgent errands, two hours that always drifted till dusk.
One evening, after Joanna finally departed with her two whirlwind children, Susannah sat across from her husband.
Stan, this cant go on.
What cant?
Three times a week. I cant keep up with work.
He frowned.
Look, shes struggling. Her husband left her. Shes on her own. Were her family.
I understand. But she promises lunchthen its nearly midnight. Thats not help, its …
It’s what?
She wanted to say cheek, wanted to yell taking advantage. Instead, she bit her tongue.
Mum called today, Stan went on. She says Jo needs time, poor thing. Im her brother, I have responsibilities.
Well, what about me?
Youre my wife, he said, as if that explained everything. Were all one family.
Susannah turned to look out of the window. Dusk was deepening, the seedlings on the sill strained toward the faint outside world. She had planned to transplant them on Saturday.
No point arguing.
That Friday evening Stan burst in after work.
Jo called. She wants us to watch the kids tomorrow. Two job interviews, and her cars acting upneeds to pop to the garage.
Susannah shut her laptop and looked at him.
Stan, weve discussed this. I cant do every weekend.
Oh, dont be awkward, he said, tossing his coat on a chair, opening the fridge. Shes my sister. Its not hard, surely? Youre home most days anyway.
I work from home. Thats not the same as just ‘being home.’
He waved her off. Do your work while the kids watch cartoons. Not a big deal.
She wanted to protest, but the tired, irritable set of his face stopped her. Well, tomorrow was Saturday. She had planned at last to move those seedlingstheir roots already knitting through the peat.
All right. She can bring them.
Joanna swept in a little before eleven, resplendent in a new dress, hair done, makeup flawlessshe looked less like an interviewee than a woman heading to a dance.
Thank you so, so muchlife savers! She ushered Connor and Alice over the threshold. Ill collect them by five, six at the latest.
Jo, what about their bag?
Oh! Still in the car, hold on.
She was back in a flash, thrusting a half-packed rucksack into Susannahs hands.
Nappies, change of clothes, all sorted. Right, must dash!
The door banged behind her. Susannah stared after her, two children at her knees and a bag rattling with emptiness. Stan was at the garage, promising to help a neighbour all morning.
By one, Connor was bored of nursery rhymes and began tearing round the house. Alice wepthungry, thirsty, wanting to be cuddled. Susannah juggled both, trying to coax lunch into existence.
At two, Stan poked his head in.
How are things in here?
Fine. Can you take over for a bit? I need to plant those tomatoes, otherwise itll be too late.
Ill just was my hands.
She stepped into the garden, knees in the warm earth, laying out her tools. She was scarcely halfway through digging when a crash and a childs wail stole the air.
She dropped her trowel and ran inside.
In the sitting room, Stan sat serenely, eyes on his phone. Connor lingered amid shards of flowerpotearth everywhere, the frail tomato shoots mangled and ground underfoot. The same seedlings shed been nurturing for months.
What happened?
He climbed on the windowsill. I didnt get there in time, Stan replied without a glance up.
Susannah stared at the broken stems. Two months of watering and waiting, all traction and soft green hope stamped into the carpet.
Aunt Susannah, are you cross? Connor asked, eyes wide.
No, she managed, gathering pottery shards, go to your uncle.
Stan finally looked up.
Oh, it’s just seedlings. Plant new ones.
She didnt answer, lump pressing into her throat. These werent just seedlingsthey were proof of her dreams, trashed by children who would never be hers.
By five, no Joanna. At six, a text: Running a little late. At seven, nothing. Susannah rangno answer.
At eight, a motor growled outside. She peered out: a gleaming black Land Rover pulled into the drive, its shine too slick for any garage visit.
The door opened; Joanna climbed out, red-faced, tottering happily in high heels, a tall man in a leather jacket behind the wheel.
Thanks, Alex! Ring you soon!
The car veered away. Joanna staggered up to the porch, finding Susannah waiting.
Sorry Im latebumped into a friend after my interview, he gave me a lift.
Susannah caught a whiffwine and something sweet, unmistakably not expensive perfume for interviews.
How did the interview go? Her voice was as flat as linoleum.
What? Oh, fine. Theyll ring me.
And the garage?
Joanna paused a beat.
Booked in for next week. Queues everywhere.
Such an unblushing lie.
By the way, Joanna drew out her phone, are you free Wednesday? Theres another interview I cant miss.
No.
The word landed crisp and hard. Joanna blinked.
What do you mean, no?
Just that. Wednesday wont work.
But why? Youre home anyway
I work from home. I have my own commitments.
Joannas face darkened, then took on an injured cast: trembling lips, shimmering eyes.
Susannah, you must see how hard this is for me. Alone with two childrenI really thought you and Stan would support me. I have no one else. You cant spare even a day
I have supported you. Three weeks now. But Im not a childminder or a nursery.
Whats wrong with you? Joanna snapped. Its only watching the kids. Theyre not strangers!
Theyre not my own, Susannah surprised herself with the steady ring in her voice. Theyre your children, Joanna. Your responsibility.
Stan appeared in the doorway, scowling.
Whats going on here?
Joanna turned on the tears.
Stan, your wife doesnt want to help me anymore! Im begging for one day, and she just
Joanna put a hand to her breast in a show of despair.
You know what Im dealing with. I thought family stood by you. But apparently
She trailed off, waved dramatically, and marched to her car. On the doorstep she turned.
You could show a bit more heart, Susannah. A bit more kindness.
She slumped on the porch, phone to her ear, refusing to meet Susannahs gaze until the taxi appeared; then she hoisted the sleepy children up and left, not even a wave in parting.
Susannah stood on the threshold, something dark unfurling insideguilt, or shame, or something far murkier. Had she truly been too harsh?
Stan watched the retreating car, then glanced at his wife.
Was that really necessary?
What do you mean?
She only asked, you know, politely. And you He let it drop, disappeared into the house.
A week of silence. Then Stan came in from work, dropping his bag.
Joanna called. Another interview. Just this one last time. If shes late, Ill sort it.
Susannah stared at himhe looked so desperately tired, caught between sister loyalty and marriage.
All right. One last time.
Next morning, Joanna breezed through the door, hugging the children while already halfway out.
Thanks, thanks, Im latewish me luck!
The door banged shut, leaving Susannah with Connor and Alice.
At lunch, Susannah checked her email, her thumb brushing a familiar face in the newsfeed. Joanna. New post. Photo: Joanna at a café, wine in hand, someone with an arm draped across her shoulders. Caption: Reunited with old school friends! Ive missed real life.
Uploaded twenty minutes ago.
Susannah stared at the glowing screen. So. No interviews. No GPs. Just handing off the kids to go and live her life. Perhaps, she mused, Joannas ex wasnt such a villainhed just run out of steam.
She rang Stan.
Come fetch your niece and nephew. Now.
What? But Im at work
Then your mother can collect them. Im done.
Whats happened?
Check your sisters social media. See for yourself.
A long silence. Then a sigh.
Ill leave now.
He arrived two hours later, stared from the children to Susannah.
I saw the photos.
Well?
I suppose maybe she did meet friends
Stan, every time she comes, shes half-cut. Last time, her lift was a man in a Range Rover. Are you blind?
Shes my sister, his voice was climbing. It isnt the kids fault.
And is it mine? Theyre not my children, Stan. Im not their nanny. If you want to help your sisterfine, but not at my expense.
Shes my family!
Shes the architect of her own mess. Now she dumps her kids here and swans off.
How can you say that?
Its the truth. Every time shes dumped the kids, shes lied about where shes going. Im done. Can you say the same?
He was silent, hands scrubbing over his face.
All right, he said at last. I get it.
Joanna arrived late that night. The children were asleep under a blanket. She slipped in, about to weave some taletraffic, battery diedbut Stan held up a hand.
Jo, this stops. No more.
What do you mean? Her eyes narrowed.
No more dumping the children and disappearing all day. Were not a nursery.
Joanna glanced at Susannah. Something flickered in her eyes.
This is her doing, isnt it?
No. My decision.
She snorted and scooped up Connor.
Well, thats family for you.
She left. The door echoed after her.
Morning found them at the kitchen table, the phone ringing. Mum on the display.
Stan picked up.
Yes, Mum.
Susannah caught only bites of Mrs. Turners scolding.
Is this how you help your sister? You know full well I cant yet
Mum, we cant either. We have our own life.
Oh, is that how it is now! Bought your own home and lost your conscience! I see, I see!
Click. Stan stared at the phone, then at Susannah.
Shes furious.
I gathered.
They fell silent. Outside the sun glimmered. On the sill, the now-empty plant pot. Susannah stared at it, thinking: a month ago, theyd moved here for peace and quiet. For their house, their garden, their life. And instead got someone elses children, someone elses mess, and a family who saw nothing but debt to be collected.
Stan put his hand over hers.
Sorry, he said quietly. I should have stopped it sooner.
Susannah said nothing. She squeezed his fingers. It wasnt victoryher mother-in-law was offended, Joanna was fuming, the horizon promised months of cold war. But for the first time in weeks she felt relief instead of exhaustion. Shed said no. And her husband had heard her.
The rest, she thought, could wait.
