It was last summer, a rainy Friday in London. My husband was at the office, and I took our daughter, Harriet, to the bustling Borough Market to pick up groceries.
After the shopping, we headed home, arms aching with heavy bags. Once inside, Harriet set about tidying, while I put on my apron and started preparing dinner.
Suddenly, the screech of brakes shattered our routine. Unexpected guests my distant cousin Charlotte and her husband Richard, along with their fifteen-year-old daughter Emily had arrived. They tumbled out of their Land Rover looking flustered.
I ushered them inside, flustered myself, and hastily began setting out tea and biscuits. What brings you here? I asked as I arranged cups. Charlotte explained it had been her birthday yesterday, and they’d spontaneously decided to visit.
Frankly, I was caught off guard. While the guests sipped Earl Grey, I called my husband William to bring him up to speed. William, ever practical, suggested we host a barbecue. As luck would have it, we had pork in the freezer, perfect for skewers.
I returned to the living room and confessed to Charlotte and Richard that their visit was a surprise, but offered to prepare skewers wed marinate the meat and have it ready just about when William came home.
They nodded indifferently, retreated to the sitting room, stretched out on the sofa, turned on the telly, and immersed themselves in an evening programme.
I felt more than a little bewildered. Desperate for help, I asked Richard if he could chop the meat with me. He declared his wrist was acting up, while Charlotte muttered about the exhaustion of their journey, curled up, and fixed her gaze on EastEnders.
In silence, Harriet and I chopped and marinated the meat ourselves. We set the table and did all the leg work, while the visitors didnt so much as offer a hand.
When William stepped through the door, I quietly recounted the ordeal. His eyebrows shot up; he said the lot were cheeky, and called everyone to dinner.
During the meal an uncomfortable hush fell over the room. Everyone ate in silence; Richard greedily helped himself to three skewers straight off. William glanced at him, clearly unimpressed by their behaviour.
After eating, I asked if anyone would help with the dishes, hoping a sense of guilt might finally kick in. No luck Charlotte declared shed just had her nails done, and Emily wasn’t allowed near the sink.
Then, to top it off, Charlotte announced that it was too late to leave theyd be staying over and would need our bed, as Richards back required a firm mattress.
William couldnt restrain himself any longer. He stormed, voice trembling with anger:
Do you think this is a hotel, that were staff here? Pack your things and go home, now!
My jaw dropped. I tried to calm William, but our guests, affronted, grabbed their coats and fled straight out the door, leapt into their car, and sped away into the night.
