My brother, William, after finishing university, moved to a different, faraway city for work. His plan was to stay there for just a year, save up, and then return home to buy a flat. But fate intervened. He met a girl there and they decided to get married. William ended up staying. None of us had ever met his wife.
As it happened, during their wedding, I was nine months pregnant and due to give birth any day, so we agreed it was best I stayed home. My father couldnt get time off work, so only my mother made it to the ceremony. She met Williams bride, but they barely spoke beyond introductions. Mum said the girl seemed pleasant, pretty, and always smiling. After the honeymoon, Mum returned home, and over the next few years, we never met my sister-in-law.
This year, though, William surprised us with wonderful news. Hed arranged a grand trip with his wife. First, theyd visit us for a couple of days, then head to a friends wedding, attend a school reunion, meet up with her parents by the seaside, and finally return home. Two days with usit all seemed straightforward. Our flat was tiny, but we could use my in-laws holiday cottage. My mother-in-law kindly offered it to us, and although it hadnt been refurbished in ages, it was perfectly fine for a short stay.
I was in a cheerful mood, looking forward to their arrival. When they turned up, problems began almost instantly. William introduced us, and straight away, his wifeRebeccastarted complaining. It had been too hot on the train, too noisy, too cramped. Nothing seemed right.
When we reached the cottage, I showed them around, but the look on Rebeccas face as she glanced at the shower and toilet was as if shed just been kissed by a stray dog. She took William aside for a quiet word, and before I knew it, William was asking my husband, James, to drive them into town. Rebecca refused to use the shower at the cottage, so they returned to our flat, where she washed and did her makeup before coming back.
When it came to food, nothing wed made was acceptable. Wed put in our best effort, but she wouldnt touch a bite. There was gluten, there was fat, who knows what else offended her. She picked at the vegetables with suspicion, reluctant to even taste them. She didnt want to sleep in the room wed prepared, so back we went to our flat for the night.
The next day, while we strolled around town, her sulking outmatched even my three-year-old sons tantrums. Either she was too hot, or her feet hurt, or she simply complained of boredom. I saw them off with a sense of overwhelming relief. To this day, I cant fathom how my brother has managed to put up with her all these years. She worked her magic on us in just two days.
