“Not another word about the holidaymy sisters coming with the family tomorrow,” the husband muttered sharply.
“Enough about your bloody beach!” Oliver snapped, tossing the TV remote onto the sofa. “Emmas arriving tomorrow with the kids, and were not going anywhere!”
The words cut through the living room like a slap. Lily froze, the travel brochure trembling in her hands, glossy photos of turquoise waves suddenly feeling foolish.
*Bothering you?*
She set the brochure down carefully on the coffee table. Oliver sprawled in his armchair, flipping channels, the blue glow of the telly making his face look cold, detached.
“What did you say?” Her voice was quiet, but something in it made the air tighten.
“You heard me.” He didnt look up. “Emmas coming with James and the kids. For a month. So forget your beach trip and quit nagging.”
*A month.* The word hung there, heavy as a brick. Lilys chest tightened.
“Oliver, we booked this months ago. Ive already paid for it,” she said slowly, as if explaining to a toddler. “Ive waited all year”
“And I said*drop it*!” He smacked the table. “Family comes before your little holiday fantasies!”
*Fantasies?* Lilys face burned. Those nights hunched over her laptop, budgeting every penny? Skipping lunches to save? Dreaming of salt air and quiet mornings
“What fantasies, Oliver?” She stepped closer, her voice steady now. “I work nonstop. At home, at the office. When was the last time I had a break?”
“Dont start with the dramatics.” He cranked the volume up. “Emmas my sister. She hardly visits. End of discussion.”
*Hardly?* Lily scoffed. Emma descended every summer like a hurricanedragging her three kids and James, who ate like a starving bear. And every time, Lily became the unpaid housekeeper.
“Oliver, listen,” she said, perching on the sofa edge. “I get family matters. But Im a person too. I have needs”
“Needs?” He smirked. “To lounge on sand? Splash in the sea? Christ, are you fifteen?”
*Fifteen?* She stared at himthe man shed shared a life with for fifteen years. When had his eyes turned this cold?
“Yes, I want the sea.” She stood. “I want to wake up to waves. Walk barefoot. Be *Lily*not your sisters maid.”
“*Mas kids*?” Oliver shot up. “Theyre *family*!”
“Wholl trash the house by noon!” Lilys control snapped. “Screaming, breaking things, demanding snacks! And Emma will sprawl on the sofa moaning about her exhaustion!”
“How *dare* you!” Olivers face darkened. “Emmas a brilliant mum!”
“Briant mums dont raise hellions!” The words tumbled out. “Remember last year? Smashed Nans vase, drew on the walls, and the little one nearly set the kitchen ablaze!”
“Kids will be kids”
“And what about *me*? Do I not count?” Something hot and fierce boiled up in her. “Im just meant to suffer because kids will be kids?”
Oliver blinkedlike hed never seen her this furious. Hair wild, eyes blazing.
“Emmas coming tomorrow,” he said quietly. “Thats final.”
“Then *you* host them.” She turned toward the door.
“Where are you going?”
“Upstairs.” She paused at the doorway. “To think.”
To think about living with a man who saw her as furniture.
The bedroom door slammed. Silence fellthick, waiting.
Lily lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling, the crumpled brochure still in her grip. The sea Shed imagined it so vividly. Dawn walks, the smell of salt, freedom from washing piles of others laundry. Now? A month of serving Emmas brood.
*But what choice do I have?*
She drifted off clutching the shreds of her dream.
Outside, wind rustled the treeslike distant waves. Waves she wouldnt hear this summer.
*Or would she?*
Morning brought grey rain and the rumble of a Range Rover pulling up. Lily sipped tea at the window, watching the circus unfold.
First out was Emmableached blonde, fake tan, in a garish pink tracksuit. Even from upstairs, her shriek carried:
“James, mind my Louis Vuitton! Thats *new*!”
Jamesbalding, perpetually exhaustedlugged suitcases silently, his mouth a tight line.
The kids Lily grimaced. Ten-year-old Archie jumped in a puddle, spraying mud. Seven-year-old Charlotte wailed about a forgotten doll. Four-year-old Oliver Jr. screechedjust because.
“Lily!” Oliver shouted from the hall. “Theyre here! Come down!”
*No kidding.*
She set her tea down and trudged downstairs. The hallway was chaos. Emma air-kissed Oliver, leaving gloss smudges on his shirt. The kids rampaged between suitcases. James wiped mud off his loafers, failing.
“Lily, darling!” Emma flung arms at her. “You look *terrible*! Stressed much?”
Her perfumecheap vanilla and cigarettesmade Lilys eyes water.
“Hi, Emma. Trip alright?”
“*Awful*!” Emma rolled her eyes. “Kids were monsters, James got lost twice, and the AC broke. You *do* have AC, right?”
“Yes,” Lily said flatly. “In the bedroom.”
“And the lounge? Were sleeping there. James snores like a chainsaw.”
*Of course you are.* Lily glanced at Oliver. He avoided her gaze, fussing with bags.
“Mum, wheres the loo?” Archie tugged Emmas sleeve. “*Desperate*!”
“Down the hall,” Lily said.
He bolted, leaving muddy prints. Charlotte, meanwhile, grabbed Lilys favourite crystal vase.
“Charlotte, put that down,” Lily said evenly.
“Whats this?” The girl turned it in her hands. “Can I play with it?”
“No. Its fragile.”
“But Ill be *careful*!”
“Charlotte,” James sighed, “listen to Aunt Lily.”
“Shes *not* my aunt!” Charlotte snapped. “Were not *related*!”
Silence. Emma tittered nervously:
“Kids, eh? So *honest*! Dont take it personal, Lily.”
*Honest.* Lily rescued the vase and set it high up. Charlotte sulked off.
“Mum, whats this?” Archie was back, poking a nail hole in the wall.
Everyone turned. A tiny holeleft from a painting hook.
“Thats” Lily hesitated. “Just a little hole.”
“Can I stick my finger in?” He was already wiggling toward it.
*Christ.* “No, Archie. Its unsafe.”
“Why?” He squirmed. “Let me!”
“Archie,” James said tiredly, “stop bothering Aunt Lily.”
“*Not my aunt!*” the kids chorused.
Oliver Jr., silent till now, burst into tears. For no reason.
“Sweetheart!” Emma scooped him up. “Whats wrong?”
“*Wanna go home!*” he wailed. “*Want Granny!*”
“Were visiting!” Emma cooed. “Uncle Oliver and Aunt Lilys house, remember?”
“*HATE IT HERE!*”
Lily surveyed the carnage. Mud, screeching, a sobbing child.
“Maybe theyre tired?” she offered. “Hungry?”
“*Starving*!” Emma brightened. “Whatve you got?”
Lilys mind raced. The fridge had leftovers for two. Not five.
“Ill whip something up,” she mumbled.
“*Brill*!” Emma flounced toward the lounge. “Kids, dont touch *anything*!”
*Pointless.* Archie was already dismantling a bookshelf. Charlotte cranked *Peppa Pig* to full volume. Oliver Jr. wiped snot on the sofa.
Lily stood there, something inside her *snapping*. She looked at Oliver. He was *beaming*, hauling suitcases like a pack mule.
*A month of this.*
“Lily, got any organic oat milk?” Emma called. “Ollie only drinks *specific* brands!”
“No,” Lily said. “I dont.”
“Pop to Waitrose, then,” Emma said breezily. “Ill text a list.”
*Pop to Waitrose.*
Lily inhaled. Then exhaled. Something in her settledfinally, *finally*into place.
“Sure,” she said calmly. “Make your list.”
And went to the kitchen to cook breakfast for five uninvited locusts.
—
**Three days later**
The house was a war zone. Archie had “experiment
