It happened about a year and a half ago, deep in winter, when my son was only five months old. My husbands brother rang me one evening and asked if he and his girlfriend might stay with us for a week. How could I refuse? Of course, I wasnt thrilled by the prospect our baby was scarcely out of the newborn stage, I hadnt slept properly in weeks, barely had time to eat, and my nerves were worn raw. Family never knows when to leave you be. But I thought, perhaps theyll lend a hand, give me a break, maybe someone to have a proper chat and a cuppa with.
They arrived, completely empty-handed not so much as a rattle for the baby. I have a rule: I never visit a home with a little one without at least a thoughtful token. Its simply good manners, the way I was brought up. But apparently the same didnt apply here.
They said they had business in town, but were vague about the details. I was the model hostess; I cooked, cleaned, did my utmost. I quickly got used to them. Outwardly all was fine, but in those several days under my roof, she never once offered a hand in the kitchen, never lifted a finger to help tidy up, nor did she so much as offer to mind the baby for a moment so I could get something done.
Shed head out first thing to run errands, while her boyfriend had a lie-in until noon. My husband was out working. I was left rushing round the flat with the baby in tow, as deadlines and naptimes tangled together. Shed return, flop on the sofa, and stay there until evening, idling her time away watching telly, as if it were her own place.
There I was, juggling the crying baby, mopping muddy floors outside it was all slush and grit preparing meals, feeding, bathing, and organising the endless cycle of nappies and bottles.
By the third day, Id had enough. I went to my husband and poured out my frustration, but he merely shrugged Better not get involved in a row between women. On the fourth evening, my husband got back from work just as the lucky two breezed out again, apparently off to the cinema.
We set to with dinner together, four hands making quick work. After supper, our guests returned, arms laden with beer and an assortment of snacks but absolutely nothing for me, not even a cake, though Im breastfeeding. Not a crumb.
The happy couple dug in, then headed off to the lounge with their films and drinks. They rang my husband and suggested he join them, leaving me behind. I felt so slighted. Thats when I decided I couldnt hold back any longer. I took her aside and said, voice shaking, Im sorry, but you could at least offer to help just once. I have a baby. Im exhausted. Perhaps peel some potatoes for the soup, or even just asking if you can help would mean the world.
She looked at me, cool as anything. Are you going to punish me? I dont think thats appropriate. Im tired myself. (What from, lounging on the sofa?)
She squared her shoulders. Excuse me, but youre in my flat. Youre not my guest Im your guest.
I dont intend to listen to another word of this! she snapped.
You know what? I replied, my voice trembling but resolute. Pack your bags and go. I want you out.
They packed up and left that night. Afterwards, I cried bitter, quiet tears for a long time.
Tell me, do you think their behaviour was even remotely acceptable?
