Dont like it? Youre free to leave, I told my unwanted guests.
For thirty years, I kept my mouth shut. If my husband spoke I nodded. If my mother-in-law descended on the house I put the kettle on. When my sister-in-law arrived with a suitcase I set her up in the box room. Just for a few days, she said. She stayed for three months.
What was I supposed to do? Cause a scene? Everyone would say Im a dreadful wife. Say no? Theyd decide I had a heart of stone. So I learned to grit my teeth, even managed to ignore the fact my own life was gradually being consumed by serving everyone elses wishes.
My husband, Peter, was a simple chap. Worked as a site foreman, enjoyed a knees-up with mates, raised a toast to friendship, and grumbled forever about his boss. He called me my little homemaker and genuinely never understood why Id sometimes cry at night. If I was tired? Have a rest. Family coming to stay? Feed them. Thats all there was to it.
When he passed away, I was left alone in our three-bedroom flat on Camden High Street. The funeral happened as it should: food, gin, kind words about a decent man. The family gathered, shed a few tears, and then dispersed. I thought, Well, at least now there might be some peace.
Not a chance.
A week later, my sister-in-law, Pauline, rang up.
Liz, Ill come by tomorrow. Got some shopping for you.
I dont need anything, Pauline.
Oh come off it! Im not showing up empty-handed, am I?
She arrived with two bags of rice and oats and one demand: let her son Daniel stay awhile as he was starting university in London. I tried to gently push back:
But hell have a student flat, right?
Oh, eventually! Wheres he supposed to stay till then? On the street?
I caved in. Daniel settled into the box room, living like a slob: socks in the hallway, dirty plates piled in the sink, music blaring half the night. He never did get into uni, by the way, but he found work as a delivery driver and used my place like a hotel.
Dan, maybe you could start looking for somewhere else? I ventured after a month.
Auntie Liz, where am I meant to go? I cant afford rent!
Two weeks after that, Peters daughter from his first marriage, Judith, arrived, dragging decades-old resentment and a barrage of complaints.
Dad left you this flatwhat about me? Im his daughter!
I stood there, bewildered. The flat had been in Peters name, now it was mine by inheritance. Legal. But Judith looked at me as if Id stolen something from her.
Do you have any idea how hard its been for me? Judith carried on. Single mum, paying rent!
I tried to explain the flat was my only home, and that I had no extra money and no grand plan. But she didnt listen. She wasnt after understandingshe was after justice.
That was just the start.
The relatives began visiting more and more often. Sometimes my mother-in-law, with more advice: Sell the flat, buy a smaller place! Sometimes Pauline, with another cousin in tow. Sometimes Judith, with a new list of grievances.
Every time, Id set the table, boil the kettle, and sit through all the complaints.
Then, one day, they stopped being subtle and talked flats directly.
Liz, what do you need three bedrooms for? Pauline said, sipping her tea. Sell up, get a one-bed. Use the extra money to help the kids.
What kids? I asked, baffled.
Judith. Dan. They dont have it easy, do they?
I looked around the room, at each expectant face, and suddenly it clicked. They were not here to comfort methey were here to carve up what they fancied.
If youre not happy here, I said quietly, youre welcome to leave.
Silence. You could hear a pin drop.
What did you say? Pauline asked, slowly.
I said: leave, I repeated, louder. This is my home.
They stared at me as if Id lost my mind. As if Id started speaking Chinese. Or swearing, maybe.
Who do you think you are? Pauline rallied. Were family!
What family? I asked softly. The ones who turn up only when they want a meal or to watch telly?
Mum, are you hearing this? Pauline appealed to my mother-in-law. Didnt I tell youshes always thought too much of herself!
My mother-in-law was silentas usual. Shed sigh and cast a look that said, Ungrateful Liz has done something wrong again.
Mrs. Carter, I said to her. For thirty years you taught me how to run a home, how to please a husband, how to set a table. And when I cried at night, do you remember what you said? Just put up with it. All women do. Remember?
She pursed her lips.
So I put up with it. But nowenough. Im all out of patience. Like the last drop of milk gone from the bottle.
Pauline angrily grabbed her bag.
Ill tell Dan everything! Hell see you for who you really are!
By all means, I said. Just make sure you take him with you. Tomorrow. Or Ill put his things in the corridor myself.
They slammed the door on their way out, rattling the lampshade. I stood shaking in the kitchen, heart pounding, drank a large glass of tap water in one go.
I thought, What have I done?
And then, What really have I done? Sent unwanted guests packing from my own home?
That night, sleep wouldnt come. I tossed and turned, thoughts tumbling like clothes in a cramped old washing machineover and over. What if theyre right? Am I a selfish old bat? Maybe I ought to have just kept quiet?
But by morning, things felt clearer. Crystal clear, in fact, like frost on a winter lawn. Enduring something is temporary. Thirty years isnt enduringit’s surrender.
Dan moved out two days later. Pauline came for him, stone-faced, refusing to meet my gaze. Dan grumbled about that old cow as he clattered about. I just stood in the hallway, silent. Not pleading, not justifying, not begging. Just silent.
A week later Judith called:
Wemy mum and Ihave been thinking, she began, carefully.
Which mum? I interrupted. Your mum passed away back in 92. Mrs. Carter is my mother-in-law. Was.
There was an awkward pause. Judith obviously hadnt expected that.
Alright, alright, she pressed on. Look, we dont want to fall out. Honestly. You know Dad loved you.
He did, I agreed. In his own way. But the flat is in my name, legally. And I dont owe anyone anything.
Yeah but, you know, for fairness sake
Fairness? I laughed. Judith, you know what wouldve been fair? If, just once in thirty years, any of you remembered my birthday. Or picked up the phone just to chatwithout asking for money. That wouldve been fair.
Youve become bitter, Judith said coldly. Loneliness does that to people.
No, I replied. Ive just stopped pretending.
The following weeks stretched on endlessly. I went to workmy job as a cleaner at the hospitalcame home, ate dinner alone. My neighbour Mrs. Clark popped in sometimes, bearing homemade scones.
Lizzie, love, how are you? Not too lonely?
Im fine.
And the familystill not turning up?
Theyre not.
Good, she said, to my surprise. I always wondered when youd finally put your foot down. Good for you.
And for the first time in ages, I meant my smile.
But the hardest part wasnt the offended relatives. It was the silence. No one to wish me good evening, no one to pour a cuppa for. It hit me: my whole life, Id never lived for myself.
And now? Now I needed to learn how. And that was scarier than any accusation, any slammed door.
A month later, Pauline returned. No warning. Her, Dan, Mrs. Carter, and Judithall at once. Like some sort of landing party.
I answered the door and there they all were, planted on the landing like the Queens Guard on parade. Pauline up front, the others behind.
So, Lizzie, she said. Come to your senses yet?
About what?
The flat! Are you selling?
I looked at each of them in turn. They had come convinced a month of solitude would break me. That Id call, begging them back.
Come in, I said. I suppose youre here now.
They traipsed into the kitchen. Mrs. Carter headed straight for the fridge. Judith took out her phone. Pauline sat opposite me, folded her arms.
Liz, you must see you cant look after this place alone. Bills, repairs. And honestly, what do you need all this space for?
I like it, I replied evenly.
But youre alone! Judith chimed in without looking up. Look, Ive found a flat: if you sell this place, buy something smaller on the edge of London, youd have about three hundred thousand left over. Give me a hundred grandIve got a kid, after all. Give Dan a hundred for his studies. And youll have the last for your retirement.
I sat there, listening, studying Judiths smooth hands, her expensive bag.
So, Im to move out to the suburbs so you two can have a fortune each? I asked.
Well, its only fair! spat Judith. Dad put everything into this flat!
No, I said, quite softly. He got it through work, back in 84. The redecorating? I paid for thatout of my wages.
Dont make a scene, Lizzie, Pauline said. Were just trying to be reasonable. Were family.
Something clicked in mea switch flipping off.
Family? I repeated. Where was family when I was in hospital three years ago? Who visited then? Pauline, did you?
She shifted in her chair.
I had things going on, she mumbled.
And you, Mrs. Carter? Did you ever ring?
My mother-in-law looked out the window.
And you, Judith? Did you even know I was ill?
No one told me, she muttered.
Right. Because it didnt matter. Like now. Youre not here for me. Youre here for the flat.
Lizzie, what are you getting so worked up for? Pauline started.
Im not. Ive just had enough. Thats all. Truly.
I got up, went to the door, opened it.
Time to leave. Now. And dont come back.
Youve got a nerve! Judith spat. Who do you think you are? Youre not even proper family!
Thats right, I nodded. Thank God for that.
Pauline shot up. Peter would turn in his grave!
If he could hear me now, I said, hed make me give in as always. But hes gone. And its my turn.
Youll regret this! Judith snapped. One day youll come crawling back when youre old and sick!
I smiled, weary but genuine.
You know, Judith, Im nearly sixty. For decades I thoughtif Im just good enough, people will love me. If I always give in, people will value me. But the more I gave way, the more they demanded. So no. I wont come crawling. Not ever.
They left without another word: Pauline red-faced, Mrs. Carter lips pinched, Judith slamming the door behind them.
I stood in the hall, hands shaking, head pounding. I made it to the kitchen, sat down, and cried.
Not out of self-pity. Out of relief.
A week later, Mrs. Clark called.
Lizzie, dear, I heard you had a row with them all?
Didnt have a row. Just told the truth.
Well done. Listen, my granddaughters come out of a marriagethirty, all alone, doesnt know what to do with herself. Maybe youd get along? Shes a lovely, hardworking lass.
We met. Emma, her name was, softly spoken and shy. She worked as an accounts clerk, rented a dodgy room in a shared house. Shed come over for tea, and wed talk for hours.
Would you like to move in here? I blurted out one afternoon. The spare rooms yours if you help pay the bills.
Emma moved in a month later. It turns outits quite easy sharing a home with someone if that someone respects your space. No complaints. No nitpicking. No lectures.
I joined the local librarywhere Id once worked as an assistantand started borrowing all those books Id never had time for.
Occasionally Id think of the family. Id wonderhow are they getting on? Pauline? Dan? Judith and her daughter? Mrs. Carter?
But I felt no urge to ring them. Not even a little.
Six months later, Mrs. Clark filled me in.
My dear, did you know your sister-in-laws moved in with her son? Back to halls of residence, of all places. Says the quiet in the village drove her mad.
Good for her, I said.
And Judiths married again. Some businessman. They say shes flush now.
Im pleased for her.
Mrs. Clark peered at me keenly. Arent you bitter?
About what?
That theyre getting along without you.
I smiled.
Clara, they always did get along without me. I just never noticed before.
That evening I looked out the window at the glowing streetlights, people hurrying home. Emma was singing in the kitchen, making stew for us both.
I thought: this is real happiness. Not someones praise or approval. But finally being able to say noand knowing I dont have to feel guilty.
Have you ever had to fend off relatives when they got too comfortable?
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