The niece turned up at my flat in Manchester, cheeks still pink from the train, but she pouted the moment I didnt immediately offer her a plate.
I live with my sister in different towns. Her daughter, Rosamund, dreams of a place at university in my city, so shell be moving into a hall of residence soon. For now shes only here for a couple of weeks some exams, perhaps, or just to sort the paperwork in person. I havent bothered with the details; I just know that a preenrolment visit is perfectly normal. My sister has arranged for Rosamund to crash with me.
Who is to set the table?
We never talked about meals. If her mother stays mum on the subject, theyll sort it out between themselves. I glance into the lounge and see Rosamund sitting dejected, arms crossed. Whats wrong? I ask. She says she thought Id have a hot lunch waiting for her. I snap back, Im not going to feed you, and Im running on my own schedule. I need to dash now! Call your mum, have her transfer some cash to your card, pop down to the corner shop, buy a packet of biscuits, a couple of rolls, and have them with tea. And buy tea, too Ive run out! Come on, youre eighteen, you can manage.
Her mum hasnt spoken to me in ages and knows nothing of the fact that, as soon as the kids flew the nest, my husband vanished into the unknown and I threw myself into work. My days are a relentless treadmill; Im rarely at home, and the energy to tend to domestic chores has simply abandoned me. A proper nights sleep feels like a luxury.
Im not about to sacrifice anything for a guest.
Its lovely, really, to see Rosamund grown and graceful, but Im no longer the carefree, spry Aunt Lucy who could once whip up a feast fit for an elephant without a second thought. Let her shop for herself, chop, boil, fry, or steam. Better yet, let her buy something readymade so she doesnt wreck the hob or the flat.
Shes stormed off, simmered down, and now stews in silence every day, apparently counting on a full board and mothers apron. Maybe things will settle, but its hard to drop the habit of being the everhelpful, easygoing aunt after years of nurturing harmonious ties within the family circle. Even now Im still fairly gentle: I offered a free bed, albeit with one essential element missing. Ive gone to a therapist for advice on how to explain, with tenderness, that Im not as functional as I once was. Shell have to lean on me a little less.
