Not another word about that holidaymy sisters coming over with her family tomorrow, the husband snapped.
Enough about your blasted beach! Edward barked, tossing the TV remote onto the sofa. Margarets arriving tomorrow with her lot, and were not going anywhere!
The words landed like a bucket of ice water. Emily froze in the middle of the room, a travel brochure of turquoise waves trembling in her hands.
What did he just saybothering him?
She set the brochure down slowly on the coffee table. Edward sprawled in his armchair, flicking through channels, the glow of the screen casting his face in cold indifference.
What did you say? Her voice was quiet, but something sharp edged her words.
You heard me. He didnt look away from the telly. Margarets bringing Richard and the kids. For a month. So forget your seaside nonsense.
A month. The word hung thick in the air, suffocating. Emily felt something inside her twist into a knot.
Edward, weve planned this since January. Ive already booked it. Paid for it. She spoke slowly, as if explaining to a child. Ive waited all year
And I said drop it! He thumped the table. Family comes before your little fantasies!
Fantasies? Heat rushed to her face. Those late nights with the calculator, scrimping every penny? Skipping new clothes just to save for the trip? Dreaming of salt air on her morning commute?
What fantasies, Edward? She stepped forward, steady, resolute. I work myself raggedat home, at the office. When was the last time I had a break?
Dont start. He turned up the volume. Margarets my sister. She hardly ever visits. End of.
Hardly ever? Emily scoffed. Margaret descended every summer like a biblical plaguethree kids in tow, her husband Richard (who could empty a fridge and still ask for pudding), and every time, Emily became the unpaid maid.
Edward, listen to me. She perched on the sofa opposite him. I get that family matters. But Im a person too. I have needs
What needs? He smirked. Lounging on sand? Paddling in the sea? What, are you some daft schoolgirl?
A schoolgirl? Emily stared at himthe man shed lived with for fifteen years. When had his eyes turned so cold?
Yes, I want the sea. She stood. I want to wake up to waves. Walk barefoot on the shore. I want to be Emily, not just the cook, cleaner, and babysitter for someone elses children.
Someone elses? Edward shot up. Theyre my sisters kids!
Wholl wreck the house by noon! The words burst out. Screaming, breaking things, demanding treats! And Margaret will sprawl on the sofa moaning about her life!
How dare you! Edwards face darkened. Margarets a brilliant mother!
Brilliant mothers dont raise terrors! Her voice cracked like ice. 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? Am I not a person? Something hot and wild surged inside her. Im just meant to endure it because kids will be kids?
Edward gaped at heras if seeing her properly for the first time: dishevelled, eyes blazing, ready for war.
Margarets coming tomorrow, he said flatly. Thats final.
Then you entertain them. She turned for the door.
Where are you going?
Upstairs. She paused at the threshold. To think.
To think about living with a man who saw her as nothing but a servant.
The bedroom door slammed. Silence fellheavy, brittle, like the calm before a storm.
Emily lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling. Crushed in her fist, the crumpled brochure. The sea Shed imagined it so clearly. Dawn walks, salt air, freedom from drudgery. Now, insteada month of pandering to spoiled brats and their lazy parents.
But what choice did she have?
She drifted off clutching the last shred of her dream. Outside, wind rustled the treesa sound like distant waves. Waves she wouldnt hear this summer.
Or would she?
Morning brought grey rain and the rumble of a car. Emily sipped tea by the window, watching the familiar circus unfold below.
First out was Margarettall, bottle-blonde, in a garish pink tracksuit, already shrieking at her husband.
Richard, mind the cases! My new trainers are in there!
Richarda beefy man with a vanishing hairlinesilently hauled bags from the boot, his mouth set in a resigned line.
The kids Emily grimaced. Ten-year-old Oliver stomped in a puddle, splashing mud everywhere. Seven-year-old Charlotte wailed about a forgotten doll. Four-year-old Alfie just screamedbecause he could.
Emily! Edward bellowed from the hall. Theyre here! Come down!
As if she hadnt noticed. As if she hadnt endured this racket for five solid minutes.
She set down her cup and descended. The hall was chaos. Margaret smeared lipstick on Edwards cheek, the kids rampaged between suitcases, and Richard tried in vain to scrape mud off his shoes.
Emmy darling! Margaret air-kissed her. Youve lost weight! Been ill?
She reeked of cheap perfume and fags. Emily resisted the urge to recoil.
Hello, Margaret. How was the drive?
Dreadful! Margaret rolled her eyes. The kids were beasts, Richard got lost twice, and I nearly melted. Wheres your air con? You do have air con, yes?
In the bedroom.
And the lounge? Margaret was already marching in. Were sleeping there. Richard snores like a tractor.
Of course you are. Emily shot Edward a look. He busied himself with luggage, avoiding her gaze.
Mum, wheres the loo? Oliver tugged Margarets sleeve. Im bursting!
Down the hall, Emily nodded.
The boy bolted, leaving muddy prints. Meanwhile, Charlotte had found Emilys favourite crystal candlestick.
Charlotte, put that down, Emily said.
What is it? The girl turned it over. Can I play with it?
No. Its fragile.
But Ill be careful!
Charlotte, Richard sighed, listen to Aunt Emily.
Shes not my aunt! Charlotte snapped. Were not related!
Awkward silence. Margaret tittered.
Kids, eh? So blunt!
Blunt. Emily rescued the candlestick and placed it high up. Charlotte scowled and flounced off.
Mum, whats this? Oliver was back, poking a nail hole in the wall.
Thatsjust a hole.
Can I stick my finger in?
No! Emily grabbed his wrist. Its not safe.
Why not? Oliver squirmed. Let go!
Oliver, Richard muttered, stop bothering Aunt Emily.
Shes not my aunt! the kids chorused.
Alfie, silent till now, suddenly howled.
Whats wrong, poppet? Margaret scooped him up.
Wanna go home! Alfie bawled. Wanna Granny!
Were visiting Uncle Eddie and Aunt Emmy, Margaret cooed. Remember?
No! Scary here!
Scary. Emily surveyed the wreckage. Mud, scattered bags, a shrieking toddler
Perhaps theyre tired? she offered. Shall I fix a snack?
Oh, yes! Margaret brightened. Were starving! What have you got?
What did she have? Emily mentally rifled the fridge. Enough for twonot five.
Ill sort something.
Lovely! Margaret headed for the lounge. Well get settled. Richard, bring the bags. Kids, dont touch anything!
A pointless order. Oliver was already raiding the bookshelves, Charlotte cranked the telly volume up, and Alfie wiped snot on the sofa.
Emily stood amidst the carnage, something inside her stretching taut. She looked at Edward. He was bustling about, grinning like a fool.
A month. A whole month of this.
Emily, have you got baby food? Margaret called. Alfie only eats certain porridge!
No.
Then pop to the shops, Margaret said breezily. Ill jot down what we need.
Pop to the shops. Something in Emily quietly shattered.
Of course, she said evenly. Make your list.
And she turned to the kitchen to cook breakfast for five uninvited guests.
Three days passed.
Three endless days of bed
