**Diary Entry 12th October**
Bloody hell, I never thought it would come to this.
Youll be cooking for my sisters family too, James said, in that infuriatingly matter-of-fact tone of hislike it was just another item on the to-do list. Little did he know, hed regret those words before the day was out.
I stood by the window, watching a battered white van pull into the driveway, its suspension groaning under the weight of boxes, suitcases, and a yowling cat carrier. My stomach knotted. For days, James had been skulking around the flat with that guilty lookthe one he gets before dropping some inconvenient bombshell.
Emma, hed started cautiously the night before, remember how I mentioned Sophies having issues with her flat?
Oh, I remembered. His sister had been renting a two-bed in Croydon for years with her husband, David, and their two kidsOliver, ten, and little Poppy, six. The place was decent enough, the landlord reasonable, but then came the catch: the landlords daughter was moving back, and the tenants had to vacate.
Theyve asked to stay with us for a bit, James had continued, avoiding my eyes. Just until they find somewhere.
Id nodded, biting my tongue. What could I say? Sophie was his only sister, and family sticks together. Still, watching their belongings pile up in our modest two-bed terraced house in Bristol, I knew for a bit was optimistic.
The kids barrelled in firstOliver lugging a football and backpack, Poppy dragging a stuffed unicorn and chattering non-stop. The adults followedSophie clutching the cat carrier, David hefting suitcases, James with an armful of boxes.
Em! Sophie beamed as she stepped inside. Thank you so much for this. Well be out of your hair as soon as we can
I hugged her, genuinely sympathetic. Sophie was sweet but hopelessly disorganised. Married young, kids straight after uni, her world revolved around school runs and part-time graphic design work. David handled the big decisions.
Mum, where do we sleep? Poppy asked immediately, peering around.
Our place was cosy but compactmaster bedroom, a small living room with a sofa, and a galley kitchen. Fine for two, cramped for six.
Well take the sofa, Sophie said quickly. The kids can have air mattresses in the lounge.
Theres already a sofa-bed there, James added.
What about Muffin? Poppy asked, gesturing to the cat.
Muffin can stay in the hallway, David decided. Plenty of room for a litter tray.
Within hours, our quiet home had morphed into a cross between a student digs and a refugee camp. The lounge was strewn with toys, the hallway lined with suitcases, and the air thick with the scent of unfamiliar laundry detergent and takeaway curry. The worst part? Everyone acted like it was perfectly normallike my space was now communal property.
Em, wheres the loo roll? Sophie called from the bathroom.
Under the sink.
Can I borrow a towel? Ours are still packed.
Help yourself.
By evening, it was painfully clear: our old routine was dead. The kids shrieked through hide-and-seek, Muffin yowled for attention, and the adults debated property listings.
Weve got a viewing in Clifton tomorrow, David said. Decent schools nearby.
Nothing too pricey, though, Sophie sighed. Budgets tight.
Youll find something, James said confidently. Worst case, you can stay here a bit longer.
I shot him a look. *Longer?* He had the decency to look sheepish.
Dinner was a logistical nightmare. I usually shopped for twonow I was scraping together pasta and chicken for six.
Whats for tea? Oliver asked, poking his head into the kitchen.
Pasta and chicken, I said.
Mum always makes spaghetti bolognese, Poppy chimed in.
We dont have mince, I said, rifling through the fridge.
Em, dont stress, Sophie said, breezing in. Well eat anything.
I nodded, silently suspecting well eat anything really meant *Id* be cooking it.
The next week was chaos. Breakfasts were a free-for-all, the washing machine ran constantly, and I couldnt get a moments peace to work. Sophie was always just finishing a project, David was perpetually about to help, and James? Well, he left at dawn and returned to a hot meal like nothing was amiss.
Emma, this isnt sustainable, I finally told him one night.
What do you mean?
Ive become the unpaid staff. Cooking, cleaning, babysittingwhile everyone else treats this like a bloody B&B.
Youre overreacting.
Am I? Who cooked breakfast?
You.
Lunch?
You.
Tea?
Alright, point taken, he muttered.
But the next day, James pushed too far.
By the way, he said casually, Oliver and Poppy start at the local school tomorrow. So breakfastll need to be earlier. And packed lunches.
I stared at him.
And Sophie says theyre out of clean clothes. Maybe you could do a wash?
I set down the knife. Slowly.
Say that again.
What?
The bit about me cooking and cleaning for your sisters family.
James swallowed. Too late.
I walked out.
Ten minutes later, I returned with a suitcasepacked with *his* things.
Heres a proposal, I said, plonking it in the lounge. You all move to your mums in Bath. Bigger house. More space.
Stunned silence.
Emma, dont be daft, James spluttered.
Im dead serious. Either chores are split fairly, or you lot figure it out elsewhere.
An hour later, I drove them to his mums.
The next day, James rang.
Weve talked. Youre right. We took the piss.
And?
Weve made a rota. Cooking, cleaning, laundryall divided.
Show me when you come back.
They returned the following day, contrite. The rota was thoroughmeals, dishes, hoovering, all shared.
It worked. Mostly. Sophie forgot her cooking days a few times, David missed the washing-up, and James tried skiving on hoovering. But now, I held them to it.
Sophie, its your turn for breakfast.
But my client
Porridge takes ten minutes.
A month later, they found a place.
Funny thing, Sophie admitted before leaving. This whole mess actually sorted us out. David cooks now. The kids tidy up. Were proper adults.
I smiled. Glad to hear it.
After they left, James asked, Regret being so harsh?
Not a bit. If I hadnt put my foot down, Id still be your familys skivvy.
He sighed. Fair point.
And that was that. No more orders. No more assumptions. Just shared effort.
Because heres the lesson: a family isnt a dictatorship. Its a team. And in a team, everyone pulls their weightor they dont get to play.
