Not another word about the holiday, my sisters coming with her family tomorrow, the husband muttered under his breath.
Enough about your stupid beach trip! James snapped, tossing the TV remote onto the sofa. Emilys arriving tomorrow with her lot, and were not going anywhere!
The words hit the living room like a bucket of cold water. Charlotte froze, the glossy holiday brochure trembling in her hands. Azure waters, golden sandall slipping away.
*Bothering him?*
She set the brochure down on the coffee table. James slouched in his armchair, mindlessly flicking through channels, the TVs glow making him look miles away.
What did you just say? Her voice was quiet, but sharp.
You heard me. He didnt look up. Emilys bringing Mark and the kids. For a *month*. So forget your little seaside fantasy and drop it.
*A month.* The word hung there, heavy. Charlotte felt something inside her twist tight.
James, weve planned this since *January*, she said slowly, like explaining to a toddler. Ive already booked it. Paid for it. Ive waited”
And I said *no*! He smacked the table. Family comes first, not your silly little whims!
*Whims?* Her face burned. The late nights budgeting, skipping new clothes to save up, dreaming of salt air on her morning commuteall dismissed like a childs tantrum.
What *whims*, James? She stepped closer, steel in her movement. I work myself to the bone. At home, at the office. When was the last time I had a break?
Dont start, he said, turning up the volume. Emilys my sister. She barely visits. End of discussion.
*Barely?* Charlotte almost laughed. Emily descended every summer like a hurricanethree kids in tow, Mark (who could empty a fridge in one sitting), and zero help. Charlotte became the unpaid maid, chef, and babysitter.
James, *listen* to me. She sat on the sofas edge. I get that family matters. But so do I. Im a person, not just”
Oh, what, you need to *sunbathe*? He sneered. Paddle in the waves? Are you twelve?
She stared at himthe man shed shared a life with for fifteen years. When had his eyes gone so cold?
Yes, I want the sea, she said, standing. I want to wake up to waves. Walk barefoot on sand. Be *Charlotte*, not your sisters skivvy.
*Skivvy?* James shot up. Those are my *nieces and nephews*!
Wholl trash the house by lunchtime! The dam broke. Screaming, breaking things, demanding snacks! And Emily will lounge on the sofa moaning about her *exhaustion*!
How *dare* you! His face darkened. Emilys a brilliant mum!
Brilliant mums dont raise terrors! The words tumbled out. Remember last year? Smashed Nans vase, drew on the walls, and the little one nearly set the kitchen alight!
Kids will be kids
And what about *me*? Her voice cracked. Do I just suffer because *kids will be kids*?
James blinked, as if seeing her*really* seeing herfor the first time: wild-eyed, shaking, done.
Emilys coming tomorrow, he said flatly. Thats final.
Then *you* host them. She turned for the door.
Where are you going?
To bed. She paused at the threshold. To *think*.
To think about living with a man who saw her as a convenience.
The bedroom door slammed. Silence swallowed the housethick, prickly, the calm before the storm.
Charlotte lay staring at the ceiling, clutching the crumpled brochure. The sea Shed imagined it so vividly. Dawn walks, the taste of salt, freedom. Now? A month of cleaning up after Emilys circus.
*But what choice do I have?*
She drifted off to the rustle of trees outside, like distant wavesthe sea she wouldnt hear this summer.
***
Or would she?
Morning brought grey drizzle and the growl of a car pulling up. Charlotte sipped coffee at the window, watching the familiar chaos unfold.
First out was Emilybleach-blonde, in head-to-toe pink activewear, already screeching at Mark.
Mark, mind my *new boots*! That suitcase cost a fortune!
Markbalding, beefy, perpetually defeatedheaved bags from the boot without a word.
Then the kids. Ten-year-old Oliver stomped in a puddle, spraying mud. Seven-year-old Sophie shrieked about a forgotten doll. Four-year-old Archie wailed for no reason.
Charlotte! James bellowed downstairs. Theyre here!
*Oh, I noticed.*
She drained her mug and headed down. The hallway was bedlam. Emily air-kissed James, leaving lipstick smudges. The kids ricocheted off suitcases. Mark scraped mud off his shoes, failing.
Lottie, darling! Emily engulfed her in a cloud of vanilla perfume and cigarette smoke. You look *awful*! Stressed?
Charlotte forced a smile. How was the drive?
*Horrendous*! Emily rolled her eyes. Kids were monsters, Mark took *three wrong turns*, and the air-con broke. Speaking ofwheres yours? Please say youve got it in the lounge? Mark *snores*.
*Of course.* Charlotte glanced at James. He busied himself with luggage, avoiding her stare.
Mum, I need the loo! Oliver tugged Emilys sleeve.
Down the hall, Charlotte said.
He bolted, leaving wet footprints. Sophie, meanwhile, had Charlottes favourite crystal candleholder in her grubby hands.
Sophie, put that *down*, Charlotte said.
What *is* it? The girl turned it over. Can I play with it?
No. Its delicate.
But Ill be *careful*!
Sophie, Mark sighed, listen to Auntie Charlotte.
Shes *not* my aunt! Sophie snapped.
Awkward silence. Emily tittered.
Kids, eh? So *blunt*! Dont take it personally, Lottie.
Charlotte rescued the candleholder and placed it high up. Sophie pouted and flounced off.
Mum, whats *this*? Oliver was back, poking a nail hole in the wall.
Everyone turned.
Thats for a picture, Charlotte said.
Can I stick my finger in it?
*No*. She grabbed his wrist. Its unsafe.
Why? Oliver yanked free. Youre *mean*!
Oliver, Mark said tiredly, dont hassle Auntie Charlotte.
*Not my aunt!* both kids chorused.
Archie, silent till now, burst into tears.
Emily scooped him up. Whats wrong, poppet?
I wanna go *home*! he sobbed. Its *scary* here!
*Scary?* Charlotte surveyed the warzone: muddy floors, scattered belongings, a howling child
Maybe theyre tired? she offered. I could fix snacks.
*Yes*! Emily lit up. Were *starving*. Whatve you got?
Charlotte mentally inventoried the fridgebarely enough for two, let alone six.
Ill figure something out.
*Marvellous*! Emily breezed toward the lounge. Kids, dont touch *anything*!
A pointless command. Oliver was already raiding the bookshelf. Sophie cranked the TV volume up. Archie wiped snot on the sofa.
Charlotte stood there, something hot rising in her chest. She looked at James. He was *beaming*, hauling suitcases like this was Christmas.
*A month. A whole month of this.*
Charlotte, dyou have baby cereal? Emily called. Archie only eats *organic* oats!
No, Charlotte said. I dont.
Then *pop to Tesco*, Emily said, as if asking for the time. Ill text you a list.
*Pop to Tesco.* Something inside her snappedquietly, irreparably.
Sure, she said calmly. Write the list.
And walked to the kitchen to cook breakfast for five uninvited guests.
***
Three days passed.
Three *eternal* days. The house was a disaster zone. Oliver clogged the loo with a sock. Sophie drew on the wallpaper. Archie wet the bed nightlyCharlotte laundered sheets like a hotel maid.
Emily camped on the sofa, flipping through *Hello!* magazine, occasionally barking:
