The tension in the living room was thick enough to cut with a knife. “Not another word about that holiday,” John growled through clenched teeth. “My sister Sarah’s bringing her lot round tomorrow.”
“Stop going on about your bloody beach trip!” He hurled the TV remote onto the sofa, the plastic clattering against the cushions. “Sarah’s coming tomorrow with her family, and we’re not going anywhere!”
The words hit the room like a bucket of ice water. Emma froze mid-step, the glossy travel brochure trembling in her hands. Azure waves stared back at her from the page.
Bothering him?
She set the brochure down with deliberate calm. John slouched in his armchair, channel-hopping as the flickering screen painted his face in cold, indifferent light.
“What did you just say?” Her voice was quiet, but there was steel beneath it.
“You heard me.” His eyes stayed glued to the telly. “Sarahs coming with her husband and the kids. For a month. So forget about your beach nonsense and stop nagging me.”
A month. The word hung in the air like a lead weight. Emma felt something inside her twist into a hard, painful knot.
“John, we planned this trip back in January. Ive already booked it. Paid for it.” She spoke slowly, as if explaining to a child. “Ive been waiting all year”
“And I said drop it!” His palm slammed against the coffee table. “Family comes first, not your little fantasies!”
Fantasies? Heat flooded Emmas cheeks. Those late nights hunched over her calculator, skimping on lunches to save every penny? Passing up a new coat just to afford this one bloody holiday? The salt air shed imagined on every dreary commute to work?
“What fantasies, John?” She took a step toward him, her movement deliberate. “I work myself to the boneat home, at the office. When was the last time I had a proper break?”
“Dont start with the waterworks.” He turned the volume up. “Sarah hardly ever visits. End of.”
Hardly ever? Emma scoffed. Sarah descended on them every summer like a biblical plague. She brought her three kids, her husband Marka man who could inhale a Sunday roast and still ask for seconds. And every time, Emma became the unpaid skivvy.
“John, listen to me.” She perched on the edge of the sofa, facing him. “I get that family matters. But Im a person too. I have needs”
“What needs?” He barked out a laugh. “Lying about on some beach? Paddling in the sea? Christ, what are you, a child?”
A child? Emma stared at the man shed shared a life with for fifteen years. When had his eyes gone so cold?
“Yes. I want to go to the beach.” She stood. “I want to wake up to waves. Walk barefoot on sand. I want to be Emmanot your sisters bloody maid.”
“Her kids are family!” John shot up from his chair.
“Wholl wreck the house by lunchtime!” The words burst out of her. “Theyll scream, break things, demand everything! And Sarah will sprawl on the sofa moaning about her life!”
“How dare you!” His face darkened. “Sarahs a brilliant mum!”
“Briant mums dont raise terrors!” The words tumbled out like rocks down a cliff. “Remember last year? Smashing Nans vase, drawing on the walls, and the little one nearly setting the kitchen alight!”
“Kids will be kids”
“And what about me? Dont I count?” Something hot and unstoppable rose in her chest. “Im supposed to endure this nightmare because ‘kids will be kids’?”
John looked at herreally lookedas if seeing her properly for the first time: wild-eyed, furious, a woman pushed to the edge.
“Sarahs coming tomorrow,” he said quietly. “Thats final.”
“Then you entertain them.” She turned toward the door.
“Where are you going?”
“Upstairs.” She paused in the doorway. “To think.”
To think about living with a man who saw her as nothing more than a servant.
The bedroom door slammed. Silence fellheavy, electric, the calm before the storm.
Emma lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling. The crumpled brochure was still clutched in her hand. The sea Shed pictured it so clearly. Morning walks, salt air, freedom from endless chores. Insteada month of waiting on spoiled brats and their lazy parents.
But what choice do I have?
She fell asleep with that thought, clinging to the last shred of her dream.
Outside, the wind rustled the treesa sound almost like distant waves. The waves Emma wouldnt hear this summer.
Or would she?
Morning brought grey rain and the rumble of an engine. Emma stood at the window, sipping tea, watching the familiar circus spill out of a black Range Rover.
First came Sarahtall, bottle-blonde, in a garish pink tracksuit. Even from upstairs, her shriek carried:
“Mark, mind my new shoes with that suitcase!”
Marka balding, broad-shouldered blokeheaved bags from the boot, his mouth a tight line of resignation.
The kids Emma grimaced. Ten-year-old Jake had already jumped in a puddle, flicking mud everywhere. Seven-year-old Lily wailed about a forgotten doll. Four-year-old Ben just screamedbecause he could.
“Emma!” John bellowed from the hall. “Theyre here! Come down!”
Theyre here. As if she hadnt noticed. As if the house hadnt been ringing with their noise for the past five minutes.
Emma finished her tea and went downstairs. The hallway was carnage. Sarah smeared lipstick on Johns cheek as she hugged him; kids weaved between suitcases; Mark scraped mud off his shoes onto the mat.
“Ems!” Sarah lunged at her, reeking of cheap perfume and cigarettes. “You look peaky! Been ill?”
Emma forced a smile. “Hello, Sarah. How was the drive?”
“Bloody awful!” Sarah rolled her eyes. “Kids were monsters, Mark got lost twice, and I nearly melted. Wheres your air con? You do have air con, yeah?”
“Yes,” Emma said flatly. “In the bedroom.”
“And the lounge?” Sarah was already striding in. “Were sleeping there. Mark snores like a tractor, I need cool air.”
Of course you do. Emma glanced at John. He avoided her gaze, fussing with luggage.
“Mum, I need a wee!” Jake tugged Sarahs sleeve.
“Down the hall,” Emma nodded.
The boy thundered off, leaving wet footprints. Lily, meanwhile, had Emmas favourite crystal vase in her hands.
“Lily, put that down,” Emma said.
“What is it?” The girl turned it over. “Can I play with it?”
“No. Its delicate.”
“But Ill be careful!”
“Lily,” Mark sighed, “listen to your aunt.”
“Shes not my aunt!” Lily snapped. “Were not even related!”
Silence. Sarah let out a strained laugh.
“Kids, eh? So blunt!”
Emma rescued the vase and set it high on a shelf. Lily sulked off to find new trouble.
“Mum, look!” Jake was back, poking a nail hole in the wall. “Whats this?”
Everyone turned. A tiny holeleft from a picture hook.
“Its” Emma hesitated. “Just from a frame we took down.”
“Can I stick my finger in?” Jake was already reaching.
“No!” Emma grabbed his wrist. “Its dangerous.”
“Why?” He yanked free. “Youre mean!”
“Jake,” Mark said wearily, “dont pester your aunt.”
“Shes not my aunt!” The kids chorused.
Ben, silent till now, suddenly howled for no reason, his cries echoing off the walls.
“Whats wrong, love?” Sarah scooped him up.
“Want Grandma!” he sobbed. “Hate it here!”
Hate it here. Emma surveyed the battlefield. Muddy footprints, scattered bags, a wailing toddler…
“Maybe theyre tired from the drive?” she offered. “Fancy a snack?”
“Oh, yes!” Sarah brightened. “Were starving! What have you got?”
What have I got? Emma mentally emptied the fridge. Enough for two. Clearly not for five extra mouths.
“Ill… sort something,” she muttered.
“Brilliant!” Sarah marched to the lounge. “Well get settled. Mark, bring the bags. Kids, behave!”
The last instruction was pointless. Jake was already rifling through bookshelves; Lily had the telly blaring cartoons; Ben smeared snot on the sofa.
Emma stood amidst the chaos, something hot and furious bubbling inside her. She looked at John. He was grinning, hauling suitcases, buzzing with energy.
A month. A whole bloody month of this.
“Emma, you got baby food?” Sarah called. “Ben only eats certain brands!”
