Make Some Room, We’re Planning to Stay for Ten Years: When Unexpected Family Arrives and Refuses to Leave

Author Wanda MirandaReading 11 minViews 4

Shift Over, Well Be Living Here for the Next Ten Years

Mother-in-law paused, then declared,
Oh, Jenny, Val is such a pushy woman… Once she gets an idea in her head, theres no shifting her.
Youve got to see where shes coming from though: she wants young Natalie properly schooled, you know, a good education and all that
On my tab? Jenny stopped in front of the mirror.
A pale, wild-haired woman stared back at her.
Mrs. Thompson, please stop them. Tell them to get off at the next station and go home. I wont meet them at the station, and Im certainly not handing over my flat.
How can I stop them? Mrs. Thompson wailed Theyre already on their way! Vals taken out a loan for university. They havent got a penny for rent.
Shes really counting on your help. Jen, cant you ask your tenants to leave, just for a bit? Cmon, were family after all
Family? Ive met your niece Natalie all of twice! You want me to kick out my tenants, cut off my own parents financial help, and leave my daughter without her after-school classes because your sister decided her daughter needs my flat?

Her phone chirped in her pocket. Jenny, still in her coat, fished it out. It was a message from Val, mother-in-laws sister.

Hi Jenny! Were on the train. Got tickets for 7:40pm, in London by morning at Euston! Meet us there with Natalie.

Text the address of your one-bed flat, we forgot to write it down last time. Where do we pick up the keys?

Jenny froze. She reread the message three times, praying shed misunderstood. Which one-bed flat? Which Natalie?

Mum, why are you stuck there? little Katie called from the hallway. Im hungry.

Coming, kitten, Jenny stroked her daughters hair absentmindedly, eyes glued to her phone.

She dialled Vals number. The phone was picked up instantly. In the background, the clatter of train wheels and bursts of laughter.

Jenny! Val hollered, excitement dripping from every syllable. Got my text? Thought wed surprise you so you wouldnt fuss about food. Well sort ourselves out, dont worry!

Val, hang on, Jenny interrupted. Whats going on? Where are you off to?

Where do you think? To London! Natalie got into university, like I told you in the spring. Didnt manage to get a grant, but well pay.
We packed our things, were coming to settle into your flat.

My… what? Jenny pressed her back to the wall. In the flat Ive been letting for six years? Are you serious, Val?

Oh, dont get huffy! Val snapped. Remember, six years back, when you inherited that flat from your nan? We were sitting at the table, and I said: Now Nataliell have somewhere to live when she comes to study in London. You didnt object! That means yes in my book. Weve been counting on it all these years.

I said nothing because I thought you were joking! Jenny nearly yelled. I never planned on anyone staying there.

Theres a family with a child living there. We have a contract. They pay their rent on time. My parents live on that money, and Katies ballet lessons all from there.

What were you thinking, just buying tickets and turning up?

We thought family sticks together! Val barked. Or have all you Londoners lost your morals?

Going to leave your niece stuck at the station? Have you spoken to your husband? Does he know youre turfing out his family?

Hes in a business trip outside Newcastle, patchy reception at best, and this is *my* flat, Val. Mine. Got it?

Bought by my grandmother and left to me. Simons never had anything to do with it.

Oh, is that how it is! Natalie, you hear this? Your uncles wife wants nothing to do with us! Never mind, well sort it out when we arrive.
Connections getting dodgy, see you tomorrow on the platform.

Dial tone. Jenny was stunned.

Katie, go to the kitchen, theres a casserole in the fridge heat it up yourself, she called, fingers trembling as she dialled her mother-in-law.

Mrs. Thompson took an age to answer.

Yes, Jenny, what is it?

Mrs. Thompson, did you know your sister and her daughter are inbound to London, planning to move into my flat?

Well… Val mentioned something… I thought you two had sorted it, her mother-in-law mumbled.

Sorted what? Jenny paced the hallway. For six years Ive been renting that flat.
Half the money goes to my parents for medicine. You know how hard it is for them on just their pension.
The rest pays for Katies dance and swimming.
Why didnt you tell them it wasnt possible?

Dont shout at me, Mrs. Thompson said, affronted This has nothing to do with me. You sort it.
Just dont bother Simon about it, hes busy with crucial meetings, hes already stressed.

Jenny flung her phone onto the sofa. Her husband always preferred neutral ground in family bust-ups, but when it came to his mum or aunt, he melted like butter on toast.

Theyre just provincial, Jen, different world hed say. Easier to just give in…

She tried Simon. Number not in service. Classic. He was always not in service when really needed.

***

The drama was colossal. By 5am, Val was ringing non-stop, demanding Jenny come fetch them from the station.

Were exhausted and starving! Its nippy too, were half frozen. Are you *still* asleep? Get up! We want you here in fifteen minutes!

Only half awake, Jenny snapped:

Will you just leave me alone! Im not coming and youre not getting into my flat. Thats final. Enough already.

By call number ten, Vals number went straight onto Jennys blocked list.

Val started ringing from Natalies phone blocked that too.

All day, Mrs. Thompson hounded Jenny: pleaded, begged to be compassionate to relatives, even threatened to tell Simon everything…

By evening, Simon himself arrived home unexpectedly from his trip.

Jen, what happened? he asked the moment he walked in. Mums crying down the phone, says youve chucked Aunt Val onto the street.

After hugs and kisses, Jenny explained:

They barged in, demanded I chuck out the tenants and move Natalie in for free, minimum of five years!
Simon, are they for real? Wheres their sense?
And as far as I know, theyre quite comfy at your mums place.
Why did you come back?

Mum called, Simon sighed and Aunt Vals been blowing up my phone all day.

Maybe we should just let them have the flat, at least until Nat sorts some university housing

Jenny shook her head:

Simon, there *is* no university housing lined up. They didnt even apply. Val was sure the flat was hers mine!

See the cheek? They didnt try to find a place, they just came home to my one-bed!

Mum swears you promised, six years ago

I didnt promise anything, Simon. That was at Nans wake. I just tuned it out, grief and all.

Aunt Vals livid. Says we dont exist for them anymore. And by the way, they didnt stay at Mums too far from the uni.

I transferred her £500, they said they found somewhere to rent

Good! Jenny smacked the table in relief. Best thing Ive heard all week. Im not even mad about the money. Off my back at last!

Simon gave a long sigh, head drooping.

Jen, its a room in a grotty bedsit. Aunt Vals screaming about cockroaches and rowdy neighbours.

Shed better get used to it. If you want life in the capital, you muddle through, you dont just hold your hand out to relatives who barely remember your birthday.

Jenny turned and stormed off to her bedroom, Simon trailing behind.

Jen, it feels awkward though, doesnt it? Like we really did leave them in the lurch.

What if something happens? The neighbours sound dodgy. What if theyre attacked?
Dont you feel a bit sorry for Aunt Val?

Jenny spun around:

Simon, Ive got a daughter, two parents who depend on me, and a flat my nan earned through proper hard graft.
Im not giving it away, just because someone 400 miles up north fancies its their right.

Why should I feel guilty? Tell me!

Simon stayed silent, so Jenny continued:

Want dinner? Ill warm something up. Lets end it here. If you want to help them, do it with your own wages.
But the flat stays rented end of story.

Alright. Youre right. Cant say Id be thrilled if your folks turned up at my mums and announced, Shift over, well be living here for the next decade.

After dinner, as Simon went for a shower, Jenny scrolled her phone. A message glared from Mrs. Thompson:

Jenny, this is too much. Vals ill with the stress. At least bring them some groceries.
Lots, so itll last a few weeks.
Make sure theres meat, loads of veg, fruit, and chocolate. Coffee, tea, toiletries, sunflower oil.
Some fish, but no tinned stuff Val wont touch it. Heres their address:.

Jenny blocked her too. Let them sit in phone jail for a few days.

***

The night passed mostly without incident no more phone calls.

At the crack of dawn, Val herself came round, rapping at the door at 7am sharp.

Jenny, half-awake, opened the door while Simon slept.

Aunt Val laid into her straight away:

You slept well, did you, all snug under your clean duvet?
Want to know how Natalie and I spent the night?
It was hideous, let me tell you! Cockroaches falling on my head, freezing cold, grime everywhere, the floor like ice!
Someone on the right belted out My Old Mans a Dustman all night, someone on the left was screaming about their boyfriend.

Are you seriously letting us, your own family, live in such squalor?

Look, darling, I dont want a row. Not going to kick your tenants out? Fine! Well just move in with you and Simon, theres enough space, isnt there?
Youve got three bedrooms, surely room for two? Just a bigger one for us!
Dont stress, well only stay three or four months, maybe half a year, till my daughter settles in.

Jenny was stunned.

Find yourself another way home! Lets not burn all bridges.
Want me to call the police? I will its not hard, you know.
Why make this your problem?

Aunt Val flushed so red Jenny almost worried for her health.

You… you rotten, stuck-up Londoner!
May your daughter spend her life as a cleaner with no education!
Just wait youll ask me for help one day. Ill *never* forgive you for this!

Jenny calmly closed the door in her relatives face. Val kept shouting on the stairs for several minutes, then left.

***

The fallout spoiled everything between Jenny and Mrs. Thompson mother-in-law stopped speaking to her altogether.
Simon still visits his mum, helps out, even brings Katie now and then, but Mrs. Thompsons kept well away from their flat.

Jenny, if anything, is relieved one problem down.

We’re Moving Into Your Flat — “Oli’s got a lovely flat in the heart of town. The place is newly renovated—you just move in and enjoy!” — “It’s great for a single girl,” Rustam smiled condescendingly at Inna, as if she were a child. “But we’ve got big plans—two, maybe three children. One after the other, ideally. It’s noisy in town, the air’s awful, there’s nowhere to park. And most of all, it’s just two rooms. But here—you’ve got three. The area is quiet, there’s a nursery right outside.” — “It is a nice neighbourhood,” agreed Sergei, still not seeing where his future brother-in-law was going with this. “That’s why we settled here ourselves.” — “Exactly!” Rustam snapped his fingers. “I keep telling Olga—why should we squeeze into a shoebox when there’s a perfect solution?” It’s just you and your daughter—surely you don’t need all this space? Realistically, one of your rooms is just a dumping ground. For us, this place would be just right. Inna was wrestling a vacuum cleaner into the hallway cupboard. The vacuum was putting up a fight—its hose caught on hangers, completely refusing to slot into place. — “Serge, give me a hand!” she called out. “Either this cupboard’s shrunk, or I’ve forgotten how to organise things.” Sergei poked his head out of the bathroom—he’d just finished fiddling with the tap. Calm and always a bit slow-moving, he was the polar opposite of his wife. — “Let’s sort it,” he said, deftly manhandling the heavy cleaner into the corner of the cupboard. Inna sighed and collapsed against the doorframe. — “Explain to me how we always run out of space. It’s a big flat—three rooms—yet every time we tidy up, you’d think we were evacuating to the street.” — “That’s because you’re a bit of a hoarder,” Sergei chuckled, “Why do we need three dinner sets? We only use one, twice a year.” — “Sentimental value, that’s why—they’re from Grandma’s place.” After their wedding, Sergei’s family had split the inheritance fairly: he got this spacious three-bedroom in a quiet neighbourhood from his grandmother; his sister Olya got a two-bedroom right in the ‘golden square’ of the city centre. The money worked out much the same. For five years everyone got on, no one was envious. Inna naively thought it would always stay like that, but… *** They finished tidying, the chaos cleared, and just sat down when the doorbell rang. Sergei went to answer. — “It’s my sister and her fiancé,” he said to his wife after checking the peephole. Olya swooped in first, followed by Rustam, who trudged in heavily. Inna had only met him a couple of times—Olya had found him at a gym about six months ago. Rustam had rubbed her the wrong way instantly—arrogant, looking down on both her and Sergei. — “Hiya!” Olya kissed her brother’s cheek and hugged Inna. “We were just passing and thought we’d pop in. We’ve got news!” — “Come in, then. News is always good,” Sergei waved them into the kitchen. “Tea?” — “Just water, thanks,” Rustam lumbered behind their host, “We’ve got serious business to discuss, Sergei.” Not really ‘just passing.’ They wanted something. No need for tea. Take a seat. An uneasy feeling crept over Inna—she didn’t like Rustam’s tone one bit. What was he after? — “Go on then,” Sergei shrugged. Olya hovered in the background, glued to her phone, letting her fiancé do the talking. Rustam cleared his throat. — “So. We’ve filed for notice. Wedding’s in three months. I’m sure you can appreciate—I’ve got big plans. Family, joint life, happy ever after. We had a think about our housing situation… We’re moving in with you, and you can move to our place!” Inna was gobsmacked. She looked at her husband, then at her sister-in-law, who was still scrolling on her phone as if none of this concerned her. — “Rustam, I’m not following,” Sergei frowned. “Are you hinting at something?” — “Not hinting—making a constructive proposal. Let’s swap!” We move here, and you take Olya’s flat. Olya’s on board with me—she agrees it’s only fair. Inna was floored a second time. — “Fair?” she echoed. “Rustam, are you being serious? You come into our home and suggest we move out because you want kids?” — “No need to be dramatic, Inna,” Rustam grimaced. “Just being practical. You’ve got one child, and as far as I know, you’re not planning more. What’s the point of having all this space? That’s not efficient. We’ve got plans for a big family.” — “Wow, plans!” Inna stood up. “Sergei, are you hearing this?” Sergei raised a hand to silence his wife. — “Rustam, you do know this flat was left to me by my family? Just like Olya’s was left to her. We’ve spent five years working on this place—every skirting board, every detail. Our daughter’s growing up here, she’s got her own room and friends. Are you really asking us to up sticks and go to the centre just because it suits you better?” — “Sergei, calm down,” Rustam leaned back casually. “You’re family—Olya is your flesh and blood. Don’t you care about her future? I’m offering fair conditions. You’d be gaining prime property in a prestigious postcode. You’d be winning, I’ve checked the prices.” — “Interesting logic,” Sergei smirked. “You’re not even married to my sister yet, but you’re already eyeing up my flat!” Finally, Olya looked up from her phone. — “Oh, come on, don’t be like this!” she whined. “Rustam’s just trying to do what’s best. We’ll be so cramped in my place once there’s kids. You’ve got a hallway big enough for a five-a-side match. Mum always said, family comes first. Didn’t she, Sergei?” — “Mum said family helps each other, Olya—not that one should kick the other out!” snapped Inna. “Do you even hear what your Rustam’s saying?” — “What’s wrong with it?” Olya blinked in innocence. “He’s got a point. We need it more. You’re not even using that spare room!” — “It’s not spare!” Inna almost shouted. “It’s my study! I work there, in case you forgot.” — “Work?” Rustam scoffed. “Posting pictures online? Olya says it’s just a hobby. You can sit in the kitchen with a laptop, you’re not royalty.” Sergei slowly stood up. — “Right,” he said quietly. “That’s enough. Time for you both to go.” — “Hold on a second!” Rustam didn’t budge. “We just came to talk—like family.” — “Like family?” Sergei strode to the table. “You come in here wanting my flat, insulting my wife, deciding where my daughter should live? Are you actually serious?” — “Sergei, honestly!” Inna stood by her husband. “It’s pure greed. He’s not even put a ring on your finger, Olya, and already he’s dividing up the property. Do you realise who you’ve brought here? He’d kick you out of your own flat first chance he gets!” — “Don’t you dare speak about him that way!” Olya shot up. “Rustam cares about me—about our future! And you’re just greedy. Clinging onto your home like hermits. Some brother you are!” — “The greedy one’s your would-be husband,” Sergei pointed to the door. “For the hard of hearing—out. Both of you. And forget this flat swap—forever. If you bring it up again, we won’t be talking at all.” Rustam stood up, straightened his collar. Not a flicker of shame—just irritation. — “That’s a shame, Sergei. I thought we could come to an arrangement. But if you’re so stubborn…” “Olya, let’s go.” When the door slammed behind them, Inna collapsed on the sofa. She was shaking. — “Did you hear that? Did you see that? The cheek! Who does he think he is?” Sergei didn’t answer, staring out the window as Rustam bossily opened his car, berating Olya. — “You know the worst bit?” he said finally. “Olya really believes he’s right. She’s always been a bit… away with the fairies, but this?” — “He’s turned her head!” Inna jumped up. “Sergei, ring your mum. Your parents need to know what schemes their future son-in-law is cooking up.” — “Hang on,” Sergei took out his phone. “I’ll call my sister first. Just her, without that peacock around.” He dialed; it rang for a long time before Olya, audibly crying, picked up. — “Hello!” she sniffed. — “Olya, listen to me,” Sergei’s voice was firm. “Are you in the car with him?” — “What difference does it make?” — “If he’s there, put it on loudspeaker. I want him to hear this too.” — “I’m not with him,” Olya sobbed. “He dropped me off and drove away. Said he needs to cool off because my family are all selfish. Sergei, why are you lot like this? He just wanted things to be perfect…” — “Olya, wake up!” Sergei almost shouted. “Perfect? He came here to scam a flat out of us! Do you even get that your home is your inheritance? And he’s already passing it around like it’s his? Did he even talk to you about this ‘swap’ before we sat down together?” Silence. — “No,” Olya finally whispered. “He just said he had a surprise for everyone. That he’d thought out what was best for us all.” — “Some surprise. He’s decided both our futures for us, without asking. Olya, look who you’re marrying—he’s a user. He’ll take your flat today, demand your car tomorrow, and then get your parents to give him their cottage because he needs ‘fresh air’.” — “Don’t say that…” Olya’s voice wobbled. “He loves me.” — “If he loved you, would he start a row like that? He tried to turn us against each other! Inna’s still in shock. Don’t you see—he wanted to split us up?” — “I’ll talk to him,” Olya mumbled uncertainly. — “Do that. And think very carefully before you head down the aisle.” Sergei hung up and tossed the phone on the sofa. — “What did she say?” Inna asked softly. — “She said she didn’t know. Rustam was planning his ‘surprise.’” Inna gave a bitter laugh. — “I can picture it. He just waltzes in, decides where everyone and everything goes—shuffling rooms and people. Makes you sick.” — “Never mind,” Sergei hugged his wife. “We’re not giving up the flat, that’s for sure. But I do feel sorry for my sister. She’ll land herself in trouble with him.” *** The worst never happened—there was no wedding. Rustam dumped Olya that same night. Tearfully, Olya turned up at her brother’s flat, telling them everything. Rustam went straight to packing his stuff. Olya panicked and asked him what was going on. Rustam said he wasn’t interested in becoming family with such greedy people. — “He said he doesn’t need relatives like that,” Olya sobbed. “He reckons we can’t be relied on. He said you’d never look after the kids on weekends so we could have a break. And that you’d never lend us money if we ever needed it.” — “Honestly, Olya, don’t be upset!” Inna comforted her. “You don’t need someone like him. He can’t be relied on, he’ll never care about family—only what’s in it for himself. Forget him!” Olya was down for a while, but she got over it. She realised the truth in the end: if she’d married him, it would have been misery. She’d dodged a bullet—no doubt about it.

“It Doesn’t Look Right That Your Kids Will Have Homes While My Son Won’t—Let’s Get Him a Flat with a Mortgage!” Recently, my husband Anthony pointed out that my children have homes, but his son does not, so we need to figure out how to get his son a place to live too. Let me explain: my children are both mine and Anthony’s, while Anthony’s son is from his first marriage. Why am I the one expected to worry about finding his son a home? Of course, I always knew Anthony had been married before and had a child. That’s why I wasn’t in a hurry to marry Anthony. We lived together for three years before getting married. I paid close attention to how he felt about his ex-wife and son. A year later, I gave birth to our son. Two more years passed, and I had our second son. I’m happy with Anthony—he’s a good husband and father. He spends plenty of time with me and the kids and earns a good salary. Of course, we have the occasional disagreement, but that’s normal in any family. We lived in the flat I inherited from my father. My mother divorced him when I was still in nursery school. She’s since remarried but didn’t have any children with her second husband. Anthony and his first wife always rented. They saved for a mortgage for years but never managed to get one. After their divorce, Anthony’s ex-wife moved back in with her parents. Anthony rented on his own until we got married, and then he moved in with me. We never really discussed who owned the flat—we just lived there together, did renovations, and bought new furniture for the place. About a year and a half ago, both my grandmothers—my mum’s mum and my dad’s mum—passed away. They both left me their flats in their wills. While my sons are still young, I decided to rent out those flats. Later on, I’ll give each son one of the flats. At the moment, I give the rent from one to my mum as a supplement to her pension, and the other supports my own income—extra money is always useful. Anthony never involved himself in my property matters; after all, it’s none of his business. I made it clear that, when our children grow up, each of them will receive one of the flats, and he agreed. That was that—the topic was closed. Then, out of the blue, Anthony said to me: “My son will be finishing secondary school in a few years. He’s an adult now—he needs to think about his future!” I didn’t know where he was going with this, but listened anyway. “Your kids have homes! My son doesn’t! Let’s buy my son a flat with a mortgage!” he suddenly declared. I was simply stunned and had a million questions. First, I asked: why are our kids suddenly just mine? Anthony asked me not to nit-pick his words. “But my son will never inherit anything. I want him to have a home of his own!” “That’s great that you care! But your son has a mum and a dad—shouldn’t they be the ones to handle that? Why doesn’t your ex sort it?” Anthony explained his ex-wife doesn’t make much, her parents help her, and he himself can’t afford a mortgage alone. But, he said, if I help, everything will work out. Apparently, I’m expected to co-sign for a mortgage so Anthony can buy a flat for his son. The flat would be in the son’s name, but we would pay off the mortgage. “Between our two good salaries and the rental income, we could do it!” Anthony insisted. We could, but we’d have to save pretty hard. Plus, Anthony pays child maintenance for his son. When the boy goes to university, Anthony will help again, as his mum has no money. So, in the end, my children and I would have to give up holidays, trips to the seaside, and generally scrimp and save. For what? Just so Anthony looks like a good dad? I’d understand if Anthony had provided homes for our children and wanted to do the same for his eldest. But I’m the one who secured the homes for my children—Anthony had nothing to do with the properties. Why should I pay for his mortgage? I told Anthony straight away: if he’s so worried about his son, his ex should take out a mortgage, and they can pay it off with the child maintenance. “But I won’t have anything to do with it!” Anthony is furious and hasn’t spoken to me in a week. It’s a shame he doesn’t understand my point of view.