My husband brought his mother to live in our tiny flat
«Dad’s going to stay with us for a while,» said James, shuffling awkwardly in our cramped hallway. «There’s been a burst pipe at his place, and the repairs will take ages. We can’t have him out on the street, can we?»
Charlotte froze, a damp towel in her hand, fresh from the shower. Her wet hair darkened the shoulders of her old dressing gown. Behind James stood his father, William, with two oversized suitcases and a cardboard box tied with string.
«Hello, love,» William said cheerfully, as if oblivious to Charlotte’s stunned expression. «Don’t fretit wont be long. Just till the plumbers sort the mess. A month, tops.»
A *month*? In their thirty-square-metre flat, where the kitchen was barely bigger than a cupboard and the bathroom walls were paper-thin? Charlotte felt her chest tighten with dread.
«Dad, lovely to see you,» she forced a smile, masking her panic. «But are you sure you’ll be comfortable here? Maybe one of your mates has space?»
«Oh, dont be daft,» William waved her off, stepping inside. «What mates at my age? The ones still kicking can barely get about themselves. And I wont be a burden.»
*But I suppose well do*, Charlotte thought bitterly but held her tongue.
«Dad, lets put your bags here,» James gestured to the corner near the bookshelf. «Youll take the sofa. Charlotte and I can manage the fold-out.»
«Dont be ridiculous!» William huffed. «Ill take the fold-out. You youngsters need a proper bed.»
«Dad, your backs knackered. You cant sleep on that thing,» James said firmly.
Charlotte watched in silence, feeling like a stranger in her own home. Technically, the flat was hersleft by her gran before theyd married. But that hardly mattered now. James had decided without her, as usual.
«Ill put the kettle on,» she muttered, retreating to the shoebox kitchen, where the fridge, stove, and two-person table barely fit. «Dad, you must be starving after the trip?»
«Dont fuss, love. I had a bite on the coach,» William called back, already unpacking onto the armchair. «Tell me, hows life treating you? Our James says its all grand, but I can see how cramped it is. High time you got a bigger place.»
Charlotte pressed her lips together. Money was a sore spot. James earned decent wages as a mechanic, and her teaching salary just covered essentials. A mortgage was out of the question.
«Dad, weve talked about this,» James sighed. «Nows not the time.»
«And when will it *ever* be?» William shook his head. «Youre thirty-two, Charlottes twenty-eight. When do you plan on starting a family? Theres no room for kids here.»
Charlottes cheeks burned. Childrenanother tender subject. Four years married, and William never missed a chance to remind them he wanted grandchildren.
«Not now, Dad,» James shot Charlotte an apologetic glance. «Charlottes knackered after work, and youve had a long trip. Lets just relax.»
William scoffed but dropped it, fussing with his things instead.
Charlotte escaped to the kitchen, taking a deep breath. She loved James, truly. But his inability to stand up to his father drove her mad. Bringing him here without asking, upending their lives
The kettle whistled. Mechanically, she made tea. Through the tiny kitchen window, grey tower blocks loomed under a heavy October sky. The dreary view matched her mood perfectly.
«Love, need a hand?» Williams voice made her jump.
«No, ta,» she forced a smile. «Just lost in thought.»
«About what?» He perched on a rickety stool.
«Work,» she lied. «Tough class this year. Twenty-eight kids, half of them feral.»
«Ah, shame,» William tutted. «In my day, kids respected their elders. No discipline these days.»
Charlotte said nothing, pouring tea. William always glorified the past, scoffing at the «modern world.» Arguing was pointless.
«You settled in, Dad?» James peered in. «Oh, brillianttea. Early shift tomorrow, so Ill turn in soon.»
«Course, son,» William patted his arm. «Off you pop. Charlotte and I will have a proper chinwag.»
*Just what I need*, Charlotte thought but bit her tongue. James vanished, leaving her trapped.
«So,» William sipped his tea. «How *are* things with our James? Hes tight-lippedjust fine, fine. I can tell somethings off.»
«Everythings fine,» Charlotte kept her voice neutral. «Just the usual.»
«The usual, eh?» William smirked. «Wheres the spark? Hes looking peaky. You feeding him proper?»
«I try,» she gritted her teeth. «But we both work late. Proper meals dont always happen.»
«Kids today,» William sighed. «In my day, wives managed work *and* home. Now its all takeaways. No wonder everyones ill.»
Charlotte clenched her jaw. He was elderly, in a bind. Shed endure itfor James.
«Ill cook more,» she said sweetly. «Especially now youre here. Any of Jamess childhood favorites?»
William brightened, launching into recipes for shepherds pie, proper roast beef, and puddings James had *never* mentioned in four years of marriage.
Finally, pleading exhaustion, Charlotte escaped to the bathroom. Locking the door, she sank onto the tubs edge and exhaled. How would they survive this? Where could she *breathe*?
When she emerged, James was snoring on the fold-out, and William lounged on the sofa, flipping through a magazine. Silently, she slipped beside James. «Twos company, threes a crowd,» as they say. But right now, she just felt *crowded*.
Morning was chaos. The postage-stamp bathroom now served three, with Williamdespite being retiredup at dawn, disrupting Charlottes quiet coffee-and-makeup routine.
«Love, I washed your white blouse,» William announced at breakfast. «The one on the chair. Filthy, it was.»
«What?» Charlotte nearly choked. «Id soaked it in special cleaner! That was red wineit *cant* go in the machine!»
«Rubbish,» William scoffed. «Ive used washing powder for sixty years. Clothes last *decades*.»
Charlotte stormed to the bathroom. Her favourite blousebought on sale at John Lewisnow had a sickly yellow stain.
«Alright?» James appeared. «Dad said youre upset about the blouse. Ill buy you a new one.»
«Its not the *blouse*,» she hissed. «Its him touching my things without asking. And Jameswhy didnt you *warn* me? We couldve prepared!»
«Sorry,» he mumbled. «I knew youd say no, so But its temporary, promise. Once his place is fixed»
«*If*,» Charlotte sighed. «Just talk to him. Explain boundaries.»
«I will,» he kissed her cheek. «Itll sort itself out.»
It didnt. William rearranged cupboards, critiqued her cooking, even timed *TV*news, then *his* shows.
The final straw came Sunday morning, when Charlotte found William rummaging through her makeup bag.
«What are you *doing*?» she snapped, snatching it back.
«Just looking at your cream, love,» he said breezily. «Got a rash. Thought Id borrow some.»
«You *ask* first,» she said through gritted teeth. «These are *my* things.»
«Oh, dont be daft,» William rolled his eyes. «Were family. Everythings shared.»
«Not in *my* family,» Charlottes temper flared. «I value privacy. Respect that.»
«Selfish, thats what you are,» William sniffed. «James! Hear how she speaks to me?»
James coughed awkwardly. «Dad shes right. You cant just take things.»
«*Take*?» William gasped. «Im *family*! Ungrateful, the lot of you!»
Charlotte stormed out, ignoring Jamess calls. In a rain-soaked park, she finally answered.
«Where *are* you?» James demanded. «Ive been worried!»
«Thinking,» she said coldly. «About us. I cant do this. Either he leaves, or I dont know whats left.»
«Dont be dramatic!» James snapped. «Its just *makeup*.»
«Its *everything*!» she shouted. «Im suffocating! Ill rent a room till his place is done. Then we *talk*.»
«Youre *leaving*?» James sounded stunned. «Over *this*?»
«Not leaving,» she said quietly. «Saving *us*.»
Hanging up, she felt oddly free. For the first time in weeks, shed chosen *herself*.
Her friend Sarah had a spare room. Shed go there first. Maybe space would make James seefamily wasnt just blood. It was respect.
And if not? Well. At least shed taken the first step.
