30 December
I still cant believe the suggestion Tom made over breakfast. Well, suggestion is probably too generous a word. He sat there picking at the toast while I was ladling out soup for lunch and saysso casually!that we should let his parents use our bedroom during the entire festive break, while we sleep in the living room. On the floor. I nearly dropped the ladle.
You know Dads got that dodgy back, he said, not meeting my eye, mesmerised by the floral print on the tablecloth. He cant go on the sofa bedthe springs, you remember last time? He was hobbling about for days. And Mum tosses and turns, and with the streetlamp shining right into the lounge itll keep her up all night. Well manage a week, wont we? Its not the end of the world.
My mind went blank for a moment, soup dribbling back into the pot, his words sinking in as slowly as thick gravy. I turned to Tom and tried to keep my voice level. Let me get this straight, love. Your parents are coming to spend all of Christmas and New Yearthirty-first to the eighth, we said, right? But now you want to give them our bedroom, our good bed with the memory foam mattress (that we spent months choosing and half my wages paying off), and you want us to move into the lounge?
Toms guilty eyes flickered up. Yeah. I mean, hospitality, all that. They are our parents, Em. I cant put Dad on the foldout. Hell never forgive me.
Im aware the sofa bed is impossible. Thats why we never use it ourselves. But you seem to have forgotten, darling, that my back isnt exactly fine either! Or did you blank out the small matter of my slipped disc, post-accident? And, unlike your parents, Im due back at work straight afteryear-end reporting and all that.
He screwed his face up like hed bitten a lemon. Come on, Em, dont start! Ive sorted it already. We dont need the sofa bed. Ive borrowed a double air mattress from Jamie. Its massive! Practically a real bedwell stick it in the lounge, bit of nostalgia, you know, like camping in the good old days.
Im thirty-eight, not eighteen, I replied, carefully setting the ladle down and fighting the growing urge to shout. This isnt a camping trip. This is our home. And our bedroom is the only place I ever get any rest. Your mum gets up at six every morning and rattles every pan in sight. If were in the open-plan lounge right next to the kitchen, well be up as soon as she is.
Ill ask her to be quiet, Tom mumbled, not sounding convinced. Come on, Em, see it from their side. Theyve booked their tickets. Theyre coming for the grandkids, to see us. What sort of people would we be if we turned them away? I promised Mum itd be comfortable. She worries about putting us out, I told her not to fret, she and Dad would be sleeping like royalty.
Oh, so youve promised her, I said. Without even asking me.
I was just trying to do the right thing! he burst out, voice rising in frustration. Youre making me out to be some dictator. Theyre older, Em. This is just the decent thing to do.
We ended up rowing (as usual, when his parents are involved), and I retreated to the bathroom, letting the sound of running water drown out my frustration. I love Tom, love our little (mortgaged, but still ours) flat, but his parents visits are always an ordeal. His mum, Barbara, is loud and never wrong; his dad, Geoff, is quiet but finicky, always finding fault with something.
I already knew Id lost. If I stood my ground, Id become the villain, not just for his mum but for Tom toohed sulk and sigh for days, playing the wounded innocent. So, I started preparing for their onslaughtemptying half my wardrobe so they could hang their things, moving my dresses and office wear onto makeshift hooks in the hallway. Cleared my bits off the dressing table, stashing my expensive creams in the bathroom drawers (I know Barbaras habit of sampling anything that isnt nailed down, only to disparage the scent or texture later).
Look, told you it all fits! Tom called cheerily, inflating the monstrous blue air mattress in the lounge, the built-in pump roaring like an airport runway. Tested it myself. Surprisingly comfy!
I eyed the thing with deep suspicion. It took up half the room, made the air reek of plastic, and blocked off the balcony. Comfy? The sheets will slide straight off and the floors freezing at night.
Well put a wool blanket underneath! Be fine.
On the morning of the thirtieth, at precisely seven oclock, the doorbell rang. In swept Barbara, her enormous fur hat nearly grazing the ceiling, booming as she peeled off her coat, Thank goodness weve arrived! Railways are a disgrace, the train jolted for hours, hostess was uselessdidnt even get my cup of tea! And Emily, you look peaky! Not sleeping? Or are you coming down with something? Geoff, be careful with the suitcase, thats got my preserves in!
Geoff silently lugged in two huge hold-alls, immediately searching for his slippers.
Come in, take your coats off, breakfast is ready, I managed to say, forcing a smile despite the headache from a late-night grind to clear my deadlines before their arrival.
Barbaras very first stop was an inspection of the bedroom. Very tidy, she pronounced, running a finger along the headboard. Though these curtains are terribly drab, arent they? Id hang something with a bit more life. And the mattress She prodded it skeptically. Tom said its orthopedic? Looks awfully firm. Geoff, try it for your back.
Obediently, Geoff flopped onto our marital bed, still wearing his travel trousers. I ground my teeth but said nothing.
Its alright. Bit stiff. And what are these fancy pillows? Any feather ones?
No, Geoff, just anatomical ones. Better for your neck, I said, tight-lipped.
Never understood the fuss. Slept on feathers all my life, never broke my neck, Barbara sniffed. Well manage. So, where are you two sleeping?
In the lounge, Mum. Got that air mattress. Its fantastic! Tom said, puffed up with pride.
The whole day blurred past in a frenzy: cooking, endless onion chopping, Barbaras monologues on her health, her neighbours, politics. I watched myself morph into the unpaid help in my own home. Each time I dared to sip coffee, Barbara found me a task: Emily, would you mind changing that towel on the cooker? Emily, do make sure youve bought brown breadGeoff cant stand white.
And the nightLord, the night.
That king of comfort blue monster turned out to be a medieval torture device. The moment one of us shifted, the other bounced as if on a trampoline. Plastic creaked every time I so much as blinked. As expected, the sheets bunched up within an hour, and the floors cold seeped into my bones through the blanket.
I lay there, watching fairy lights blink on the ceiling and listening to Tom snore. My back throbbed, and the air mattress gave no support at allmy spine felt like it was swaying in a hammock.
Around three, the bedroom door swung open. Geoff shuffled to the loo. Half an hour later, Barbara appeared for a glass of water. No door between kitchen and lounge meant the corridor lightswitched on every timelasered straight into my eyes.
Morning. New Years Eve. I felt like Id been bludgeoned in my sleep. My neck was stiff, my lower back stabbing.
Barbara swept into the lounge grinning in my old silk dressing gown. We slept like logsquiet as anything, although the mattress is rather too firm. Geoff says his hip aches now. Next time, choose something less solid.
In silence, I set about grinding coffeeI was close to tears.
She turned, Why do you both look so crumpled? Tom, are you sleeping on rocks in there?
Well get used to it, Tom mumbled, rubbing his arm.
Oh, you young ones could sleep on a pile of bricks! Emily, do you really put pickled gherkins in your Olivier salad? I find fresh ones lighter. And is this mayonnaise full fat?
I felt my hands start to tremble with the spoon. I turned to her with the calm one only finds just before a storm. Barbara, I make my salad how my family likes it. If youd prefer fresh cucumbers, help yourselftheyre in the fridge. You can use your own bowl.
The whole flat fell silent. Barbara pursed her lips. Tom looked like a cornered rabbit.
No need to bite my head off, she muttered. Just trying to help, as one good housekeeper to another. Geoff, you see? Not even allowed to speak in my own sons home.
Em, really Tom began.
Im going to have a shower, I cut him off and left the room.
In the bathroom, I found my shampoo pushed to the furthest shelf, replaced by a row of Barbaras bottles. There was a stray hair on my flannel. But the final straw: opening the cupboard, I saw my precious anti-ageing face cream, the one I use sparingly (because at £110 for a pot I practically ration it), had been gouged outa massive dent, a good third gone.
I stormed out, the pot in hand.
Barbara, did you use my face cream?
She didn’t even turn from the TV. That one? Yes, Geoffs heels were cracked from the train, poor thing. You had plenty of tubes, so I grabbed a moisturiser. Lovely stuff! Sinks right in. Was that a problem?
For his feet?! My voice came out a hoarse whisper. You used £110 face cream for his feet?
£110? Are you mad? she gasped. What are you wasting money like that for? Tom, are you hearing this? She spends the family budget on lotions while we have to buy you socks!
Its my money, I said icily. I earned it. It was my personal cream.
Oh, spare me, she shot back. Honestly, Geoffs feet mean nothing to her, just her fancy potions. So selfish. I always said
Tom hovered in the doorway, gaping at both of us.
Em, she had no idea of the cost. Well get you another one. Can we not just have one peaceful day, please? Its New Years Eve.
And something snapped inside. Years of peacekeeping and being the bigger persongone, just like that. I looked at Tom fumbling, the air mattress dead centre of the lounge, the disrespect of my things, my space, my person.
Youre right, Tom. Its the holidays, and I dont want to ruin them with my pettiness.
I walked out to the hall.
Where are you going? Tom asked, suddenly wary.
Ill be back soon, I told him, and shut the door behind me.
Outside, the frosty air cleared my head. I took out my phone, fired up the hotel booking app, and found a room in that spa hotel Ive always wanted to try. Prices were eye-watering, especially New Years Eve, but I didnt care. There was a suite freeking-sized bed, jacuzzi, breakfast in bed. I booked it, half my monthly wage gone in a click.
I was home ten minutes later. The flat was oddly quiet, TV mumbling something about old comedies. Barbara was on the kitchen phone looking huffy.
I threw a few clothes into my overnight bag.
What are you doing? Tom looked lost.
Im leaving, Tom.
To your mums?
No, shes got guests too. Im off to a hotel.
A hotel? Why? But its New Year! We, us, the familywhat about us?
You have your family here, just as you wanted, I told him, zipping my bag and looking him in the eye. Your parents are comfortable in the bedroom. Youve got romance in the air mattress. Enjoy. I need a break, a proper bedmy own space, my own things, no one moving them or slathering expensive face cream on their feet.
Youre abandoning me? With them? Toms panic level was impressive. You cant! Its betrayal! What am I supposed to tell Mum?
Tell her the truth. That your wife is a selfish spendthrift whos prioritised her comfort. Shell love itsomething new to dissect over dinner.
Em, wait! he pleaded, catching my wrist. This is our flatwe share it!
Exactly. And when theres no room left for me in my own home, Ill find it somewhere else. Ill be back on the third, once your parents have gone to see your aunt. Or the eighth when theyve left for good. I havent decided.
Barbara peered out. Whats all this fuss? Where do you think youre running off to at this hour?
Not now, Mum! barked Tom, for the first time since their arrival.
Im off for a rest, Barbara, I replied with a beatific smile. Do enjoy yourselves. Salads are in the fridge, goose just needs switching on. Happy New Year!
I grabbed my puffer coat, bag, slipped out, and waited for the lift, hearing raised voices behind the front doorBarbaras shrill complaining, Toms panicky explanations. But none of that belonged to me anymore.
The hotel was blissfully quiet, scented with pine and expensive perfume. The receptionist smiled as she handed me the keycard.
As I entered my suite, I felt an overwhelming relief. The white sheets on the vast bed gleamed. Silence. No fried onion, no plastic. I shed my clothes, ran a hot bath with bubbles, and ordered bubbly and fruit for the room.
My phone buzzed endlesslyfirst Tom, then his mum, then a text from his dad: Emily, do come home, its not civilised. I turned it off.
That night, I saw in the New Year in a dressing gown, glass of prosecco in hand, gazing at the fireworks through the panoramic window. Id never spent New Year alone, but strangely, it was the best one in years. No one asking for anything, needing me, or moving my things. I just existed.
January 1st. Slept till noon. My back stopped aching. Enjoyed a massage and swim, turned my phone on in the evening: ten missed calls from Tom, and one long message.
Em, Im sorry. I was an idiot. The air mattress deflated at three am. I slept on the floor. Mums giving me a hard time, Dads moping. The goose burned because none of us could work the oven timer. Now I see what youve been putting up with. Please, please come home. Ill put my parents in a hotel, or Ill sleep in the loungeanything. Just come back.
I smiled. Oh, dearest Tom. The lesson had to stick.
I came back on the third, as Id planned. Let myself in. The place was a messboots in the hallway, mountain of dishes in the kitchen.
Tom was slumped amid the carcass of the blue air mattress in the middle of the lounge, stubbly, unkempt. The instant he saw me, he sprang up, nearly tripping.
Youre back! He breathed out as if I were the cavalry.
Barbara popped out of the bedroom, looking ready for a fight, but wilted when she met my gaze.
Did you have a good time, then? she snapped, but there was no bite.
I looked radiant, refreshed, cheeks pink. I placed my bag down.
Afternoon. How were the holidays?
Horrible! Barbara blurted. Toms caught cold, the food was barely ediblewe had to order pizza, now my stomachs upset. You just left us here!
I didnt leave, I simply gave you your comfort, I replied. Bedroom was yours, after all. I gave myself some, too, so Id return in a better state of mind.
Mum, enough, Tom said, quite firmly for once, moving to me and taking my hands. We talked it through. Dad agrees, it was unfair. Were moving them into the lounge nowIve fixed the sofa bed, put a board under the springs, its fine. Youre back in the bedroom.
I arched an eyebrow. Tom, fixing furniture? Apparently, two nights on the floor will do that to a man.
What about Geoffs bad back? I asked wryly.
Backs fine if I sleep at all, Geoff called from the kitchen. Were going to leave on the fifthmy friends want us round as well.
Barbara opened her mouth, but shut it, eyeing her son and me, then just sighed. Do what you want. Raised a softie, havent I.
That night, after his folks finally agreed to the sofa bed (which, funnily enough, worked perfectly with some effort), Tom and I curled up in our own bed.
Did you really spend that much on that hotel, Em? he whispered, cuddling me.
I did. Not sorry, either.
Ill pay you back, out of my wages.
You wont. Chalk it up as a personal development course. For you.
He was hushed for a moment, then nuzzled my neck. Ill never ask you to sleep on the floor again. Promise. And Ill buy you that fancy face cream. The exact one.
Ill hold you to that, I murmured, smiling in the dark. But as for that air mattressbin it tomorrow. Or send it to your enemies.
I already cut it up, he confessed. Accidentally. With the scissors. When I tried to deflate it New Years morning.
I snorted with laughter. The whole nightmare began to fade. I was home. In my bed. The borders of my little kingdom restored. And it may have cost a fortune, but Id learned that self-respect is worth more than any luxury cream.
And now, I wonderwhat would others have done? Would you have stood your ground or escaped, just as I did?
