On holiday with cheeky relatives: Time to draw the line
Ive been putting up with this for two weeks, Alex! Two whole weeks in this dump they have the cheek to call a hotel.
Why did we even agree to this?
Because Mum asked us to. Emily needs a break. Emilys had such a hard life, my brother mimicked our mother in a singsong voice.
A hard life was quite an understatement when it came to Aunt Emily, but pity her? I simply couldnt manage it. At all.
Emily, Mums sister, was always the down-on-her-luck relative that everyone was expected to help out.
The suitcase refused to close. I pressed my knee into the lid with a vengeance, struggling to force the zip together, but it betrayed me, popping open to puke out the corner of a beach towel.
From the other side of the wafer-thin plywood partitionproudly called a wall by this grotty B&BI could hear shrieking. That was Max, Aunt Emilys six-year-old son, melting down yet again.
I dont want porridge! I want chicken nuggets! He bawled as if being tortured.
Next thing, there was a heavy thud, a clatter of crockery, and then Aunt Emilys lazy, husky, smoky voice drifted over:
Now, darling, come on, have a spoonful for Mummy…
Sarah, nip to the shop and buy him some nuggets, cant you hear the poor child suffering?
My legs are killing me, I cant manage.
I froze, clutching my suitcase zip. Sarah! Mum would rush off in a heartbeat!
Alex, my brother, sat hunched on the only rickety chair in our shoebox of a room, glumly scrolling through his phone. He hadnt packed a thing. His duffel bag still lurked in the corner in a heap.
Did you hear that? I asked Alex quietly, nodding at the wall. Shes ordering Mum about again.
Sarah, bring this, Sarah, fetch that. And Mum will be off like a shot.
Dont start, Alex muttered, eyes glued to the screen. Were going home tomorrow.
Ive endured this for two weeks, Alex! Two whole weeks in this coop and they call it a hotel.
Why did we agree?
Because Mum begged us. Emily must have a break, what a tough time shes had, Alex parroted Mums tone.
I slumped onto the edge of the bed, the springs giving a pitiful squeak.
Aunt Emily truly did have a tough time behind her. But I just couldnt bring myself to pity her.
Emily, Mums maternal sister, had cemented her role as the poor relation of the family. The one we all owed.
Her first child was gone before their first birthdaya family tragedy mentioned only in hushed tones.
Then came the husband, who liked his drink a bit too much and drank himself into the grave a couple of years back.
Aunt Emily raised two kids by different blokes and squatted, along with the current perfect man (the eighth, if youre counting), in Grans old flat.
She wasnt fond of work. Emily figured her job was to beautify the world and suffer quietly; everyone else was meant to bankroll this lifestyle.
Above all, that meant Mum. Emily was convinced Sarah was absolutely rolling in it.
I went to the window.
What a view: bins and the weather-stained wall of a neighbours shed.
This trip was Mums idea. Lets all go, as a family, Emily needs help, a break. Helping, of course, meant Mum paying for most of the rooms, buying all the food, and cooking for the brood, while Emily and her latest matesome woman called Brenda, whom shed teamed up with by the pool over a mutual love of idlenesslay sunbathing, barely moving a muscle.
Get ready, I said to Alex. Were off to a restaurant later. Farewell dinner.
***
The restaurant, naturally, was not our choice.
Emily announced she wanted somewhere fancy.
Place was right on the seafront. Two tables pushed together to fit our mob, as I couldnt help thinking of them.
Emily, squeezed into a sequinned dress straining at the seams, presided at the head of the table beside Brendaa burly, brash woman whose peroxide-blonde hair shone from across the room.
Waiter! Emily bellowed without glancing at the menu. We want the best! Kebabs, salads, and that red winebring us a carafe!
Mum sat at the far end, offering delicate, tired smiles. She looked exhausted.
Not an hour of rest these whole two weeks: Max kicking off, Emily constantly unwell, Sophie bored out of her mind.
Mum, order that fish for yourself, you said you fancied it I said quietly, leaning in.
Oh, no, too dear, Mum waved me off. Ill just have a salad. Let Emily eat, shes suffered so much this year.
I could feel my anger stir. Suffered! Of course! There was Max, the spoilt six-year-old tyrant, thudding his spoon against his plate.
Feed me! he demanded, mouth wide open, eyes fixed on a tablet.
Emily, dropping her chat with Brenda, dutifully stuffed a spoonful of mash into his mouth.
There you go, darling, eat up, make yourself big and strong.
Hes six, I blurted out. Doesnt he know how to eat on his own?
A hush fell over the table. Emily turned slowly to face me.
Who asked you, dear niece? she drawled. Have your own children first, then come and tell me how to raise mine.
My boy has a very delicate soulhe needs special care!
What he really needs are boundaries and less screen time at meals, I shot back. He screams the place down if you so much as say no. All youre doing is raising a little consumer.
Oh, honestly! Brenda cut in, flapping her hands. Look at her, Emily! The grand psychologist.
Eggs teaching chickens now. You, girl, havent lived a day and you think you can talk down to your elders?
Please, Charlotte, be quiet, Mum whispered, tugging my sleeve. Dont ruin the evening. Please.
Time crept by. Emily and Brenda loudly dissected men, complained about the neighbours at the B&B, moaned about the burdens women bear.
Sophie was deep in her phone, casting periodic looks of disdain at the grown-ups. Max howled for pudding, getting the biggest ice cream on offer without fuss.
And then came the bill. Emily gave an almighty gasp:
Oh, left my purse in the room! Sarah, pay, will you? Ill transfer you back the minute we get home.
You never will, I thought, seeing Mum quietly produce her card. We all knew the drill.
***
We returned after midnight. I beelined straight for the bathroom to wash off the sticky feel of the whole evening.
Water trickled in a feeble jet, swinging between arctic and scalding.
When I left the shower, I headed for bed, but stopped by the kitchens half-open door. Loud, conspiratorial whispers drifted out.
Did you see that little madam? Brenda was chirping. Sits and sulks.
Doesnt know how to eat. Who asked you, you snotty thing? Never done a days work!
If it werent for you, Sarah, shed still be out on some farm, mucking out stables instead of turning her nose up at restaurants.
Full of herself, that one. No boyfriend, no sense, just a massive chip on her shoulder.
I held my breath.
My chest ached as I waitedhopedfor Mum to even say a word. Slam her hand down and say, Shut up, Brenda, dont talk about my daughter like that. Or at least just walk out.
But all I heard was Emilys mournful sigh:
Youre right, Brenda. Charlottes a tough one. Takes after her fathers sidealways sodifficult.
Not like mine. Sophie might be feisty, but shes got a kind heart, open and warm.
That Charlottelooks at us like were dirt. Makes me feel sick when shes in the same room.
Its your fault, Sarah! Brenda chimed in. Should have given her a good smack years ago.
Now looklittle princess who treats her mum like a doormat.
Id have thrown her out ages agosee how she liked it.
I pressed my forehead against the doorframe. Mum said nothing.
She just sat there with those women, sipping tea (or something stronger, judging by the smell of gin wafting out) and let them trash her only daughter.
I straightened. The door flew open with a crash, banging back against the wall.
A stunned silence.
There they all sat around the plastic table, littered with leftover food and empty wrappers:
Emily, squashed into her glittery dress now splitting under the arm, Brenda with her florid, sweaty face, and Mum
Mum, shrinking instantly into her shoulders.
So Im a stuck-up girl, am I? My voice was rock steady.
And youre a paragon of virtue, Aunt Emily?
Emily hiccupped, her eyes wide. Brenda rose slowly from her seat, looming like a pink mountain.
Eavesdropping, are you, you little snot? she growled. Fancy a warm ear?
I wasnt listening in. You were shouting so loud half the hotels heard you, I stepped forward, meeting Emilys eyes. Funny, Aunt Emily, makes you gag eating near me, does it?
Didnt seem to bother you when Mum was paying for your steak in the restaurant.
Was it hard to swallow then?
You ungrateful wretch! Emily screeched, turning crimson. We welcome you with open arms and you throw it back in our faces!
I could be your mother and youyou begrudge me a meal?
Well, choke on your money for all I care!
Its not the money. Its your bloody nerve Im sick of! I exploded. Youve spent your life living off Mum! One bloke after another, made-up illnesses, your kids, your dramas!
Mum breaks her back to pay for your precious getaway and you stab her in the back, right under her nose!
Your daughters a foul-mouthed brat who wipes her feet on you, yet you preach at me?
Your son? A screeching manipulator youre too weak to ever say no to.
Emily just gaped like a landed fishstunned into silence.
Charlotte! Mum tried to intervene, jumping up. Stop this now! Go to your room!
No, Mum, I wont, I met her gaze, and all the pain welled up and spilled over. Youre sitting here letting a stranger you barely know smear your own daughter. And you dont say a word. You just let her.
Brenda shoved her chair back, fists clenched, bearing down on me.
Thats it, you cheeky mare, Ill teach you respect for your elders
She swung at me, a big meaty hand arcing towards my face.
But Alex was there, catching her by the wrist mid-air.
Dont you dare, he said quietly. Have you both lost your minds? Aunt Emily, get your bags, were leaving.
We? Emily shrieked, losing her grip on the situation. Im not going! Weve two days left, its all paid for!
Sarah! Your children have gone mad! Attacking people now!
And at last, Mum spoke. She grabbed my shoulders, shaking me.
Why did you do this?! she cried, tears streaming. Why did you even come in? Couldnt you have just kept quiet?
Youve ruined everything! Were family! Have you no shame, making a scene in front of everyone?
I gently removed Mums hands, something inside me snapping for good.
Im not ashamed, Mum, I said softly. Its you who should be ashamed. For letting them treat us all like this
I turned and left the kitchen. Alex followed.
Back in our room, we started packing in silence. Behind the wafer-thin wall, Emily was bawling and wailing about her misery, Brenda muttering that Alex and I were rotten ingrates, while Sophie moaned about being kept awake by the fuss.
We cant get a train till the morning Alex said, securing his bag. Well have to wait at the station till dawn.
Dont care, I stuffed my bits in a carrier bag. Better the station than another second in this dump.
And Mum?
I stopped, T-shirt in hand.
Mums made her choice. Shes in there now, comforting her sister.
***
Charlotte doesnt speak to Mum anymore. Neither does Alex. We never forgave her.
Mums called a few times, saying shes ready to forgive us if we apologise to Emily. But both Alex and I have decided that kind of forgiveness is not something we want.
Enough is enough.
If our mother wants to keep pandering to her bossy sister, fine by us.
Were better off without cheeky relatives dragging us down.
Personal lesson? Some lines in life need drawing, no matter whos doing the trampling. Sometimes love means walking awayespecially from family who dont know where enough is enough.
