Marina Stevenson stood by the kitchen window, watching as a battered old Ford pulled into the driveway. A tall young man in a crumpled T-shirt and jeans climbed out slowly, grabbing two large backpacks and a sports bag from the boot.
“Well, he’s here,” she muttered under her breath, wiping her hands on a tea towel before heading to meet her nephew.
Danny had grown up. The last time she’d seen him, he was fourteen—a scrawny teenager with ears that stuck out. Now he stood at her doorstep, a proper young man, though slightly uncertain.
“Aunt Marina?” he asked hesitantly as she opened the door.
“Yes, of course it’s me! Come in, Danny! Goodness, look how tall you’ve got!” She hugged him, catching the scent of travel and cheap aftershave. “Make yourself at home. You must be exhausted.”
“Nah, not too bad. Cheers for having me. I won’t stay long—just till I find work and a place to rent.” Danny shifted from foot to foot, glancing around the hallway.
Marina nodded, though doubt already gnawed at her. It was always the same—people said one thing and did another. His mother, her sister, had always made grand promises and then vanished for months.
“Come through,” she said, gesturing to the room that had been her study just yesterday. The desk, the bookshelves, her favourite armchair by the window—she’d dragged it all into her bedroom to make space.
Danny hesitated in the doorway.
“Listen, maybe I should just crash on the sofa? Don’t wanna put you out.”
“Don’t be silly—you need your own space,” she replied, though something inside her tightened. Twenty years she’d spent arranging that room. Every object had its place, its history.
Danny dropped his bags on the floor, scanning the room.
“Where are you gonna work now? I saw the desk was here.”
“Moved it to the bedroom. No trouble,” she said brightly, though her voice wavered slightly.
Danny didn’t seem to notice, already unzipping a backpack.
“Mind if I unpack? Everything’s all creased from travelling.”
“Course not! I’ll start dinner. What do you fancy?”
“Not fussy. Cheers,” he grinned, and for a moment, she saw her late brother in that smile.
At dinner, Danny talked about his plans—construction work, good pay, reckoned he’d find a flat in no time.
“What about college?” Marina asked. “Mum said you were in trade school.”
He wrinkled his nose. “Dropped out. Boring, all theory. I’d rather work with my hands.”
“Shame. Education’s always useful.”
“Yeah, well, you’ve got qualifications, but what d’you earn? I’ll make in a week what you do in a month.”
Marina said nothing. Explaining she worked for more than money was pointless—young people thought differently.
The next morning, she woke to the shower running. By half six—she usually got up at half seven. Now Danny was commandeering the bathroom when she needed it.
“Danny, I need to get ready!” she called through the door.
“Five minutes, Aunt Marina!”
Five became twenty. She had to rush, skipping breakfast.
“You look rough,” her colleague Linda remarked at work.
“Nephew’s staying. Settling in.”
“How long’s he here?”
“Says till he finds work and a place.”
Linda gave a knowing look. “Heard that before. My sister’s cousin stayed a year and a half—always ‘looking’.”
That evening, Marina found Danny hadn’t left the flat. Dirty plates in the sink, breadcrumbs on the table.
“Job hunting?” she asked.
“Tomorrow. Had a headache today.”
She bit her tongue.
The weekend was worse. Danny brought home a girlfriend, a skinny bottle-blonde in a tiny skirt. “This is Amy. She’s staying over.”
By Monday, the couple had taken over—music blaring, her expensive shampoo gone, her cosmetics rifled through.
“Amy, please don’t use my things without asking.”
Danny shrugged. “What’s the big deal? It’s just shampoo.”
Marina snapped. “You need to leave. Today.”
“You’re kicking us out? We’ve got nowhere!”
“That’s your problem, Danny. You’re twenty-two. Time to stand on your own feet.”
After they’d gone, she cleaned the mess, rearranged her books, and sank into her armchair with a cup of tea. The phone rang later—her sister, furious.
“How could you? They’ve got no money!”
“Then he should earn some. He’s a grown man.”
“You’ve always been selfish!”
Marina sighed. “Maybe. But it’s my life.”
A week later, her neighbour Maureen nodded approvingly. “Good riddance. Youth these days—no respect.”
“He’s not bad. Just spoilt.”
“Bad or not—peace and quiet’s what matters.”
And it was. Finally, Marina had her home back—just as it should be.
