Where am I supposed to put this bowl of jellied beef? grumbled Aunt Brenda, shoving the huge enamel dish towards the fridge and shifting aside the neatly organised boxes. Theres absolutely no room! Its all crammed with your what do you call them carpaccio and avocados. Honestly, talk about posh grub.
Standing at the stove and stirring gravy for the roast, Olivia breathed in deep and silently counted to ten. The relatives had been there all of twenty minutes, and it already felt as though the house was besieged by a boisterous travelling circus determined to turn every custom on its head.
Aunt Brenda, could you please put it out on the patio? Its cold and covered nothing will happen to it. The fridge is full of prepped salad stuff and those cant be frozen, Olivia replied, careful to keep her tone calm.
On the patio? Brenda spluttered, indignant beneath her wild perm and sprawling floral dressing gown that shed brought specially and changed into immediately. What about all the city dust blowing about? And keeping food on the floor! Never mind, Ill shift your tubs of grass anyway, nobodys going to eat that. The men want meat, not rabbit food.
Olivia shot a pleading glance at her husband, Peter, who was quietly slicing bread at the kitchen table and doing his best to blend into the wallpaper. He was only too familiar with Aunt Brendas temperament, and that of Olivias cousin her elder by three years Linda, who was presently scrutinising the bathroom tiles and loudly pointing out their apparent faults.
Pete, would you mind helping Brenda get the jellied beef onto the patio? Ive cleared off the little table there, not a speck of dust, Olivia insisted, her voice firmer now.
Peter obediently took the heavy bowl from Brenda, over her mild protests, and disappeared down the hallway. Brenda, left empty-handed, immediately turned her scrutiny on Olivia.
Whats the matter with you, Livvy? You look peaky! Still on your silly diets, are you? Youve wasted away. Now, my Linda, shes the picture of health a pleasure to behold. You keep drying up. And this house its like a hospital, everything white and grey. Dull. You should put up wallpaper with gold trim! Looks so much richer.
We prefer a bit of minimalism, Aunt Brenda, Olivia replied shortly, tasting her sauce. Each to their own.
Just then Linda appeared in the kitchen, sashaying in on tall heels as if the three-year age gap gave her a godmothers right to lecture and instruct. Her two young boys, five and six, darted in after her, sticky-fingered from their earlier chocolate raid.
Olivia, is it really just a shower in your bathroom? Linda moaned, sitting down and crossing her legs. I was hoping for a proper bath! How am I going to wash the boys tonight? They need to splash about.
Linda, we renovated for ourselves, and we prefer the shower. The boys can manage theyre not babies anymore, Olivia replied, irritation mounting.
This visit had been planned for weeks, though Olivia had clung to hope that her relatives from another town might change their minds. Brenda and Linda had invited themselves for the Christmas holidays, to see the family and take in the sights of London. Raised to be hospitable, Olivia hadnt refused, though she well remembered their last stay three years ago, which left her nerves frayed and the flat needing a deep spring clean.
Back then they had only a cramped two-bed with threadbare carpet. Now, Olivia and Peter had just moved into their spacious three-bedroom, newly finished after an expensive designer renovation. It was their sanctuary, every detail fussed over, every inch hard-earned.
Olivias pride and joy was the bedroom: a no-go zone, a haven of calm with deep blue walls, blackout curtains, a vast bed with a mattress worth every penny, and impossibly soft carpet. She and Peter had agreed: no guests in the bedroom, doors shut. The lounge, with its large pull-out sofa, was for visitors, as was Peters study with its fold-away bed.
Mum, Im thirsty! whined Lindas youngest, tugging her sleeve.
Oh, go and ask Aunt Olivia for some juice, Linda waved him off. Livvy, could you sort them, please? Theyre wiped out from the journey.
Olivia took apple juice from the fridge and poured two glasses. Careful, dont spill it real wood floors here, she warned.
Oh, dont fuss so much about the flooring, snorted Brenda. Things are for people, not the other way round. Kids are kids. If they spill, you mop up! Youre far too uptight since you moved to London.
Peter, sensing the tension building, offered: Why dont we all sit down to eat? Its nearly five time to see out the old year.
The meal began in chaos. The boys dashed around grabbing cheese and cold meats, Linda was loud on her mobile updating her friend about their trip, and Brenda found fault in each dish.
Prawn cocktail salad? Brenda stabbed a prawn and peered at it. I dont get all this fancy food. Give me a proper shepherds pie now thats a meal. This is just grass and rubber. Olivia, you couldnt have done some simple new potatoes with dill?
Its a delicacy, Mum, Linda drawled, setting down her phone. Though I like plain food too. Livvy, pass the mushrooms please. Did you pickle these yourself or are they shop-bought?
From the local farm shop, Olivia answered.
Thought so. Cant be bothered to do it properly, Brenda declared. I brought my own. Ill open the jar so you can taste real mushrooms.
Olivia chewed silently, staring at her plate. Under the table, Peter gave her hand a reassuring squeeze: Just three days, his look said.
As eight oclock approached, the wine was dwindling and the boys settled in front of tablets. The talk turned to sleeping arrangements.
My backs done in from the drive, sighed Brenda, clutching her waist. I need to lie down!
Yes, Mum needs a good rest, Linda chimed in. Livvy, where are we sleeping?
Olivia steeled herself, prepared for this moment.
The lounge is all set up. The sofa is huge plenty big enough for two adults. Linda, you and the boys can have the bed in Peters study, or theres a comfy air mattress if youd like.
Silence. Brenda stopped chewing; Linda raised her eyebrows.
What do you mean, the sofa? Brenda stared at Olivia. Are you joking? Ive got arthritis, slipped discs! I cant sleep on a sofa Ill seize up! I need a proper bed, nice and soft.
Aunt Brenda, its an orthopaedic sofa, bought especially for guests. Its firm, no gaps, Olivia began.
A sofas still a sofa! Brenda cut in. Thats for young people. Im an older woman, I need comfort. I assumed youd let us use your bedroom. I heard you have a miracle mattress.
Olivia froze. She expected demands, but not this straightforward attempt to commandeer their private room.
The bedroom? Peter frowned. Brenda, thats our room. We sleep there.
So? Youre young, healthy. A couple of nights on the sofa, or the floor, youd manage! Mum needs comfort. And itd be easier for me and the boys if they wake, we wont disturb anyone. The door shuts, no noise.
Just to be clear, Olivia attempted to keep steady, youre asking us to leave our own room, give up our bed, and sleep in the lounge?
Oh Livvy, dont be so melodramatic! Brenda protested. Were not asking for ever just while were here. The best for guests! Thats what Mum taught me and Gran. But youve gone all posh city ways, forgetting traditions.
Tradition is to feed and welcome, Olivia said firmly. But a personal bed is like a toothbrush private. We cant offer our bedroom. Thats not happening.
Linda slammed her glass onto the table. Livvy, you cant be serious. You wont let your own aunt and cousins have a bed? We came hundreds of miles, brought gifts, and youd stick us on a sofa like stray dogs?
Hows it like stray dogs? Peter asked, surprised. The sofa cost over £1,000 its comfortable. I use it myself for match day naps.
Dont care what you paid! Brenda shrieked. Its about respect! Your mother, God rest her, would have been ashamed to see you treat family like this. Youre just selfish! All your father in you!
Mention of her mother was a low blow. Olivias mum, gentle and self-effacing, had always catered to Brendas demands, and Olivia remembered how visits left her mum exhausted and broke.
Leave Mum out of this, Olivia said quietly but with steel. She was a saint but you took advantage. I am not her I have boundaries. The bedroom is off limits. End of. If the sofa wont do, there are plenty of hotels nearby Ill help you book.
A hotel?! Are you throwing us out? Making us pay in London? Mum, did you hear that? Linda gaped.
Loud and clear, dear, Brenda clutched her chest theatrically. Oh, I feel faint. My blood pressure! Get me water!
Linda rushed to fuss, popping tablets and pouring water, with the children nervously watching the drama unfold.
Right, Linda rallied. Either you let us use your bedroom like decent people, or we leave tonight. Well tell everyone how stuck-up youve turned! Your choice.
Olivia looked at Peter. His face was unreadable, but support was clear in his eyes. He too was fed up with the pushiness.
Its an odd choice, Linda, Olivia replied, standing. Im offering you hospitality, good food, comfortable spots to sleep. You demand my private space and threaten to leave. If sleeping in my bed means more to you than family, perhaps you should go.
Well! Brenda leapt up, back pain forgotten. Linda, pack up! Get the boys! We wont spend another minute in this place. Wed rather sleep at the train station than with so-called family!
Mum, its late! No trains now! Linda faltered, clearly not expecting the bluff to be called.
Well get a cab! Well stay with Jean at the other end of town shes in a bedsit but shes got heart, not cold London manners! She gives her last to guests! You two can choke on your fancy nibbles!
Chaos erupted as Linda angrily rammed belongings into bags. Brenda, wailing dramatic complaints, stalked the house loudly lamenting their fate.
Give our presents back! Brenda demanded, pausing in the porch. I brought you linen towels! You dont deserve them. Ill give them to Jean instead.
Olivia fetched the towels (scratchy and stiff, not her style) and handed them over. Here. And your mushroom jar too.
Well take them! Linda snatched them. And the sweets we brought for the boys theyre coming, too!
Peter watched, leaning on the doorway, embarrassed by adults acting worse than children.
Fifteen minutes later they were ready. Brenda filled the air with a tirade, dredging up grievances decades old and darkly predicting Olivia and Peters lonely old age.
Got a cab? Peter queried as they put on coats.
We dont need your help! snapped Linda, stabbing her phone. Mum, outside carll be here in five. Airs easier to breathe than in this house.
They stormed out, slamming the brand-new front door so hard the plaster shook loose from the ceiling. Silence descended. Only the fridge hummed and the lounge clock ticked. Uneaten prawn salad, used napkins, and the sticky ring of juice stained the tablecloth.
Olivia sank into a kitchen chair and covered her face with her hands, shoulders shaking.
Peter wrapped his arms around her and pressed a kiss to her head. Its alright, Livvy. Theyre gone.
She raised her head, not in tears, but laughing helplessly. Relieved.
Pete, did you hear them? Better off at the station! What a relief!
Absolute luxury, Peter agreed. And theyve forgotten the jellied beef its still out on the patio!
Olivia burst out laughing. Their prize dish! Oh, and Jeans got a tiny room with her drunken husband shell be thrilled to have their whole party land for New Years Eve!
Not our problem anymore, Peter remarked philosophically, pouring more wine. To be honest, when she mentioned your mum I nearly threw them out myself. You did well, Livvy. You were brave.
I just really love our bedroom, Olivia confessed, sipping his wine. And you. And our peace. This might be my favourite New Year yet: just us, no one carping about my cooking.
They cleared the table, loaded the dishwasher, and the air lifted the heavy atmosphere of resentment dissipated.
Olivia wandered to the window. Fat, soft snowflakes drifted gently, washing away the tracks from the departing cab. The city shimmered, lights twinkling through the winter night. Out there somewhere, her relatives hauled their bitterness from place to place. Olivias heart gave a pang living with that misery must be exhausting. Harder, perhaps, than sleeping on a sofa.
Pete, she called. Lets have some music and light the candles. Its still our holiday.
Absolutely, he replied from the kitchen. And the ducks nearly ready they never did get a taste.
An hour later, they sat at their newly laid table amidst soft candlelight and the strains of gentle jazz. The apple-roasted duck was perfect, golden crisp and aromatic.
To us, Peter toasted. To our home. And may it always be a haven for those who treat it and us with respect.
And for boundaries, Olivia added, clinking her glass. Learning how to defend them is worth celebrating.
Later that night, nestled on the coveted mattress, Olivia felt utter contentment. The quiet wrapped around her, sheets scented with lavender rather than someone elses perfume. She imagined Brenda and Linda squeezed onto Jeans floor or sulking at the train station, cursing her posh London ways. But guilt did not trouble her.
She realised a simple truth: you cant please everyone, especially if it means sacrificing yourself. If the price of peace is upsetting those who cross the line, it is a price well worth paying.
The next morning, Olivias phone was flooded with messages from relatives, each regaling her with Brendas version of events about being thrown into the cold. Olivia didnt reply, just switched to airplane mode, stretched in bed, and smiled at the wintry sun.
As for the forgotten jellied beef, Olivia and Peter later fed it to the local dogs. The dogs were grateful they didnt grumble about the garlic or texture, but simply appreciated the kindness. Sometimes, animals know far better than people how to accept and cherish a good deed.
