My goodness, is it really so hard for you? Just three days. Sophies in a pickle, she found a last-minute deal to Spain, she hasnt had a holiday in ages, and I you know, my blood pressures sky-high, and my backs gone again from stooping about in the allotment. And Trevor is their real granddad. He *should* help.
The voice on the phone was so loud Trevor didnt even need to put it on speaker. Julia, standing at the hob and stirring the ratatouille, could hear every syllable. That pitchshrill, with a hint of melodramatic needinessshed know anywhere. Denise Margaret. The first, and regrettably unforgettable, wife of her husband.
Trevor glanced sheepishly at Julia, holding the phone to his ear with one shoulder and attempting, miserably, to slice some bread. The slices looked as though hed cut them blindfolded.
Denise, just hang on a minute, he tried to squeeze in. Whats Sophies trip got to do with anything? Julia and I already made plans for the weekend
Oh, what sort of plans could you *possibly* have? Denise barked, with the subtlety of a bulldozer. Weeding your vegetable patch? Going to look at dusty fossils in a museum? Trevor, were talking about your grandsons. Harry and Ben. Those boys need a good male role model, not all this mollycoddling. You havent seen them for a month. Arent you even a tiny bit guilty? Or is your new flame not letting you out of her sight?
Julia set the spoon down and turned off the hob. New flame. Theyd been married for eight years. Eight brilliantly undramatic years, if you ignored the regular Hurricane Denise interludes. First, it was demands to up the maintenance for Sophie, their grown-up daughter. Then, endless requests: new boiler, dental bills, help with the car, you name it. Trevor, who was unfailingly kind and about as decisive as a damp teabag, had caved each timeguilt over the divorce, hed said. Never mind that Sophie had been twenty by then, and he and Denise lived together more like two awkward lodgers than husband and wife.
Denise, leave Julia out of this, Trevor protested, trying for firmer, but only managing slightly less apologetic. Its not about her. Its justyou cant drop this on someone last minute. The lads are only six. You cant just let them run riot. And were not exactly spring chickens
Exactly! Denise crowed. Getting old is no picnic, but a bit of running around after the boys, youll be right as rain. Anyway. Sophies dropping them off at ten tomorrow. I cant possibly do itbacks still bad. And dont argue, Trevor. Its your family.
The line went dead. Trevor set his phone down and let out a sigh that seemed to come all the way from his arches.
The kitchen was silent except for the relentless tick of the wall clock. Outside, the evening drizzle began pattering on the windowsill. Julia wiped imaginary crumbs from the table with a napkin.
So, ten oclock tomorrow? she said, voice level and polite.
Trevor finally looked up. In his eyes: silent pleading.
Im sorry, Jules. You heard hershes a bulldozer. Sophies jetting off, Denise is apparently in traction what can they do? Theyre the grandkids.
Trevor. Julia sat down opposite, folding her hands. Lets be honest: theyre your grandchildren. Not mine. Im perfectly polite to them, but lets not pretendthey dont even use my name. Im just, that lady, the way their grandmother taught them. Every visit turns the flat into a crime scene, and Sophie runs around insisting nobody dares tell her boys off.
Ill do it all myself! Trevor insisted, going for heroic. You wont have to lift a finger. Ill take them to the park, cinema, arcades, whatever. You just do a bit of foodyour soup and those little meatballs, they love those, even if they pretend otherwise.
Julia gave a small, weary grin. Oh, she knew how it would go. Trevor would manage a heroic two hours of playing and refereeing, then collapse on the sofa for five minutes with a headache. The wild six-year-old twins would be entirely her problem: bouncing off the walls, throwing food, demanding cartoons, ignoring every attempt at disciplinebecause Grandma Denise had apparently decreed that at Grandpas house, anything goes.
We had theatre tickets for Saturday, Julia reminded him. And we were going to the garden to sort the roses for winter.
Well return the tickets The roses can wait Julia, please, just this once. Ill speak to Sophie about giving us more notice. Promise.
Just this once. Shed heard that at least twenty times. And every single time, shed relentedout of sympathy for Trevor, never wanting to fan the flames. But something snapped inside her this time. Maybe it was Denises entitled tone, not even bothering to ask but simply issuing orderscommandeering Julias weekend as if it were her own.
No, Trevor, Julia said softly.
He blinked, looking completely bemused, as though shed spoken in Ancient Greek.
No what?
No, were not taking the boys. Not this time. Im not cancelling my plans, and Im not going to spend three days slaving over a stove for children who turned their noses up last time, and said my soup stank and that mummy cooked better.
Julia, come on Theyre only children. Whats Sophie going to do? Shes shelled out for this trip.
Thats Sophies problem. Shes a grown woman, with a husband, a mother-in-law, and childcare options aplenty. Why is it our jobmy jobto mop up every time?
Our job, Trevor corrected gently.
No, darling, my job. Because its me who tidies up the crumbs and toys afterwards. Its me whos on kitchen duty, laundry duty, the whole lot. You play happy grandad for an hour then knock back the painkillers and go for a lie-down. I fully support your relationship with your grandchildren, but I never signed up as free help to the kids of a woman who barely hides her contempt for me.
Trevor, frowning, looked genuinely out of his depth. Julia was normally Unflappable Patience itself.
So what are you suggesting? Call and say no? Denise will lose her mind. Shell make a scene thatll finish me off.
No need, Julia stood and went to the window. Let them bring them.
So you youre saying yes? Trevor brightened.
No. Let them bring the boys. And well see.
Saturday morning dawned uncharacteristically sunnyunlike the mood in Julia and Trevors flat. Trevor paced about, straightening cushions, checking his watch every thirty seconds. Julia was calmly unfazed, finishing her breakfast, slipping on her favourite linen dress, adding a touch of makeup, and beginning to pack a small bag.
Going somewhere? Trevor was suspicious, noting the novel and the umbrella.
Weve theatre at seven, dont forget. Before that, Im off to the hairdressers, and then I thought Id wander along the riverside. Air my head a bit.
Julia! Theyll be here in fifteen minutes! How am I supposed to cope by myself? I dont know where the snacks arewhat they like
Youll muddle through. Youre the grandad. A proper role model, as Denise herself said.
At that moment, the doorbell rang: long, shrill, pushy. Trevor darted to answer it as Julia finished buckling her shoes.
From the hallway came a volley of voices.
Oh, thank the Lord, no traffic! Dad, here they aretake them off my hands, please. Bags here, tablets charged, if anything, just give me a ring. Im so latecabs waiting! Sophie, breathless, barely gave Trevor a chance to reply.
But Sophwaitwhat about their meals, their bedtime?
Theyll be fine, its the weekend! Do them some fish fingers or something. Rightsee you! She air-kissed, flung herself out, and slammed the door.
Suddenly: the pitter-patter of small feet and a loud cry: Charge!
Julia went out into the hall. A scene of chaos greeted her: two sturdy boys leaping on the shoe cabinet, trying to snag Trevors battered old flat cap off its hook. Trevor, carrying a bag nearly as big as himself, looked utterly lost. But that wasnt the best part. Standing at the still-open door, beaming with the smugness of Henry VIII, wasof courseDenise Margaret herself. Her bad back, it seemed, had made a remarkable recovery: full makeup, hair done, chunky jewellery jangling.
There you are, Denise sniffed at Julia, up and down. I do hope youre prepared. The boys cant have anything fried, Bens allergic to oranges, and Harry wont touch onions. Soup must be made freshno reheated nonsense. And limit their screen timetheyve been little zombies lately.
She spoke like Lady Bracknell dressing down a particularly hopeless housemaid. Trevor shrunk, bracing for impact.
Julia, unruffled, adjusted her hair in the hall mirror and picked up her bag.
Morning, Denise. Morning, boys.
The twins paused just long enough to glance at her before resuming their acrobatics.
Thank you ever so much for the instructions, Julia said with a sweet (but unmistakably sharp) smile. Be sure to pass them along to Trevor. Hes in charge today.
I beg your pardon? Denises eyebrows shot up.
Ive made plans, you see. Day off. Appointments, hair, theatre. Ill be home very late, maybe tomorrow morning.
Denises face went redder than a currant bun. She stepped forward, physically blocking the door.
Dont be ridiculous. YOU cant just swan off on your appointments. There are two children here! These are your husbands grandsons! You have a moral duty
My only duty is to people to whom I made promises, Julia interrupted quietly but firmly. I never promised to childmind your grandsons. I didnt raise them, and I didnt marry into servitude. Sophies their mother, theyve got a father, two grandmothersand you, Denise, are happily retired by now.
My backs shot! Denise bleated.
Ive got a life. And I dont intend to spend it mopping up after other people, especially when asked in that tone.
Trevor! Denise turned, glaring at Trevor as if he were the last biscuit disappearing from the tin. Are you hearing this? Are you a man or what? Tell her!
Caught between the two women, Trevor looked anguished. Habitual obedience to Denise warred with newfound loyalty to Juliaand a sudden understanding of why Julia might have had enough.
Denise, he started, uncertain, Julia did say she was busy I thoughtwellId manage
Manage what?! Denise wailed. Youll collapse after an hour! Who will feed them? Bathe them? Look at her!she jabbed at JuliaAll dolled up! Theatre, indeed! Doesnt care a jot about family, obviously!
Family? Julias smile vanished. Her tone was ice and steel. Lets clarify. Trevor and I *are* family. You, Sophie, and your grandsons? Youre Trevors kin, not mine. Ive put up with your midnight calls, your demands for handouts, your whispered insults. But turning our home into a crash-pad, and me into unpaid staff, is where it stops.
How dare you?! This was my husbands flat! Well, my *ex*-husbands He has a right!
Hes welcome to host whoever he fancies. But he cant expect me to serve his guests. Trevorshe turned to himyour choice. You can stay here with the boys and Denise, who clearly feels sprightly enough to supervise. Ill be off.
Julia stepped towards the door.
Wait! Denise grabbed her by the elbow. Youre not going anywhere until you make the boys something decent! Sophies at the airport! Where else can they go?
Julia gently but firmly freed herself.
Not my problem, Denise. Call a cabtake them home with you and do the soup yourself. Or call Sophie and ask her to cut her holiday short. And dont lay hands on me again. Or next time, Ill call the police and report trespassing and assault. I absolutely mean it.
A thunderous silence fell. Even the twins, sensing the tension, went small and quiet in the corner. Trevor looked at Julia as if she had turned to stone, equal parts in awe and absolute terror. For the first time, he saw her not as gentle Julia, but as someone who had finally drawn a line in the sand.
Denise gaped like a stranded goldfish, utterly thrown. Julia had always been mild-mannered and accommodating. This was a side shed never seen.
Selfishmonster, Denise hissed eventually. Everyone will hear what sort of viper you are.
Be my guest, Julia shrugged, stepping out into the hall. Couldnt care less.
She closed the door behind her and strolled to the lift.
Trevor, youve got the spare keys. If you sort this mess, call me. If notsee you when the place is a bit quieter.
The lift shut with gentle finality. Julia stepped out into the bright post-rain air and drew a deep breath. Her hands shook, but she felt unaccountably light. Shed done it. For the first time, shed said No.
Julia had the most marvellous day. She wandered round the art gallery, lingered over a coffee at her favourite cafe, strolled through the park and relished the simple joy of not having to listen for a single childs shout or Denises next demand. She switched her phone off; the world could wait.
After the theatre, just before midnight, she turned it back on: ten missed calls from Trevor, and a text: Denise took the boys. Im home. Im sorry.
Julia arrived to a spotlessly quiet flat at eleven. Trevor sat at the kitchen table in front of a stone-cold cup of tea, looking shellshockedbut calm.
Hi, he said, quietly, as she came in.
Hello. Where are the boys?
Denise took them. She went sparethreatened to curse us, rang Sophie insisting she cancel her trip and look after the kids. She caused a right scene.
And what about you?
He looked up.
For the first time ever I told her to shut it.
Julias eyebrows reached for her hairline.
Really?
Yep. She started slagging you off. Called you all sorts. I told her if she ever spoke about you like that again, shed not see a penny more from menot a single extra cheque. I already paid my dues. And shes barred from this flat.
Julia felt a sudden wave of affection and pride. She hugged Trevor from behind. He clung to her like a castaway.
She stormed out with the boysslammed the door so hard the paints probably cracked. Shouted that were dead to her now.
Well live, Julia chuckled, smoothing his greying hair. And Sophie?
Sophie rang from the airport. In bits, poor thing. Sent her a bit of cash for a nanny in Spain in the end. She decided to take the boys after all. Denise point-blank refused and swore her back had gone again with all the stress.
Well, there you go. Sorted itself out. Sophies their mumshe should have her holiday with her kids. Perfectly normal.
Julia Trevor detached himself and looked her in the eye. Thank you.
For what? For throwing you to the wolves?
For making me feel like a proper man againnot a schoolboy sent on errands by my ex. Ive tiptoed around her for yearsguilt, all that. But I realised today: I dont owe a thing to anyone but you. Youre my family now. I was an idiot not to see it sooner.
Well, as long as you do now, Julia smiled. Now, lets have some tea. Cherry tart from the bakery. Your favourite.
The next day, Trevors phone stayed silent. Not a peep from Denise. Sophie sent a quick message: Theyd arrived safely. Life began to slip back to normal, only somehow clearer. The flat now felt washed clean, as though the last shreds of old resentments and borrowed obligations had finally lifted.
A week passed. Julia tended her roses at the cottage garden, with Trevor valiantly digging the beds.
You know, he said, pausing for breath, Denise rang yesterday.
Julia froze.
Really. And what did she want?
Money. Said her medications got dearer.
And did you?
No. Told her the household budgets stretchedsaving for a new boiler, a coat for you She hung up.
Julia laughed out loud.
A coat? Oh, you charmer. But I like your style.
She slammed the phone downyet somehow, the sky didnt fall in, Trevor grinneda real, free smile, with none of that dragged-down-old-guilt aftertaste.
No, it didnt, Julia agreed. Its even a bit bluer, dont you think?
The whole child-minding debacle proved a turning point. Julia realised that dignity isnt all high drama and shouting matches, but the quiet bravery of a simple no when someone crosses your line. Trevor learned that his wifes respect was far more precious than his exs peace or approval.
Of course, the grandsons still popped up from time to time. Only now, everything was on the calendar, with plenty of warningand Denise no longer so much as set foot inside their flat. Trevor collected the boys himself, took them to the zoo or the cinema, then took them home again. Everyone was much happier that way. The boys got the undivided attention of a grandad, not the tattered nerves of a man splitting himself between two warring women. And Julia found what she always wanted: a peaceful home, and a husband who finally put her first.
Most evenings, out on the cottage porch, watching the sun slide away, Julia would remember that defiant little trip to the theatre. The play itself had vanished from memorythe main drama had been in the front hall, and the ending was, at last, happy.
If you enjoyed this tale of boundary-setting bravery (and a bit of a kitchen sink standoff), do leave a commentwhat would you have done if you were Julia?
