30th December
I suppose I should have seen it coming, but somehow it still caught me off guard. We were in the kitchen I was dishing up soup, half watching the steam swirl, half listening to Mark mumble about his parents upcoming visit. Thats when he suggested something that, in hindsight, should have set all the warning bells clanging in my head.
You realise Dads backs terrible, dont you? he started, not quite meeting my eye as he focused intently on the pattern of the tablecloth. He absolutely cant cope with the sofa bed. And Mum needs silence and darkness to sleep, but the lounge is right under that wretched street lamp. We could just let them have our bedroom for a week climb down from our pedestal for a bit, cant we?
I froze, ladle in mid-air. Soup trickled softly back into the pot as his words slowly filtered through, thicker than treacle.
Hold on, Mark. Let me get this right, I said, turning to face him fully. Your parents are coming for the whole of the New Years break from the thirtieth to the eighth yes, we discussed that. But now you want us to give them our bedroom, with our new orthopaedic mattress that took two months and a small fortune to choose, while we move out to the lounge?
He looked sheepish but stubborn. Yes. Theyre my parents. Its the decent thing to do, isnt it? Cant stick Dad on that lumpy sofa the springs are murder.
Yes, I know, I replied through gritted teeth. Which is why we never sleep on it. But have you forgotten that Ive got a dodgy back too? The one from the car accident? And, unlike your parents, Ive got to get back to work the minute they leave. Ill be doing the year-end accounts not exactly light going.
Mark winced, like hed bitten something sour. Ive sorted it. We wont even need the sofa bed. Ive borrowed a double airbed from Peter. Its as high as a regular bed. Well lay it out in the lounge bit of an adventure, just like camping in our uni days.
An adventure, at thirty-eight, on a floor? I carefully set the ladle down, aware an angry ripple was building inside me. Mark, this isnt a camping trip. This is my home. My own bed is the one place I can actually rest. Your mums always up at the crack of dawn, clattering pots and pans. If were sleeping in the lounge, open-plan with the kitchen, well be up with her, too.
Ill just ask her to keep it down, he mumbled, not very convincingly. Anna, come on, try and see it their way. Theyve already booked train tickets theyre coming to see the grandchildren. I cant let them feel like a burden. I told Mum: Dont worry, weve sorted everything, youll be comfortable as royalty.
Oh, youve already promised, have you? I let the sarcasm bleed through. Didnt need my opinion, then? Nice to know my comfort and our bedroom are yours to parcel out as you please.
He flared up. I was just trying to do the right thing! Dont make me out to be some dictator. Theyre old I want them comfortable.
And that was that. The squabble fizzled out, and I retreated to the bathroom, running the tap and watching my reflection in the mirror. I do love Mark, and I do love our little flat even if it does still technically belong to the bank. But Marks parents visits always feel like an exam Im doomed to fail. His mum, Patricia, has never met a situation she couldnt control with a brisk comment, and his dad, Alan, is quiet but fussy and, for all his stoicism, remarkably high-maintenance.
I knew Id already lost the battle. To refuse now would make me the villain, the ungrateful daughter-in-law, and Mark would sulk and sigh all week. So: evacuation mode. I emptied my dresses out of the wardrobe, hung them on the hall rack, and packed my makeup away before Patricia could borrow something to criticise.
By the time Mark was inflating the enormous blue airbed in the lounge, it was clear he thought hed found a master stroke. See? Its brilliant. I tried it, its fine!
I eyed the monstrous thing as it hulked across the lounge, blocking the route to the balcony and giving off an acrid whiff of vinyl. Fine? I repeated, unconvinced. That sheet wont stay put five minutes, and itll be freezing on the floor.
Well shove a wool blanket under it, he said, triumphant.
Seven oclock sharp the next morning, the intercom blared: the in-laws had arrived. Patricia swept in wearing the worlds furriest hat, immediately taking charge.
Goodness, at last! The train was a misery, and that ticket collector! Anna dear, you look peaky not getting enough sleep? Or are you coming down with something? Alan, put the suitcase down carefully, the conserves and pickles are in there!
Alan lugged in two massive holdalls, set off at once hunting for slippers.
Welcome! Breakfast is ready, I managed, smiling despite a headache from my late-night rush to finish work before their arrival.
First order of business: Patricia inspected our bedroom.
Well, its tidy enough, she declared, running a finger along the bedframe. Curtains are a bit drab though. Id have gone for something brighter. And this mattress Mark said its orthopaedic? Looks awfully firm to me. Alan, come have a try, see if your back approves.
Alan lay down, fully dressed in his travel trousers. I bit my tongue.
Itll do, he muttered. But these funny new pillows, all angles and moulding Havent you got a proper feather one?
No, Alan, just ergonomic ones. Better for your neck, I replied.
Better for what? Feathers always did me fine, Patricia huffed. Still, well manage. Mark, where are you two sleeping? Out there?
On an airbed, Mum, Mark said proudly. Honestly, its brilliant.
The rest of the day was a blur endless food prep, chitchat about ailments, neighbours, politics. I felt more servant than hostess. Each time I so much as poured tea, Patricia found a new task: Anna, darling, could you change the kitchen towel? or Alan wont eat white bread you bought granary, right?
Nightfall arrived, and the airbed was, predictably, an instrument of torture. Any movement from Mark made me bounce like a beach ball; the plastic groaned with every breath. Id said the sheets wouldnt stay on, and sure enough, theyd bunched within the hour. Cold crept up from the laminate flooring, despite the blanket beneath.
I lay staring at the ceiling, watching the glow from fairy lights flicker while Mark snored. My back spasmed, the airbed providing no support. Around three, the bedroom door clicked open: Alan going to the loo; half an hour later, Patricia for water. With no door between lounge and kitchen, every light flick and shuffling step had me awake again.
By morning, New Years Eve, I felt battered. My neck wouldnt turn right, and my lower back jabbed with every movement.
Morning! Patricia emerged from the bedroom, swanning in the silk dressing gown Id given her years ago. Oh, I slept like a baby! Lovely and peaceful. The mattress is a bit stiff, though. Alans complaining of aches. You shouldve picked something softer.
I ground coffee in silence, fighting back tears.
You two look dreadful, Patricia said, sounding almost surprised. Mark, have you got bags under your eyes? Was it that bad on the floor?
Its fine, Mum, Mark yawned, rubbing his stiff arm. Well get used to it.
Oh, you young ones can sleep anywhere concrete, nails, you never mind! She laughed. Anna, did you put pickled gherkins in this salad? I always use fresh keeps it light. And this mayonnaise is frightfully greasy, isnt it?
My grip tightened on the spoon. Patricia, I said, voice level. I make this salad how my family likes it. If you want to use fresh cucumber, theres a spare in the fridge.
Silence. Patricia pursed her lips, Mark shot me a frightened glance.
Well, theres no need to be so rude, Patricia said, wounded. Only trying to share a tip. Alan, you hear that? Im not even allowed to speak in my own sons home.
Mark started to interject, but I cut him off.
Im taking a shower, I said, and left the room.
In the bathroom, I discovered my precious shampoo had been shifted behind a line of Patricias bottles, her hair caught in my sponge. Opening the cabinet, my heart sank: my luxury face cream the one Id scrimped and saved for stood open, a massive scoop gone from the jar.
I could barely speak for fury. I stormed back, cream pot in hand.
Patricia, did you use my face cream?
She barely glanced up. Oh, that one? Yes, Alans heels are all cracked from the journey. I saw you had loads of lotions, so picked something moisturising. Good stuff, rich did the trick straight off. You werent short, were you?
For his heels? My voice broke into a whisper. That cost £120.
Her jaw dropped. How much? You must be joking! One hundred and twenty pounds for a little pot? Mark, did you know what your wife spends on creams while were topping up your sock drawer!
Its my money, I replied, cold as the January wind. I earned it, and it was my skin cream.
Oh, here we go, she flapped her hands. What are you, princess of face cream now? Selfish. Ive always said so.
Mark hovered in the doorway, casting glances between us.
Mum didnt know the price well buy you a new one, Anna. Please, its New Years Eve.
And that was the moment I snapped. The patience Id carefully cultivated over years burst, like that wretched airbed under a pin.
Youre right, Mark. Its New Years Eve. And Im not spoiling it with another row or by being precious, I said calmly.
I slipped away to the hallway.
Where are you going? Mark called.
Ill be back soon.
Outside, the chill cut through the haze in my mind. I opened my booking app and scrolled through hotels. There it was the gorgeous spa hotel Id secretly pined for. The price for New Years Eve was outrageous, enough to make me wince. I didnt care. There was a vacancy a suite, king-sized bed, jacuzzi, breakfast delivered to the room. I pressed book. Half my monthly wage vanished. My only thought: worth every penny.
Ten minutes later I was back, heading straight for my clothes piled on the armchair, calmly packing a small bag.
Anna, what are you doing? Mark stared, bewildered.
Im leaving, Mark.
What? To your mothers?
No, shes got visitors herself. To a hotel.
What do you mean? What about New Year? The guests? Us?
You wanted your parents comfortable, and they are. You wanted a bit of romance on the lounge airbed enjoy. I need to sleep in a proper bed and use my bathroom without having to hide my own things.
Youre abandoning me? With them? His panic was audible now. Anna, you cant! Its not fair. What will I tell Mum?
The truth that your wifes a selfish, spendthrift woman who went off to spend the family budget on her own comfort. Theyll love it. Plenty to gossip about.
He tried to grab my arm. You have no right! Its our home!
Exactly. Its my home, too. And since theres no place for me here right now, Ill find one elsewhere. Im back on the third, when theyre off to your aunts for a visit. Or the eighth, when they leave. Well see.
Patricia poked her head in. What on earths going on, dashing off at this hour?
Mum, leave it! Mark snapped, for once.
Im off for a break, Patricia, I beamed. Have a marvellous time. Salads are in the fridge, goose is prepped for the oven just press the button. Happy New Year!
I zipped my coat, grabbed my bag and shut the door behind me. Waiting for the lift, I could hear the commotion starting behind the flat door. Patricias shrill outrage, Marks defensive mutters but I was beyond caring.
The hotel was an oasis: all quiet luxury, pine scents and expensive perfume. The receptionist handed over my key with a polite smile.
When I got to my suite, I wanted to cry with happiness: huge bed, cloud-white bedding, silence, and no fried onion smell. I slipped into my robe, ran a deep, bubbly bath, ordered a bottle of Prosecco and a fruit platter.
My phone buzzed constantly endless calls and texts from Mark, a few from Patricia, even Alan sent, Anna, do come back, this isnt right. I turned my phone off.
I spent New Years Eve in a fluffy dressing gown, sipping bubbly by the window as fireworks burst over the city. Id never welcomed a New Year alone before, but strangely, it was the best Id had in years. No one nagged, nothing was demanded, I simply existed.
On the 1st, I slept till noon. My back finally stopped aching. I had a massage, swam in the pool, and only switched my phone on in the evening.
Ten missed calls from Mark. One long text:
Anna, Im so sorry. Im an idiot. The airbed deflated at 3am and I spent the night on the bare floor. Mums been harping on about you leaving. Dads sulking. The goose burned because we couldnt work Mums timer on the oven. I get it now, I really do. Please come home. Ill send them to a hotel, or take the sofa myself. Just come back.
I smiled to myself. Sorry, love sometimes the lesson needs to sink in.
I came home on the third, as Id intended. Unlocking the door, I surveyed the scene: utter chaos boots in the hallway, sink full of dirty dishes.
Mark was slouched on the limp airbed, rumpled and unshaven. He shot up, nearly tripping on the blanket.
Youre back! he sighed, pure relief in his voice.
Patricia poked her head out of the bedroom, looking battered but no less determined.
So, had your fun, then? she began, but trailed off as our eyes met.
I looked and felt well-rested, with a rosy flush on my cheeks. Calmly, I put down my bag.
Hello. How were the holidays?
Dreadful! she burst out. Marks caught a chill, hes done his back in. The food situations hopeless, we ate takeaway, my stomachs a wreck. How could you leave us like that?
I didnt leave, I gave you the room, I replied. You wanted comfort; you had it. I looked after myself, too, so I wouldnt be ill-tempered and in pain.
Enough, Mum, Mark said firmly. He took my hands. Weve had a rethink. Dads agreed it wasnt fair. Well put their things in the lounge now and Ive sorted the sofa, put a board under the springs. Youre back in the bedroom.
I raised an eyebrow. Mark had fixed the sofa? Miracles do occur after two nights on a hard floor.
And Alans back?
My backs fine when I sleep, funnily enough, Alan called from the kitchen. In fact, we might head off to the in-laws early on the fifth dont want to overstay our welcome.
Patricia opened her mouth, but looking at her sons set jaw and my peaceful expression, just gave a little wave. Do as you like. Ive raised a softy, obviously.
That night, with the in-laws settling into the sofa bed (which, surprise, worked perfectly well), Mark and I snuggled into our bed.
Did you actually spend all that on the hotel? he whispered, holding me close.
Every penny. And Id do it again.
Ill pay you back, out of my next wages.
No need. Call it an accelerated growth course for you.
He was quiet for a long time, then buried his face into my shoulder.
Ill never ask you to sleep on the floor again. I promise. And Ill buy you a new cream the same one. £120.
Ill hold you to that, I whispered, smiling in the dark. And as for that airbed chuck it, will you? Or donate it to the enemy.
I already slashed it. By accident. Tried to deflate it with the scissors on New Years morning.
For the first time in days, I giggled. The tension had finally melted away. I was home, in my own bed, the borders of my little kingdom restored. And if it cost me a small fortune, then so be it. Turns out self-respect is worth every pound far more than even the fanciest face cream.
