Mother-in-Law Times Two — Well, would you look at that! — said George in place of a greeting as he saw the petite, wiry old lady in jeans at his door, lips stretched in a sly grin. Mischievous eyes twinkled under narrowed lids. “Irina’s gran, Mrs. Valentine Peters,” he realised. “But how on earth — no warning, not even a call…” — Hello, sonny! — she greeted him, still smiling. — Going to let me in, then? — Oh, yes, of course! — George bustled, ushering her in. Mrs. Peters rolled a suitcase into the flat. . . — Strong cuppa for me! — she instructed as George served up tea. — So, Irina at work, little Ella at nursery, and what about you—skiving off? — Been sent on enforced leave, — he replied gloomily. — Two weeks’ ‘operational necessity,’ they call it. — Visions of a fortnight’s peace vanished. He glanced at her, hopeful: — You staying long? — Bang on — nodded Mrs. Peters, dashing his hopes — Staying ages. Another sigh. He barely knew her, only glimpsed her at his and Irina’s wedding—she’d travelled down. But he’d heard plenty from his father-in-law, who, whenever Mrs. Peters came up, would drop his voice and glance fearfully around, clearly respecting her—knee-knockingly so. — Do the washing up, — she instructed him, — and get ready. City tour for me, you’re my guide! George offered no argument—her drill-sergeant tone instantly reminded him of Sergeant Prichard from his army days. Crossing old Prichard was never worth it. — Show me the riverside! — Mrs. Peters ordered. — What’s the quickest way? — Taxi, — shrugged George. Suddenly Mrs. Peters pursed her fingers and let out a piercing whistle. A passing cab screeched to a halt. — Why whistle? What will people think? — George chided, helping her into the passenger seat. — Oh, nothing at all, — she beamed. — If they think anything, they’ll think you’re the uncivilised one. Hearing this, the taxi driver burst out laughing alongside Mrs. Peters. They slapped palms in triumph, like old mates pulling off a prank. — George, you’re a decent, polite lad, — the sprightly granny said as they strolled the riverside. — Your gran’s probably all prim and proper, but I don’t know the meaning of it! My late husband, Irina’s granddad, needed ages to get used to me. He was as quiet as a church mouse, loved his books—then along came me! I dragged him up mountains, taught him parachuting—though he never did brave a hang-glider. He and Irina would wait for me below while I circled overhead. George listened, amazed. Irina had never mentioned her gran’s adventurous streak. It explained a lot. Mrs. Peters fixed him with a look: — Ever parachuted yourself? — Army — fourteen jumps, — George replied, with a touch of pride. — Good on you! — Mrs. Peters nodded approval, breaking into song: “We’ll fall for a while, in this endless leap…” George knew the tune and chimed in: “A white silk cloud soars behind me like a gull…” The song closed the distance between them; he no longer felt awkward with the extraordinary old lady. — Time for a rest and a bite, — she suggested. — That food stall looks promising—smell that barbecue? The kebab man—dark-haired, sharp-featured—was skewering meat for grilling, looking as though he’d happily skewer enemies much the same way. He radiated an urge to cry “Huzzah!” and break into a wild Cossack dance. Taking their seats, Mrs. Peters winked and belted out in a surprisingly clear voice: “Sing us a song, John dear, wouldn’t that be grand at a wedding cheer!” The kebab man, caught off guard, joined in for a comic duet. “Sing at a wedding, that’s the plan—John dear, won’t you join in!” — Please help yourselves, honoured madam, — the kebab man beamed, setting out platters, pitta, and herbs with a flourish. He even brought two icy tumblers of Georgian wine, then pressed his hand to his heart and disappeared. The aroma lured out a little grey kitten from the shrubbery, who peered up at them pleadingly. — You’re just what we need! — Mrs. Peters smiled. — Come on, little lad. — She turned to the kebab man, “Sir, could you bring fresh meat for our friend—chopped up small, please!” As the kitten ate, Mrs. Peters admonished George: — You’ve a daughter, that’s all the more reason for a cat! It’s how you teach kindness, care for the weak, love for others. This little chap will help you! Back home, she bathed their new friend while George fetched kitten gear—litter tray, bowls, scratching post, cosy bed. When George staggered back, the flat rang with girlie squeals: Irina and Ella clung to gran, who showered them with kisses. On the sofa, the kitten blinked curiously at his new family. — For you, Ella, a summer shorts set — gran handed out gifts — and for you, Irina—nothing lifts a woman in her husband’s eyes quite like lacy knickers… Olly skipped nursery all week. Gran whisked her away on daily expeditions; they’d return contentedly exhausted. At home, George and the kitten—now Leo—awaited them, and in the evenings, Irina joined for family strolls, kitten in tow. One evening, Mrs. Peters turned serious. — George, I need a word. I’m leaving tomorrow—time’s up. After I’m off, hand this to Irina. — She pressed a document in a transparent wallet into his hand. — It’s my will. I’m leaving her my flat and everything in it. You get my late husband’s cherished library—signed first editions, incredibly rare. — Mrs. Peters, please—! — George protested, but she silenced him with a gesture. —I’ve told Irina nothing, but you should know: serious heart trouble. It could all end suddenly. Better to be prepared. — You shouldn’t be on your own! — George objected. — I’m never truly alone — she smiled. — Besides, Irina’s mum—your other mother-in-law—lives nearby. And you look after Irina and raise Ella well. You’re a good lad, reliable. So I’m like a double mother-in-law for you! — She laughed heartily, clapping him on the shoulder. — Couldn’t you stay a bit longer? — George begged. She smiled gratefully but shook her head. Everyone came to the station, even Leo, in Ella’s arms, was subdued as they said farewell. With her trademark finger-whistle, Mrs. Peters summoned a taxi which screeched to a stop. — Come on, son-in-law, put me on my train! — she called, kissing Irina and Ella and hopping in beside George. The driver gaped at her, having never been hailed quite so directly. — What are you staring at? — muttered George. — Never seen a decent woman before? The wiry gran gave a shake of her silvery curls, shared a high five with George, and burst into ringing laughter.

Author Emily TaylorReading 8 minViews 1

Well, this is a turn up for the books! Tom blurted out instead of hello, when he opened the front door to find a petite, wiry old lady in jeans, offering a sly smirk. Mischievous eyes shone out from beneath her narrowed lids.

Its Annas gran, Elizabeth Clarke, he clocked, slightly taken aback. But whats she doing here no heads up, not even a call

Hullo, love! she greeted, her smile not budging. Well? Arent you going to let your dear old gran-in-law in?

Oh, of course, come in! Tom bumbled, flustered.

Elizabeth wheeled her travel case straight into the hallway and perched herself at the kitchen table. Make mine strong, please, she said, as Tom fussed about making her a cuppa. So Annas at work, Emilys at nursery and whats your excuse for lounging at home?

Theyve packed me off on forced leave, Tom replied, sighing glumly. A whole fortnight. Not exactly what I pictured for my time off. He glanced at her hopefully, So, er are you staying for long?

You guessed it! she nodded, dashing his hopes, For quite a while.

Tom exhaled again. He hardly knew Elizabeth had barely seen her at the wedding, just a quick visit from another town. But hed heard plenty from his father-in-law. Whenever he mentioned his mother-in-law, hed drop to a whisper and scan the room like he expected her to appear from the shadows. The respect almost fear was obvious.

Right, you can wash up, Elizabeth announced suddenly, and get your shoes on. Youre giving me the city tour, as my official chaperone!

Tom, resigned to his fate, didnt even try to argue. Her tone was so unmistakably commanding, it instantly reminded him of Sergeant Richards shouting orders at boot camp. Best not to argue, for your own good.

You can start by showing me the riverside! barked Elizabeth. Whats the quickest way there? She took Toms arm, lifting her chin as she marched confidently along the pavement, soaking everything in.

Taxi, I guess Tom shrugged.

Without warning, Elizabeth pursed her fingers into a ring and whistled, piercingly loud. A black cab screeched to a halt at the kerb.

Gran, honestly, do you have to whistle like that? What will people think? Tom muttered, helping her into the front seat.

Oh, I daresay theyll think youre the cheeky one, she replied with a wicked grin. The cabbie caught her eye and burst out laughing along with her. They gave each other a high five, as if theyd been mates for years and just pulled a brilliant prank.

You know, Tom, youre a decent lad polite, well-mannered, she said as they wandered along the river, seagulls squawking overhead. I expect your gran goes about all prim and proper, but I was never much good at that. Annas grandad, bless his soul, took years to get used to me. He was a shy old bookworm, then I crashed into his life. I got him climbing hills, even did a tandem parachute jump with him. Although, he drew the line at hang-gliding could never stand the thought. Hed wait on the ground with Anna, while I was doing crazy loops over their heads.

Tom listened, fascinated. Anna had never mentioned her grans taste for adventure clearly, her life had been richer than hed guessed. No wonder she was a force of nature. She fixed Tom with a sharp look.

You ever do a parachute jump yourself?

In the army got 14 jumps under my belt, he said, not hiding his pride.

Respect! Elizabeth nodded approvingly and then, in an unexpectedly smooth voice, she started singing, Seems well be falling for a while, on this jump so long and bold

Tom knew the song and joined in enthusiastically, And the white silk canopy, lifts like a gull at our back

That song, echoing by the river, brought them together for the first time, Tom felt truly comfortable with this extraordinary old lady.

We need a breather and a bite, mind, she suggested, spotting a food stall wrapped in mouth-watering smoke. That bloke looks like he knows how to do a proper barbecue, smell that?

The barbecue man, a stocky, charcoal-dusted chap with huge arms and a glint in his eye, threaded cubes of marinated meat onto a skewer with the sort of gusto that said he could handle a knife. Watching him, Tom almost felt like launching into a jig, hands flung wide, legs kicking in rhythm, just for the fun of it.

As they took a seat, Elizabeth gave the barbecuer a wink and surprised them all with a clear, energetic voice:
Good day to you, mate!
Its a wedding, lets sing, lets celebrate!

The barbecuer started, then met her bright gaze, caught the mood, and the two of them continued together belting out a silly, made-up celebration ditty and he served their food with a flourish and the kind of grin that made his whole face glow.

Enjoy, madam! Best kebabs in town, he exclaimed, laying out crispy flatbread, kebabs, and fresh greens, then poured two glasses of chilled English white.

Drawn by the aroma, a scruffy little grey kitten crept out from the bushes, mewling ever so quietly and gazing up at them with pleading eyes.

Youre exactly what we need, Elizabeth grinned. Come here, little one. She turned to the barbecuer, Could you bring our friend here a plate of chopped meat, please?

As the kitten tucked in, Elizabeth gave Tom a gentle scold: Youve got a child growing up and a girl, too! Howll she learn kindness and care, how to look after the vulnerable, if youve not even got a cat at home? Well, this ones your little helper now!

Later, Elizabeth gave the kitten a bath, then sent Tom off with a list to buy all the kit: litter box, bowls, scratching post, soft basket. When he staggered home laden with bags, the house rang with laughter. Anna and Emily were hugging Gran, who smothered them in kisses, absolutely beaming. The kitten, perched on the back of the sofa, looked astonished by these spirited new humans.

For you, Emily, a little summer outfit with shorts, Gran declared, handing over gifts, and for you, Anna nothing makes a woman feel special like a pair of lacy knickers!

Emily skipped nursery all week. Every morning, she and Gran disappeared for hours, coming back by lunchtime, faces rosy from the fresh air and grinning at their adventures.

Tom and the kitten now named Leo waited at home, and by early evening Anna would join them and together theyd all head out for another stroll with Leo in tow.

One evening, Elizabeth sat Tom down, unusually serious. Tom, love, Im off tomorrow. Its time. Once Im gone, give this to Anna, she said, sliding him a neatly wrapped sheet of paper. Its my will. Anna gets the flat and everything else. Im leaving you my husbands library precious books, some signed by the greats proper treasures.

Oh, dont say that, Mrs. Clarke! Tom protested, but she stopped him with a wave.

Anna doesnt know but you should. Ive got a bad heart. It could go at any time. Best to have things in order.

You shouldnt be alone, though! Tom said, half-cross.

Im never really alone, she smiled gently. Annas mums just next town over. And you you look after Anna and bring up Emily well. Youre a good lad, someone to rely on. And when you think about it, Im your gran-in-law squared! She gave his shoulder a hearty slap and broke out in contagious laughter.

Maybe youll stay a bit longer? Tom pleaded, hope in his voice.

Elizabeth rewarded him with a warm, grateful smile but shook her head.

All of them even Leo in Emilys arms went out to wave her off. The kitten looked almost gloomy, sensing the change.

Elizabeth slipped her fingers into a ring and gave her trademark whistle. Another cab screeched to a halt.

Come on, Tom, drop me at the station, she ordered, kissing Anna and Emily, then climbing into the front seat.

The cabbie stared, amazed at this doughty old lady.

Whats your problem, mate? Tom grumbled. Never seen a respectable lady before?

Elizabeth, shaking her silver curls, let loose a bright burst of laughter and clapped Tom on the hand with a friendliness that filled the air with warmth.

Get Out of My Flat! — Said Mum “Out,” Mum said, perfectly calmly. Arina smirked and leaned back in her chair—she was sure her mother was speaking to her friend. “Get out of my flat!” Natasha turned to her daughter. “Len, did you see the post?” her friend burst into the kitchen without even taking her coat off. “Arisha gave birth! Three and a half kilos, fifty-two centimetres.” Spitting image of her dad, same snub nose. I’ve already dashed round all the shops, bought baby clothes. Why so glum? “Congratulations, Natasha. I’m happy for you,” Lena stood to pour tea for her friend. “Come on, take your coat off and have a seat.” “Oh, I can’t really stop, I’ve got so much to do,” Natasha perched on the edge of the chair. “So much to manage. Arinka’s such a star, does it all herself, off her own back.” Her husband’s a gem, they’ve got their new flat on a mortgage now, just finishing the renovations. I’m proud of my girl. Raised her well! Lena silently put a cup in front of her friend. Sure, raised her right… If only Natasha knew… *** Exactly two years ago, Arina, Natasha’s daughter, turned up at Lena’s without warning, eyes swollen from tears and hands shaking. “Auntie Len, please, don’t tell Mum. I’m begging you! If she finds out, she’ll have a heart attack,” Arina sobbed, clutching a damp hanky. “Arina, calm down. Tell me properly. What happened?” Lena had been genuinely scared. “I… at work…” Arina snuffled. “A colleague’s money went missing. Fifty thousand.” And the cameras caught me going into the office when no one was there. I swear I didn’t take it, Auntie Len! Honest! But they said: either I pay back the fifty thousand by lunchtime tomorrow, or they go to the police. They have a ‘witness’ who supposedly saw me hide the wallet. It’s a set-up, Auntie Len! But who’ll believe me? “Fifty thousand?” Lena frowned. “Why didn’t you go to your dad?” “I did!” Arina began crying again. “He said it was my own stupid fault and he wouldn’t give me a penny since I’m a lost cause. Told me, ‘Go to the police, let them teach you a lesson.’ He wouldn’t even let me in the house, yelled through the door. Auntie Len, I’ve got no one else. I’ve saved twenty thousand. I need thirty more. “What about Natasha? Won’t you tell her? She’s your mum.” “No! Mum would kill me. She already says I embarrass her, and now this…” She works at a school; everyone knows her. Please, can you lend me the thirty? I swear, I’ll pay you back two or three thousand a week. I’ve already found another job! Please, Auntie Len!” Lena felt deeply sorry for the girl then. Only twenty, just starting out in life, and here’s this stain. Her father had refused help, turned away; her mother really would tear her head off… “Who doesn’t make mistakes in life?” Lena thought. Arina kept crying. “All right,” she said. “I have the money. Was saving it for dental work, but the teeth can wait.” Just promise me it’s the last time. And I won’t breathe a word to your mum, if you’re that scared. “Thank you! Thank you, Auntie Len! You’ve saved my life!” Arina threw her arms around her. The first week, Arina really did bring two thousand. She was cheerful, said it was all sorted, no trouble with the police, new job going well. Then… she just stopped replying to messages. A month, two, three. Lena saw her at Natasha’s during holidays, but Arina acted as if they barely knew each other—just a cold “hello” and that was all. Lena didn’t push. She thought: “Young, must be embarrassed, that’s all.” She decided thirty thousand wasn’t worth wrecking years of friendship with Natasha. Wrote off the debt—just let it go. *** “Are you even listening to me?” Natasha waved a hand in front of Lena’s face. “What are you thinking about?” “Oh, nothing much,” Lena shook her head. “Just my own stuff.” “Listen,” Natasha lowered her voice. “I bumped into Ksenia, remember our old neighbour? She came up to me in the shops yesterday, acting odd. Started asking about Arisha, how she was, if she’d paid back her debts. I had no idea what she meant. I told her Arinka’s independent now, earning her own money. And Ksenia just gave this weird smile and walked off. Do you know if Arisha ever borrowed anything from her?” Lena felt something tighten inside. “I don’t know, Natasha. Maybe just a bit of small change.” “All right, I’d better go. Need to pop into the chemist,” Natasha stood, kissed Lena on the cheek and hurried out. That evening Lena couldn’t hold back. She found Ksenia’s number and called. “Ksenia, hi. It’s Lena. Listen, you saw Natasha today? What debts were you talking about?” A heavy sigh at the other end. “Oh, Lena… I thought you’d know. You’re closer to them than the rest of us. Two years ago Arina came running to me. In tears, red eyes, said she’d been accused of theft at work. Either she paid back thirty thousand or it was prison. Begged me not to tell her mum, cried and pleaded. Well, like an idiot, I gave her the money. She swore she’d give it back in a month. Then she vanished… Lena gripped the phone. “Thirty thousand?” she repeated. “Exactly thirty?” “Yeah. She said she was short by just that much. In the end, I got five hundred back after six months, then nothing. Later, I heard from Vera in the next building—Arina had gone to her too with the same story. Vera lent her forty thousand. And even Galina Petrovna, their old teacher, ended up ‘rescued’ from the police. Gave her fifty thousand. “Wait a sec…” Lena sat down in shock. “You’re saying she asked everyone for the same amount? With the same story?” “Looks like it,” Ksenia’s voice hardened. “The girl took ‘tribute’ from every one of Natasha’s friends. Thirty, forty thousand from each. Made up the theft story, pulled at our heartstrings. We all care about Natasha, so we just kept quiet—didn’t want to upset her. But Arina, it seems, spent the money. Month after, her social media was full of photos from Turkey. “I gave her thirty thousand too,” said Lena quietly. “There you go,” Ksenia snorted. “Makes five, six of us. That’s not a mistake, Lena—it’s a racket. That’s not ‘youthful error,’ that’s outright fraud. And Natasha’s blissfully proud of her girl, totally oblivious. And her daughter? A thief! Lena hung up. She wasn’t bothered about the money—had already written it off. What made her sick was how cunningly and coldly a twenty-year-old girl had manipulated grown women, exploiting their trust. *** Next day Lena went to see Natasha. She hadn’t planned to make a scene. She just wanted to look Arina in the eye. Arina had just come back from the maternity ward and, while the renovations at her mortgage flat were underway, was staying with her mum. “Oh, Auntie Lena!” Arina flashed a strained smile at her mum’s friend. “Come in. Tea?” Natasha bustled at the stove. “Lena, darling, have a seat! Why didn’t you call?” Lena sat at the table opposite Arina. “Arina,” she began calmly. “Yesterday I saw Ksenia. And Vera. And Mrs Petrovna. We got talking. We rather formed a ‘victim support group,’ you might say.” Arina froze, went pale, risked a glance at her mother’s back. “What’s this about, Lena?” Natasha turned round. “Oh, Arina knows,” Lena kept her eyes fixed on the girl. “Remember, Arisha, that little incident from two years ago? When you asked me for thirty thousand? And Ksenia too. And Vera, forty. Mrs Petrovna, fifty. We all ‘saved’ you from jail. Every one of us thought she alone knew your terrible secret. The kettle shook in Natasha’s hand; boiling water spattered on the hob, hissing. “What fifty thousand?” Natasha put the kettle down slowly. “Arina? What’s she talking about? You borrowed money—from my friends? Even from Mrs Petrovna?!” “Mum… that’s not…” Arina stammered. “I… I gave it back… mostly…” “You gave nothing back, Arina,” Lena cut in. “You dropped off two grand for show, then vanished. You took about two hundred thousand off us with a made-up story. We kept quiet because we felt sorry for your mum. But now I see we should have pitied ourselves, not you. “Arina—look at me. You swindled money from my friends?! Made up a theft story to fleece people I invite into my house?” “Mum, I needed money for the move!” Arina shouted. “You never gave me anything! Dad wouldn’t spare a penny, and I had to start my life somehow! So what? They’re loaded, it’s not like I left them destitute!” Lena wanted to gag. So that’s how it was… “Right. Natasha, sorry to drop this on you, but I just can’t keep quiet anymore. I won’t enable her behaviour. She thinks we’re all idiots!” Natasha stood there, gripping the table. Her shoulders were shaking. “Out,” she said, completely calm. Arina smirked, leaned back—thought her mum meant Lena. “Out of my flat!” Natasha turned on her daughter. “Pack up and go to your husband. I don’t want to see you here again!” Arina went ashen. “Mum, I’ve got a baby! I mustn’t get stressed!” “You have no mother, Arina. The girl I called daughter was honest. You’re just a thief. Mrs Petrovna… Oh God, she phoned every day, asked after me—and never breathed a word… How can I look her in the eye now? How?” Arina grabbed her bag, flung down a teatowel. “You can choke on your money for all I care!” she yelled. “Stupid old biddies! To hell with both of you!” She rushed into the other room, grabbed the baby’s Moses basket and stormed out. Natasha sank onto a chair, covered her face in her hands. Lena felt ashamed. “I’m sorry, Natasha…” “No, Lena… I’M sorry. For raising such a… such a wretch. I really thought she’d made her own way in life. And all along… God, what shame…” Lena patted her friend’s shoulder as Natasha broke down in tears. *** A week later, Arina’s husband, white-faced and haggard, went round to each “creditor” to apologise, unable to meet their eyes. He promised to repay everyone. He truly did—fifty thousand to Mrs Petrovna, covered by Natasha. Lena doesn’t blame herself. The cheat deserved what she got. Right?

“We’ll Stay Until Summer!”: How I Kicked Out My Freeloading In-Laws and Changed the Locks The intercom didn’t simply ring—it wailed for attention. I glanced at the clock: seven a.m. on a Saturday. The one day I’d planned to catch up on sleep after closing the quarter’s accounts, not entertain guests. On the screen: my husband’s sister, looking ready to storm the Bastille, three wild-haired kids huddled behind her. “Igor!” I barked without picking up. “Your family. Deal with it.” He shuffled out in inside-out shorts, knowing from my tone that my patience with his clan had reached bedrock. While he mumbled into the intercom, I stood in the hall, arms crossed. My flat, my rules. This three-bed in central London was bought with blood, sweat, and a soul-sucking mortgage, years before I even met Igor—having strangers under my roof was the last thing I wanted. The door burst open, and in waltzed the caravan. Svetlana—sorry, let’s make her Susan—laden with bags, didn’t bother to say hello. She nudged past me like I was a sideboard. “Thank God, we made it!” she panted, dumping her bags onto my Italian tile. “Come on, put the kettle on, the kids are starving.” “Susan,” I said, voice calm; Igor’s shoulders hunched. “Mind telling me what’s going on?” “What, Igor didn’t say?” She blinked all innocence. “We’ve got building works! Replacing pipes, tearing up floors, dust everywhere. Impossible to live there. We’ll just stay here a week. You’ve loads of space, don’t you?” I looked at my husband. He stared at the ceiling, bracing for execution. “A week,” I said coolly. “And I mean seven days. You sort your own food. The kids don’t run riot or touch my office. Silence after ten.” Susan rolled her eyes. “Bit strict, aren’t you, Anna? Warder or what? Fine, deal. Where do we sleep? Hopefully not on the floor?” Hell began. A “week” stretched to two. Then three. My pristine, designer apartment turned into a pigsty: muddy shoes piled in the hall, chaos in the kitchen—greasy stains on the counters, crumbs, sticky puddles. Susan ruled the place like she owned it. “Anna, your fridge is empty!” she declared one evening, eyeing the shelves. “The kids need yoghurts, and how about beef for me and Igor? You earn well, you could treat your in-laws.” “You have a card and shops. Knock yourself out. Deliveries are 24/7,” I replied, unmoved. “Stingy,” she muttered, slamming the fridge. But the final straw came when I got home early and caught the kids in my bedroom: oldest bouncing on my expensive mattress, youngest drawing on the wall. With. My. Limited-edition. Lipstick. “Out!” I roared—kids scattered. Susan barely flinched at the redecorated wall and ruined lipstick. “They’re kids! It’ll wash off. Lipstick’s just coloured fat. You’ll buy another one. Oh, by the way—our builders are dragging it out, so we’ll stay until summer! You two must be bored here alone, anyway!” Igor hovered, silent. Useless. I fled to the bathroom before I committed a crime. That night, Susan left her phone on the kitchen table. A notification flashed up: “Susan, next month’s rent received. Tenants love the place—can they extend until August?” Then, “£800 received.” Click. There was no building work. She’d rented out her own place for profit and moved her circus into mine, getting free food, bills, and a passive income. Genius. On my dime. I snapped a photo of the message. For once, my hands were steady. “Igor, kitchen. Now.” I showed him the photo. He went white. “Maybe it’s a mistake?” “Mistake is that you haven’t kicked them out yet,” I said coldly. “Your move: have them gone by noon tomorrow, or you can all go. You, your mother, Susan, the lot.” “But where will they go?” “Don’t care. Under a bridge or the Ritz, if they can swing it.” The next morning Susan blithely announced she was “popping out for some lovely boots” (presumably with her rental money), leaving the kids with Igor. “Take the kids to the park. For a long time,” I told him. He questioned, I insisted. “I’m getting rid of some parasites.” Once they’d gone, I called a locksmith. And then the local bobby. Game over—clear-out begins. When Igor returned, the locks were changed and their stuff—crammed in five giant bin bags—was on the landing. By the time Susan waltzed back, loaded with shopping, I waited at the door with the constable. She shrieked, raged, tried to get past—“We have nowhere to live! I’ve got children!”—but the officer blocked her. She threatened to call Igor. I told her to ring. No answer. “Where’s your proof of residence?” the copper asked. “You don’t live here. Time to collect your things.” “Oh, and say hi to Marina,” I added. “Hope your tenants extend until August—otherwise, you’ll have to turf them out.” Susan paled. I continued, each word like a whip crack: “Take your bags and go. So help me, if I see you or your kids anywhere near my street again, I’ll call the tax man—undeclared rental income is a crime. And I’ll report a stolen ring. The police might find it in your bags.” The ring was in my safe, but she didn’t know that. She quivered with rage. “You’re vile, Anna. God will judge you.” “God’s busy. And now, so am I—with my flat, finally all to myself.” When the lift doors closed on Susan, her shopping, and her busted little scheme, I felt only relief. Later, Igor came home, childless, guilt-ridden. “She screamed a lot,” he muttered. “I don’t care what rats shriek as they’re thrown off a ship,” I replied, sipping fresh coffee in silence, my kitchen spotless, fridge full of food I’d actually bought. “Did you know about the rental?” I asked. “No! Honestly, I didn’t!” “If you had, would you have told me?” He didn’t answer. “One more stunt from your family, and your suitcase will be next to theirs,” I finished. He nodded, nervously. He knew I wasn’t kidding. I took another sip. The coffee was perfect: hot, strong, and best of all, drunk in the peace and quiet of my own, reclaimed home. Long live the queen—crown fits just fine.

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