Youll be cooking for my sisters family too, her husband said in a tone that brooked no argumentbut hed soon live to regret those words.
Emily stood by the window, watching an overstuffed Transit van pull into the driveway. Her stomach knotted with dreadshe knew what this meant. For three days now, James had been skulking around their home with a guilty look, working up to some grand announcement.
Em, hed begun cautiously the night before, remember how I mentioned Claires having issues with her flat?
Emily remembered. His sister had been renting a two-bedroom place on the outskirts of London for years, living there with her husband, Richard, and their two kidseleven-year-old Oliver and six-year-old Sophie. The flat was decent, the landlord reasonable, but there was a hitchthe landlords daughter was getting married, and the newlyweds needed a place. The tenants had to go.
Theyve asked to stay with us for a bit, James went on, avoiding her eyes. Just until they find something
Emily said nothing. What could she say? Claire was his only sister; they were close. You didnt turn family away when they were in a bind. And it *was* a bindyou couldnt just leave a family of four out on the street.
How long? was all she asked.
Two, maybe three weeks tops, James replied quickly. Theyre looking hard. Richards even got an estate agent helping.
Now, watching suitcases, boxes, kids scooters, and a cat carrier being unloaded from the van, Emily knew two or three weeks was wishful thinking.
The kids barrelled in firstOliver with a rucksack and football, Sophie dragging a giant teddy bear, babbling excitedly. The adults followedClaire with the cat carrier, Richard with suitcases, James with boxes.
Em! Claire beamed as she crossed the threshold. Thank you *so* much for having us. Well be out of your hair soon, I promise
Emily hugged her sister-in-law, genuinely sympathetic. Claire had always been kind but hopelessly disorganised. Shed married young, had kids straight after uni, and since then her world had revolved solely around home. She worked remotelygraphic design or somethingbut Richard still called most of the shots.
Mum, where are we sleeping? Sophie piped up, eyes darting around.
Emily and Jamess two-bed flat was cosy but compact. The master bedroom was theirs, the smaller one a lounge with a sofa and armchair, the kitchen a modest ten square metres, the loo separate. For twoperfect. For six?
Well take the sofa in the lounge, Claire said brightly. The kids can sleep on the floor thereor maybe the hallway?
Hallways already got the shoe rack, James pointed out.
The cat? Sophie asked suddenly.
Cat stays in the kitchen, Richard decided. Plenty of room for a litter tray there.
Within hours, their tidy flat had turned into a cross between a student digs and a refugee camp. The kids things colonised the lounge, suitcases lined the corridor, the cat yowled from the kitchenjust till he settles. The air smelled of unfamiliar soap, takeaways, other peoples lives.
Emily watched her personal space evaporate. What struck her most was how effortlessly everyone acted like they belonged. As if this werent *her* home but some communal holding pen.
Em, wheres the loo roll? Claire called from the bathroom, makeup bag in hand.
Under the sink.
Mind if I borrow a towel? We didnt pack ours yet.
Go ahead.
By evening, it was painfully clear their old routine was dead. The kids raced around playing tag, the cat wailed for attention, the adults debated housing strategies.
Well check out that agency near High Street tomorrowthe one with that helpful bloke, Richard was saying. Then maybe drive around Hounslow in the afternoon.
Nothing too pricey, though, Claire sighed. Budgets tight.
Well sort it, James said confidently. Worst case, you stay a bit longer.
Emily whipped her head toward him. *Longer?* Their eyes metJames flushed and looked away.
Right, Ill start dinner, Emily said, retreating to the kitchen.
She pulled ingredients from the fridge, mentally calculating portions. She usually shopped for two, three at a push. Now there were six mouths to feed, including kids who ate like grown men.
Whats for tea? Oliver peered in.
Not sure yet, Emily admitted.
Mum usually does bangers and mash, Sophie chimed in.
Were out of sausages, Emily said, rifling through the freezer.
For six, she had a chicken, pasta, some veg, and yesterdays leftover soup. Would it stretch?
Em, dont fuss, Claire said, breezing in. Well eat anything.
Yeah, but there might not be enough.
Well hit Tesco tomorrow.
Emily nodded silently and started chopping the chicken. Something told her tomorrows Tesco run would fall to her too.
Dinner was meagre. Chicken and pasta for six wasnt the same as for two. The kids wolfed it down; the adults pretended they werent still hungry.
Lovely, thanks, Claire said.
Spot on, Richard agreed.
Afterwards, Emily cleaned up aloneeveryone else was busy settling the kids or themselves.
Hows it going? James asked, appearing in the kitchen.
Fine, Emily said flatly.
Dont stresstheyll find a place soon.
Mhm.
He caught the ice in her tone but let it slide. Enough drama for one day.
Morning came with shrieks and thundering feet. The clock read 6:30. Emily usually rose at seven, but the kids had other ideas.
Shh, shh! Claires voice carried. Auntie and Uncle are still asleep.
Too lateEmily was awake.
In the kitchen, she found a tower of dirty dishessomeone had made a late-night cuppa, and the kids had raided the biscuits.
Morning! Claire chirped. Meant to wash up, but I didnt know where things go.
Ill do it, Emily said automatically.
Breakfast was a military operation. James gulped coffee before work, Richard rushed out, Claire fed the kids, and Emily darted between them all.
Em, any Weetabix left? Claire asked.
Think so.
Yogurt?
One pot.
Sophie, have cereal, Claire said.
Dont want cereal! Want yogurt like at home! Sophie whined.
Theres one yogurt and two of you, Emily explained.
Then Ollie cant have any!
I want it too! Oliver protested.
Enough, Claire cut in. Cereal or nothing.
By the time the men left and the kids calmed down, Emily felt like shed run a marathon. And this was just the first morning.
Claire, dont you work? Emily asked.
I do, but remote. Ill hop on my laptop now. The kidsll watch tellytheyre quiet then.
Emily nodded and escaped to the bedroomthe last scrap of her old life.
But peace didnt last.
Auntie Em? Sophie knocked. Can I have juice?
Emily fetched it and retreated.
Twenty minutes later:
Auntie Em, I need the loo.
Half an hour after that:
Auntie Em, Mum says can we use the washing machine?
By lunch, Emily accepted that working from home was impossible. The kids demanded constant attention, the cat yowled, Claire yammered on client calls.
Em, whats for lunch? Claire asked at one.
Dunno. What do you usually do?
Oh, well throw something together. You got potatoes?
A few.
Meat?
Chicken in the freezer.
Brill, well do roast chicken.
Emily noticed Claire said *well*, but headed for the sofa, not the oven.
You cooking? Emily clarified.
Oh, yeah, course, Claire said vaguely. Just gotta finish this by three. Maybe you start, and Ill jump in?
Emily turned to the stove without a word.
By evening, she was at breaking point. Shed cooked, cleaned, soothed the cat, and fielded a million kid questions. Her own work? Neglected.
When the men returned, tension hung thick.
Hows it been? James asked.
Depends, Emily said coolly.
At dinner, Richard gave a housing update:
Saw two places todayones a rip-off, the others a dump. More viewings tomorrow.
Dont rush, James said generously. Plenty of space here.
Emily shot him a look. *Plenty?* In a two-bed with six people?
We wont overstay, Claire said uncertainly.
Course not, but no need to panic.
After dinner, with the kids in bed and the others watching telly, Emily cornered James in the kitchen.
We need to talk.
About?
This situation. Its not working.
How so?
The kids are non-stop, I cant work, Im cooking for an army, cleaning up after everyone
Em, just hang in there. Shes my sister.
I get that. But whys it all on *me*?
Who else? Claire handles the kids, were at work.
*I* work too!
Yeah, but youre home
Being home doesnt mean Im your skivvy!
James fell silent, then sighed.
Fine, Ill talk to Claire. Shell pitch in more.
And Richard.
And Richard.
But the next day, nothing changed. Claire was still too busy, the men still left, and Emily drowned in chaos.
By day three, she snapped.
Right, Emily announced at dinner. Were splitting chores. Im not running a B&B.
Yes, absolutely, Claire said hastily. Ill cook tomorrow.
And well take turns cleaning, Emily added.
Naturally, Richard nodded.
But come morning, Claire had urgent work and asked Emily to cover. Richard left early. James was swamped.
So its me again, Emily muttered.
That evening, shed had enough.
James, this stops now.
What?
Ive become your familys unpaid housekeeper. Cooking, cleaning, babysittingwhile you lot act like hotel guests.
Youre overreacting.
Am I? Who made breakfast?
Well you.
Lunch?
You.
Dinner?
Look, its just temporary
Whos doing *all* of it? *Me!*
James flinched but doubled down.
Em, its not that hard
Not hard? You swan off to work while I run this madhouse!
Youre home anyway
*STOP!* Emily went pale with rage. I *work* from home! Or I would, if I wasnt constantly feeding, cleaning, and entertaining *your* family!
James finally grasped the line hed crossed.
Alright, alright. Ill talk to Claire properly. Well divvy up chores.
And Richard.
And Richard.
But the talk was more waffle than action. No real change.
Then came the final straw.
Emily was cooking when James dropped the bomb:
Oh, forgot to mentionClaires kids start school and nursery tomorrow. So breakfastll need to be earlier.
Right.
And packed lunches.
Uh-huh.
And Claire says the kids are out of clean clothes. Maybe do a wash?
Maybe *she* can?
She doesnt know how our machine works.
She can learn.
James hesitated, then added:
And with more of us now, youll need to cook bigger portions.
Emily turned slowly.
What did you just say?
Well more people, more food
And?
Youll be cooking for my sisters family too, James said, in a tone that expected obedienceand instantly knew hed messed up.
Emily set down the knife. Her voice was deadly calm.
Say that again.
I just meant
No. Say the *exact* words.
James swallowed.
Youll be cooking for Claires family too.
Emily untied her apron, hung it up, and walked out.
Em, where are you going? James called.
Bedroom.
What about dinner?
You said Ill cook. So I will. When I feel like it.
She locked the door, hands shakingfrom fury, hurt, exhaustion. In two weeks, shed gone from wife to unpaid servant. And her husband saw nothing wrong with that.
She yanked a suitcase from the wardrobe and began packing Jamess things. Shirts, trousers, socksall folded neatly, as always.
Then she hauled it into the lounge, where the others sat glued to the telly.
Sorry to interrupt, she said, plonking the suitcase down. Ive a proposal.
All eyes turned to her.
Ive packed Jamess essentials. I think youd *all* be more comfortable at your mums. Bigger house, garden for the kids.
Em, what the hell? Claire gasped.
Im considering your comfort. At your mums, youve got space to breathe while you sort your lives.
Were *settled* here Richard began.
You are. *Im* not. Two weeks of being your maid was quite enough. Emily stepped back, arms crossed. «James can stay with you. Ill take the flat. Or he can find his own place. But Im not cooking, cleaning, or caring for any of you another day. She turned to James, voice quiet but firm. You wanted your family here? Fine. You deal with them. Im done. The room fell silent. No one moved. No one spoke. She walked to the kitchen, opened the fridge, and poured herself a glass of wine. Then she sat at the table, alone, and waited for the chaos to end.
