“Not another word about that holidaymy sister and her lot are coming tomorrow,” the husband muttered through gritted teeth.
“Drop it, will you? Enough about your blasted seaside!” William snapped, flinging the telly remote onto the settee. “Emilys arriving tomorrow with the family, and thats that!”
His words landed like a bucket of ice water. Vera froze mid-step, the glossy travel brochure trembling in her hands, its pages aglow with turquoise waves and golden sands.
What did he mean*bothering* him?
She set the brochure down on the coffee table with deliberate care. William slouched in his armchair, flicking through channels, the flickering screen casting shadows across his indifferent face.
“What did you say?” Her voice was low, but there was steel beneath it.
“I said what I said.” He didnt glance her way. “Emilys bringing Thomas and the kids. For a month. So forget your beach nonsense and stop going on about it.”
*A month.* The word hung in the air, thick and suffocating. Vera felt something inside her twist into a knot.
“William, weve planned this since Christmas. Ive already paid for itevery last penny.” She spoke slowly, as if reasoning with a child. “Ive waited a *year* for this.”
“I said drop it!” He smacked the table with his palm. “Family comes before your little whims!”
*Whims?* Heat flared in her cheeks. Those late nights hunched over the bills, scrimping on new coats, dreaming of salt air as she trudged to work each morning*whims?*
“What whims, William?” She took a step forward, her movements sharp with resolve. “I work myself to the boneat home, at the office. When was the last time I had a proper rest?”
“Dont start.” He turned up the volume. “Emilys my sister. She hardly ever visits. End of story.”
*Hardly ever?* Vera scoffed. Emily descended upon them every summer like a biblical plague. She brought her three children, her husband Thomasa man who could empty a fridge and still ask for secondsand every time, Vera became the unpaid maid.
“William, listen to me.” She perched on the edge of the sofa, facing him. “I know familys important. But Im a person too. I have needsdesires”
“What desires?” He smirked. “Lounging on sand? Paddling in the sea? Blimey, what are you, a child?”
A child? Vera studied her husbandthe man shed shared a roof with for fifteen years. When had his eyes turned so cold?
“Yes, I want the sea.” She stood. “I want to wake to waves. Walk barefoot on the shore. I want to be *Vera*, not just the cook, cleaner, and unpaid babysitter for someone elses brood.”
“*Someone elses?*” William shot up. “Theyre my sisters kids!”
“Wholl wreck the house by noon!” Veras voice cracked. “Wholl scream, break things, demand treats! And Emily will sprawl on the sofa moaning about her *exhaustion*!”
“How *dare* you!” Williams face darkened. “Emilys a brilliant mother!”
“A brilliant mother doesnt raise terrors!” The words tumbled out, sharp as shattered glass. “Remember last year? Smashing Nanas vase? Scribbling on the walls? The little one nearly setting the kitchen alight?”
“Kids will be kids”
“And what about *me*? Am I not a person?” Something hot and wild rose in her chest. “Im supposed to endure this circus because kids will be kids?”
William stared, as if seeing her properly for the first timedishevelled, eyes blazing, fists clenched.
“Emilys coming tomorrow,” he said flatly. “Thats final.”
“Then *you* entertain them.” She strode for the door.
“Where are you going?”
“To the bedroom.” She paused at the threshold. “To think.”
To think about living with a man who saw her as little more than hired help.
The door slammed. Silence settled over the housethick, stifling, the quiet before a storm.
Vera lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling. The crumpled brochure still clutched in her hand. The seashed imagined it so clearly. Dawn strolls along the shore, the tang of salt, freedom from endless chores. Instead? A month as unpaid staff for spoiled children and their lazy parents.
But what choice did she have?
She drifted off to sleep, clinging to the last shred of her dream. Outside, the wind rustled the treesa sound almost like waves. The waves she wouldnt hear this summer.
Or would she?
Morning brought grey rain and the growl of an engine. Vera stood at the window, cradling her tea, watching the familiar chaos unfold below.
First out was Emilybleached blonde, swaddled in a garish pink tracksuit, already screeching at her husband.
“Thomas, mind the cases! Thats my new trainers in there!”
Thomasa burly man with a receding hairlineheaved bags from the boot, his mouth a tight line of resignation.
The children. Veras stomach twisted. Ten-year-old Oliver splashed through puddles, flinging mud. Seven-year-old Charlotte shrieked about a forgotten doll. Four-year-old George wailedjust because.
“Vera!” William bellowed from the hall. “Theyre here! Come down!”
*Theyre here.* As if she hadnt noticed. As if the noise hadnt been rattling the windows for five solid minutes.
Vera finished her tea and descended. The hall was bedlam. Emily smothered William in lipstick-stained kisses; the children rampaged between suitcases; Thomas dabbed hopelessly at muddy shoes.
“Vera, darling!” Emily lunged, reeking of cheap perfume and cigarettes. “You look peaky! Been ill?”
Vera forced a smile. “Hello, Emily. How was the drive?”
“*Dreadful!*” Emily rolled her eyes. “The kids were beasts, Thomas took three wrong turns, and I nearly *expired* from the heat. Wheres your air con? Please say youve got air con.”
“In the bedroom,” Vera said flatly.
“What about the lounge?” Emily bustled in, assessing the room. “Well be sleeping there. Thomas *snores*, you know.”
Of course they would. Vera shot William a look. He busied himself with luggage, avoiding her gaze.
“Mum, wheres the loo?” Oliver tugged Emilys sleeve. “Im *bursting*!”
“Down the hall.”
The boy thundered off, trailing wet footprints. Charlotte, meanwhile, had found Veras favourite porcelain figurine and was turning it over in grubby hands.
“Charlotte, put that down,” Vera said evenly.
“What is it?” The girl poked at it. “Can I play with it?”
“No. Its delicate.”
“But Ill be *careful*!”
“Charlotte,” Thomas interjected, “listen to Aunt Vera.”
“Shes *not* my aunt!” Charlotte snapped. “Were not even *related*!”
A brittle silence. Emily tittered nervously.
“Kidsso *blunt*! Dont take it to heart, Vera.”
*Blunt.* Vera rescued the figurine, placing it high on a shelf. Charlotte sulked off in search of fresh mischief.
“Mum, whats this?” Oliverback from the loowas jabbing a finger at a small hole in the wall. “Whys there a hole?”
Everyone turned. A tiny nail holeleft from an old painting.
“Its nothing,” Vera said. “Just where a picture hung.”
“Can I stick my finger in it?” Oliver was already probing.
“*No!*” Vera grabbed his wrist. “Its not safe.”
“Why not?” Oliver squirmed. “*Let go!*”
“Oliver,” Thomas sighed, “stop pestering Aunt Vera.”
“Shes *not* my aunt!” the children chorused.
George, silent until now, erupted into ear-splitting wails.
“Whats wrong, poppet?” Emily scooped him up. “Whats hurt?”
“I wanna go *home*!” George howled. “I want *Grandma*!”
“Were visiting Uncle William and Aunt Vera,” Emily cooed. “Remember?”
“*Dont WANNA!*” George buried his face in her shoulder. “Its *scary* here!”
*Scary.* Vera surveyed the wreckage. Muddy prints, scattered bags, a screaming toddlerher tidy home had become a warzone.
“Perhaps theyre tired from the trip?” she offered weakly. “Shall I fix a snack?”
“Oh, *yes*!” Emily brightened. “Were *starving*! What have you got?”
What *did
