Theyll stay for a while
Listen, love, theres a bit of a situation
Helen braced herself for a long talk. Whenever her mother began like thatsoftly, drawing out the liiiistenit meant trouble was brewing.
Do you remember Becky, Aunt Marys daughter? You know, my cousins girl? Well, technically shes some sort of your cousin too.
Some sort of Mum, I saw her once at Grans funeral, like a decade ago.
So what! Family is family, you cant pick and choose. Anyway, Beckys in a pickle. Her landlords selling up, so she, her husband, and their son are being turfed out. Can you imagine?
Helen pressed her fingers to the bridge of her nose. Outside, the December afternoon smudged into grey, and her tea grew cold, just as her patience did.
Mum, Im sorry for them, but whats that got to do with me?
Oh come on! Youve got that big flat, all by yourself! Theyd only need to stay a short while, a month or two, just until they find somewhere
No.
The word flew out before Helen could think it through.
What do you mean, no? her mother stuttered, flustered by the bluntness. You havent even heard me out!
Mum, Im not inviting strangers into my flatespecially with a child. Especially for god knows how long.
Not god knows! I said only a couple of months. Beckys man works, theyll scrape together for a deposit and be off. Helen, theres an eight-year-old boy, hell be out on the street if you dont help!
Let them get a room somewhere: a hostel, a cheap hotel, whatever.
With what? Theyre skint! Its not their fault theyve been booted out.
Mum, its not my problem.
Then her mother started crying, quietly but with real tremor, like a leaking tap. Helen closed her eyes.
I dont recognise you, her mother sniffed, the words tripping over tears. My own daughter, so cold. A stranger. Your own flesh and blood in need, and you dont care.
Theyre not my flesh and blood. Theyre yours.
So theyre yours too! Have you forgotten what family means? To help your own?
Mum, I work from home. I need quiet. Space. I cant live with people I barely know.
Its only temporary! Good Lord, what does it cost you? Youve three bedrooms! Three! Sitting all by yourself like an old owl. You havent even got a cat. At least itd be good for something
It is good. I live here.
Selfish, her mother hiccupped. I raised a selfish girl. I never dreamt my own daughter would turn family away from her door.
Im not refusing them bread, Mum. Im refusing strangers entry to my home.
The talk looped endlessly. Her mother trotted out pleas, Helen returned her refusals. After forty minutes, Helen realised shed already relented twice: first, Ill think about it, then, perhaps, maybe, we could try
Only a month, she said at last. Two at most. If anything goes wrong, theyre gone.
Of course, of course! Helen, thank you so much! You dont know what this means!
Nausea rose inside, not literal but soul-deep, the kind that sets in when you know youve made a grave mistake.
Next morning, seven oclock, the doorbell rang. Helen, groggy and cross, opened up and nearly toppled over as suitcases, bags, boxes, and an exuberant child came tumbling in.
Helen! Darling! Becky swept in and kissed her cheek, clattering gratitude. Thank you, thank you! Youre an angel!
Behind her, a hulking man in joggers and an eight-year-old lad surged forward to explore the flat.
Tom, bring in the big bag! Becky hollered.
Helen counted: seven suitcases, four boxes and two massive plastic tubs. Seemed a bit much for a couple of months.
Well settle in quick, assured Becky. You wont even notice us.
The first fortnight passed in orchestrated chaos. Helen hid in her room, worked to the sounds of the telly in the lounge and the beating feet in the hallway, whispering to herself that it was only temporary, she could bear it, nothing major.
Then, Becky shifted the furniture in the kitchen (works much better this way), Tom claimed the balcony as his new chill zone, and little Jamie broke the bathroom door handle; nobody seemed keen to fix it.
Becky, Helen cornered her guest in the kitchen. We need a chat. Its been almost a month. Hows the house-hunting going?
Were looking, honest! Becky said without looking up, thumbing her phone. Prices are mad right now, you wouldnt believe. But well find something soon, promise.
I need real deadlines.
Becky met her eyes, something subtle flickering there.
Helen, where are we meant to go, eh? Out on the street? With a kiddie?
Im not sending you out. I just
Were looking! The voice was sharp now. Dyou want us sleeping at the station?
Tom appeared.
Is there a problem?
Helen glanced at their facesno longer sheepish, no longer grateful.
No problem, she said, and retreated to her room.
Problems multiplied. Tom occupied the bathroom precisely when Helen needed it for morning client calls. Becky rearranged Helens food to the bottom fridge shelf; hers took the topmakes it easier to reach. Jamie learnt to blast cartoons at full volume at 7am, especially weekends.
Helens workflow broke into pieces. Shed fall asleep to the burble of TV, wake to Toms thunderous accidents in the hall.
One day, Helen came back from the shop and found her desk smothered in Jamies toys. Becky lounged in Helens chair, scrolling her phone.
Oh, youre back, Becky said, unmoving. Listen, we could do with faster Wi-Fi. Yours crawls.
This is my office.
So? Jamies nowhere to play. His rooms too cramped.
Helen, silent, swept away the toys and dumped them in the hallway. Becky snorted but said nothing.
Then, a utility bill landed: costs doubled. Helen laid it on the kitchen table at dinner.
We need to sort the bills.
Tom chewed, eyes down. Becky cut up her meatball.
What bills?
The utilities. Theres three of you, just me. We should split it at least.
Becky put down her fork.
Helen, really? Were family! Youre not about to start charging us?
Im talking about splitting costs. Its normal.
Normal? Tom raised his eyes now. Normal is helping kin, not squeezing money from people whore already struggling.
Youve lived here free for two months. Using my internet too. Not even asking for rentjust bills.
You know what? Becky stood up. If you begrudge a few pennies, just say so. Dont play the generous host.
Helen watched them walk out. Jamie snatched the last slice of bread. Tom muttered, Stingy.
She stayed in the kitchen until midnight, counting her mothers words about family duty, tallying up how much her guests had cost her, wondering how much more she could channel.
Next morning, Helen stepped into the lounge where Becky and Tom sat watching telly.
Youve got a week.
Becky didnt turn.
Sorry?
A week to find somewhere and move out.
Both heads whipped around.
Are you mad? Tom sprang up. Where are we going to go?
Its not my concern. Youve had two months, didnt search for a place, didnt pay towards bills, didnt respect my boundaries. Enough.
Who do you think you are? Becky shouted, rising too. Lucky to get this flatand now you think youre Queen of Sheba?
Im the owner. And I want you out.
Does your mother know how you treat family? Tom advanced. Shall we ring her?
Go ahead.
Becky grabbed her phone. Helen didnt move. Let her ring. Let her mother shout, weep, rage. Helen had already decided.
A week, she repeated. If youre still here after seven days, Ill call the Council.
You you Becky sputtered with fury. How dare you! We helped you! We
You didnt help. You lived here, for free. Quite a difference.
Helen turned and locked herself into her bedroom, arms round her knees, heart hammering in her throat. And then a curious calm drifted over her.
That week was hellish. Becky left dishes out on purpose. Tom accidentally broke the hall shelf. Jamie decorated the wallpaper with ink pens. Helen logged everything on her phone.
On the seventh day, they left. Tom lugged suitcases, swearing at each stair. Becky, at the door, hissed, I hope it all comes back round to you.
Helen shut the door behind them.
She walked through the rooms, erasing their presence. Flung the windows widelet out the thick air from the balcony. Put the kitchen back as it had been.
By evening, the flat had become hers again.
Helen poured a glass of wine and curled up on the sofa. The phone stayed silenther mother likely still stunned by Beckys tale. Not to worry, shed recover.
Kindness is noble. But kindness unchecked becomes frailty. And frailty attracts scavengers.
Helen promised herself: never again. No family debts. No just for a while. No strangers in her home.
She finished her wine, washed the glass, and slept. For the first time in monthsabsolute silence.
