The niece had turned up at my doorstep, but she was already bristling, offended that I hadnt put a plate in front of her.
I share a flat with my sister in Manchester, while she lives out in Leeds. Her daughter, Poppy, has her heart set on a place at the university in my city. Shell be moving into a hall of residence soon, but for now shes stayed a couple of weeks to sort out paperworkmaybe some exams, maybe just the bureaucratic bits. I never bothered with the details; I just knew that popping over before starting university was par for the course. My sister had arranged for Poppy to crash on my sofa while she was away.
The question of who would lay out the food never came up. If her mother kept quiet about it, they would sort it out between themselves. I walked in and found Poppy puffed up in the living room, looking as if shed been hit by a brick.
Whats the matter? I asked.
She snapped, I thought youd have a proper lunch ready for me.
I snapped back, Im not only going to skip feeding you, Im also on my own schedule. Ive got to dash now! Call your mum, have her pop some cash onto your card, and you can buy a packet of biscuits, a loaf and a cuppa. The teas gone, toograb some. Youre 18, act like it!
Her mother, Joan, hadnt spoken to me in ages. She never knows that once the kids flew the nest, my husband vanished to some unknown job, and I dove headfirst into work. My days are a relentless slog, and Im home only sporadically; the energy for chores has simply abandoned me. A proper nights sleep is a luxury I cant even afford.
I have no intention of giving up anything for a guest. Seeing Poppygrown, ladylike, a proper English roseshould have been a joy. But Im no longer the carefree Aunt Lucy who could whip up a Sunday roast in a flash, caring not for time or effort.
I told her she could fetch her own groceries, chop, boil, fry, or steam whatever she liked. Better still, she could buy something ready-made, so I wouldnt have to worry about the cooker or the flat going up in flames.
Now shes sulking, simmering with silent fury each day, clearly expecting a full board and a mothers lap. Maybe things will settle, maybe not. Its hard to quit being the easygoing, helpful aunt after years of keeping the peace with everyone in the family. Even now Im still decent enough to offer a free bedthough without the extra comforts.
I booked an appointment with a therapist to learn how to explain gently, with a touch of kindness, that Im not the same utility as before. Dont count on me for everything any more, Ill have to say, just a little less.
