I remember the summer when my niece Emily turned up at my flat in Birmingham, only to sulk because I hadn’t set a proper meal out for her. My sister Margaret lived in Manchester, and her daughter had secured a place at the university here, where she would soon be living in a hall of residence. She had come for a fortnight to sort out some paperwork and possibly sit a few exams, as is customary before starting term. Margaret had arranged that Emily would lodge with me while she was in town.
We never spoke about who would put food on the table. Since her mother, Helen, kept quiet on the matter, the two of them tried to figure it out between themselves. I found Emily sitting in the sittingroom, arms crossed and looking disgruntled. When I asked what was bothering her, she told me she had expected a warm lunch from me. I snapped back, Im not your personal caterer, and I have a schedule I must keep. Call your mother and ask her to transfer some cash to your account; you can buy a packet of biscuits, a few scones, and a pot of tea. Im out of tea already! Youre eighteen now, not a child.
Helen and I had not spoken in years; after my husband David vanished to some unknown corner of the world and the children left the nest, I threw myself into work. My days were packed, my presence at home irregular, and the strength I once had for domestic chores had simply drained away. All I wanted was a decent nights sleep, and that was a luxury even then.
It was lovely, of course, to see Emily grown and decidedly more ladylike, but I was no longer the sprightly Aunt Lucy who could, as they used to say, cook an elephant for a birthday. I told her to buy her own groceries, slice, boil, fry, or steam whatever she wanted, and perhaps even pick up something readymade so she wouldnt end up wrecking the stove or the flat. She withdrew into a quiet anger, apparently expecting a full board and a mothers constant attention. Im not sure whether things will settle down. It is hard to abandon the role of the everready, helpful aunt after years of nurturing amiable relations with everyone around you. Even now I remain friendly enough to offer a free bed, though the fullservice element is missing. I even consulted a psychologist for advice on how to gently explain to my family that I can no longer be as functional as I once was and that they should lower their expectations of me.
