So, you wont believe what happened last weekit was like something straight out of a sitcom, except it was my life, and honestly, I was this close to losing it.
It was Friday evening, Id just got in from the office, still barely caught my breath and looking forward to a quiet night in. I had my slippers on, the telly ready, and all I wanted was some proper peace after a long week staring at numbers. Then, from the hallway, I hear Marks cheery shout: Come on in, dont be shy! Make yourself at home! A second later, there was this almighty thudsome heavy bag, probably.
There I was, wooden spoon in hand, staring at the pot like it might help me escape, because I most definitely hadnt planned on having company. If anyone was getting an invite to my table that night, it was meant to be a hot bath and eight hours of sleep. I set the spoon down, wiped my hands, and ventured into the hallway.
What I saw did not set my mind at ease. Mark was smiling like hed just won the lottery, all while helping this stocky bloke wriggle out of a coat. The guy had a ruddy nose, a face that looked like itd lost a few fights with too many pints, and a massive sports bag dumped against the wall, the zip straining for dear life.
Oh, Ellie! There you are, Mark said, grinning like a Cheshire cat. Brought you a surprise, love! Remember Dave from my uni days? You know, the one who played Wonderwall at every party. Vaguely, yeah. Dave was that noisy back-row lad who always borrowed fags and never remembered his lecture notes.
Dave himself sort of muttered, Alright, boss, while he kicked his shoes off and lobbed them towards the shoe rack. Nice gaff youve got. Sprawling, innit.
Evening, I managed, tight-lipped, as I gave Mark a look that would have made my old maths teacher proud. A look that silently screamed, What on earth is this?
Mark hurried over, wrapped an arm around my shoulders, and whispered, Ellie, listen. Daves had a disaster. The wifes booted him out, can you believe it? She owns the flatwell, technically her mumand never even put him on the paperwork. Hes got nowhere to go, hes skint. I told him he could kip on our sofa for a week while he sorts himself out. I mean, I couldnt just leave him in the rainyou know how I am.
Oh, do I ever know how he is. Marks heart is in the right place. But sometimes, its like his spine forgot to show up for work. If someone so much as sighs in his direction and mentions the good old days, hes already clearing the spare bed.
A week? I hissed. Mark, this is a two-bed. Wheres he sleepingthe lounge? Where are we meant to sit all nightbalancing our mugs over the sink?
Mark waved his hand. Come on, Ellie, its just a week. Well have our cuppas in the kitchen. Hes a top bloke, quiet as a mouse. You wont even know hes here.
Not ten seconds later, quiet Dave burst out from the bathroom, drying his hands on the nice fancy hand towel I only put out this morning. So, whats for dinner then? he asked, peering round the kitchen like he owned the place. Havent had a bite since God knows when. Starved, I am.
Honestly, dinner that night shouldve come with a laugh track, because Dave demolished my home-cooked shepherds pie like he was prepping for hibernation. The way he scoffed his food, commenting all the way through, youd have thought he was on Come Dine with Me.
Not bad, not bad, this. Bit bland, thoughused to get more of a kick at home. My ex could knock up a pie you could stand your fork up in. Yours is a bit, I dunno, healthy?
I bit my tongue so hard Im surprised it didnt bleed. Mark, bless him, tried to keep things light, topping up Daves plate and saying, See, youre in good handsEllies the best in the kitchen.
Dave just waved his fork. Oh, its alright for townies, I suppose. Not what us workmen are used to. You got any lager in? Pies always better with a pint.
The rest of the evening was a write-off. The telly was cranked up louder than Glastonbury, Dave planted himself on the sofa narrating every car chase, Mark just nodded along, and every twenty minutes one of them would pop in asking for more brew or a bacon sarnie. The lounge was no-go for me. I hid in the bedroom with a book, but the noiselaughter, football commentary, shoutingmight as well have been coming from next to my pillow.
It was even worse the next morning. I came in to make coffee before work, only to find the kitchen looked like it had survived a student partywashing up piled high, ketchup stains everywhere, empty beer bottles. Dave was splayed out on the sofa, snoring like a tractor. The flat stank of stale beer and sweat.
Mark shuffled in, hair all over the place. Sorry, El, meant to tidy last night. Ill sort it after work.
And what are you two meant to have for breakfast, thenpaper plates? I checked the time. Youd better rinse a couple now.
I drank my coffee in silence and left, but the truth was, by lunch I was desperate not to go home again. My lovely tidy place, my little slice of calmgone.
That night, it wasnt much better. Someone had half-heartedly done half the washing up, but everything was still a mess, and the flat stank like a fry-up gone wrong. Dave sat at the kitchen table in a vest, smoking out the windowabsolutely ignoring my no smoking rule.
Alright, boss? Weve decked out some chips and bacon, proper job. Had to pop out for the bacon, left some change on the sideMark lent us a tenner, cos my cards blocked. You hungry?
I took one look at the greasy stove and potato peels on the floor and said, Im fine, thanks. Mark, come with me a sec.
We retreated to the bedroom, and I hissed, What is going on, Mark? Why is he smoking in my kitchen? Why is everything a tip? You said I wouldnt even notice him.
Love, calm down, hes stressed out. Its just a week
Is he even trying to find a place? Only, all I see is him sat in front of the telly with a can in his hand.
He called someone, I saw him! Come on, Ellie. Friendships about helping out when things are low.
But the next few daysthey felt like years. Dave inhabited every room. Ate entire dinners meant for two, clumped around in his pants, bogarted the bathroom for ages and left it a mess. Every surface felt sticky. But Friday took the biscuit.
Came home early, longing for a bit of pampering. As soon as I unlocked the door, I heard loud music and laughter. Not just Dave and Marks shoes in the hallway, but a pair of heels and someone elses trainers.
I poked my head into the lounge. The air was thick with smoke. Dave, some bloke Id never seen, and a girl in suspiciously heavy makeup sat around my coffee tablemy beloved oak tableno coasters in sight, just cans and crisps spread everywhere. Mark was huddled on a stool, looking like he wanted to melt.
Oi oi! The missus is home! Dave bellowed. Mark, pour her a drink! Ellie, meet Colin and Tasha, were just having a civilised Friday knees-up.
I spotted a wet ring from someones pint glass staining the table, and Tasha grinding out a cigarette in my best crystal bowl. I looked at Mark. He stared at his feet.
I didnt shout. Didnt break things. Just felt a cold, calm clarity. Good evening, I said, even. I wont keep you.
Off I went to the bedroom, locked the door, and started packing. Dressing gown, slippers, swimsuit, a couple of dresses, makeup, the books I never found time for. Thank God I still hadnt used up all my holiday, and even more grateful I had some savings Mark couldnt touch.
I opened my laptop, scrolled through the listings, and booked myself a week at that Cheshire spa Id always wanted but never dared splurge on. Ensuite luxury park view, all meals sorted, proper pamperingmassage, facials, the works. Paid up on the spotcheck-in first thing the next morning.
Bag ready, I lay down with earplugs in. The party sounded like it was in another world.
Next morning, the flat was silent as a grave. Mark and Dave were out cold. I got dressed, grabbed my suitcase, and left a note on the kitchen table, right next to the debris of their party. Just: Gone to the spa. Back in a week. No food in the fridge. You handle the bills this month.
Cab was waiting; as I pulled away, it felt like someone had taken a sack of bricks off my back.
Ill be honest: the first two days at the spa were absolute bliss. I wandered through frosty gardens, sipped posh smoothies, swam, readno phone, just checked it once or twice a day.
The calls from Mark started on the first eveningmissed ones at first, then messages.
Ellie, where are you?
This isnt funny. You just left?
We woke up, you were gone.
Theres no food. Not even soup in the fridge.
I just laughed, left the phone on silent and went off for a chocolate wrap treatment.
By day three, his tone had shifted:
Ellie, pick up. Where dyou keep the clean socks?
How the hell does the washing machine work? It just keeps flashing at me.
Daves asking where the spare towels are, hes covered in bacon grease.
Were out of loo roll and powder. Any spares?
For that, I sent one reply: Look the washer up online. Loo rolls at the shop. If you managed to buy beer, you can buy supplies.
On day four, he finally rang while I was at the spa café, sipping peppermint tea. I picked up.
Ellie! At last! When are you coming home? This is a nightmare!
Whats happened, Mark? I asked, cool as a cucumber. Im having a treatment.
Its chaos! Dave had his mates over for the footie last night, screaming till twoMrs. Jenkins from below called the police! Ive had to write a statement, we got fined!
Well, you did say he was a good bloke in need. Youre being very generous. Arent you supposed to help your mates?
Love, theres nothing to eat! I get in from work, the place is a dump, everything reeks, Daves demanding tea like Im the butler. He says Im a rubbish host!
And hows that got anything to do with me? I thought city girls like me cooked badlymaybe hell show you how to do it proper. Fry up some bacon.
Ellie, I cant just throw him out. Its embarrassing, hes my mate.
Thats your decision, Mark. Your friend, your housesort it. Ill be home Sunday night. If my flat isnt spotless, and if Dave is still anywhere near it, Ill stay at Mums and call the solicitor. Thats not a threat; its a fact.
Hung up and strolled off for a facial. For the first time, I felt free. Before, Id have been too worried to draw a line. But a week with Dave showed me patience isnt always a virtue. Sometimes, its just saying, Yeah, step all over me.
The rest of my spa stay flew by. I slept like a teenager, looked ten years younger, the worry lines had vanished.
Sunday evening, I took a cab home. In the lift, my hands were steady. I was ready for anything. If Mark hadnt managedI was done.
I opened the door. The place smelled gloriously of bleach, lemons, andget thisroast chicken. Nice roast chicken, not burnt disaster.
No sign of Dave or his massive bag. Just Marks shoes, nice and neat.
Mark appeared from the kitchenlooked like hed just run a marathon, but shaved and in a crisp shirt.
Hi, he said, voice small.
I poked around. Living room was immaculate, sofa folded away, carpet hoovered, windows open. My beautiful table was polished to a shine. Kitchen spotless, chicken in the oven.
And Dave? I asked, shrugging off my coat.
Mark leaned against the doorframe, half-collapsing. Sent him packing. Thursday, after you rang.
No! Seriously? Didnt that feel weird?
Mark rubbed his nose. You know what, Ellie When he demanded I fetch beers for the match, after Id just slogged home and was in the middle of scrubbing his burnt pan, something just snapped. Told him: pack up, mate, time to go.
And?
He went ballistic. Called me henpecked, said Id sold him out for a skirt, wanted money for emotional distress. I gave him twenty quid for the cab, put his bag outside, shut the door, changed the locks. Took me two days to get the place clean. I even got Mrs. Jenkins some chocolates, apologised for the noise.
He took my hands. His were raw from all the scrubbing.
Im sorry, Ellie. I really am. I just thought itd be fine. I never realised how much you do. I always assumed the food, the clean space it just sort of happened. After four days playing host, I nearly lost my mind. How do you do it? And work as well?
I looked into his eyesfor the first time, I saw real understanding there. He finally got it: what peace and home actually take.
I dont just cope, Mark. I keep this place going for us. But taking care of freeloaders isnt included in my job description.
He nodded, Never again. No more overnight guests. And Davehes blocked on my phone, after what he texted me later.
Sit, love, or the chicken will burn, I laughed.
We ate in peacethe good kind. Mark kept watching me, topping up my tea.
He asked, shy, Was the spa nice?
Oh, brilliant. Im going every six months now, youd better believe it. In fact, I think you should learn to cook something fancier than toasties. Just in case I pop off again.
He grinned. Deal. Ill master roast dinners.
The next day, a friend let me know Dave had gone crawling back to his ex-mother-in-law, kicked up a stink, and now his ex is taking him to court for eviction and debt. Turns out, he was sacked a month ago for drinking and the whole kicked out by the missus act was just his way to scrounge free digs and an audience.
When I told Mark, he just shook his head and hugged me. Lesson learned. Our home, our boundariesoff limits to chancers. And now, I realised you dont have to shout to get heard. Sometimes, you just walk away and let people face their own mess.
Things changed. No, Mark didnt become Mr. Perfect overnight. But he doesnt take what I do for granted anymore. And cruciallyhe found his backbone. When his cousin called a few weeks later asking to crash for a couple of nights, Mark politely but firmly gave him directions to the nearest B&B.
I heard the whole call from the kitchen as I stirred the soup. Couldnt wipe the smile off my face. Spas are lovely, but nothing beats home when someone actually values you.
