My In-Laws Were Upset That I Didn’t Let Them Stay Overnight in My Tiny Flat

The relatives of my husband had taken offence when I refused to let them spend the night in my little studio flat.

Oliver, youve got to be joking, arent you? Tell me this is some daft prank and youll be laughing about it in a minute, please, I heard myself pleading.

Ainsley froze, a wooden ladle still clutched in her hand, forgetting she had meant to ladle soup. Steam rose from the pot, settling on the polished front of the kitchen units, but she didnt see it. All her attention was glued to her husband, who sat at the tiny kitchen table, picking at his salad with a guilty fork, eyes lowered.

Mary, what could I have done? muttered Oliver, his head buried in his shoulders. Its Aunt Valerie. She called saying, Weve got tickets, were heading to London to see the doctor with the grandchild and have a bit of a look around. I couldnt tell my own aunt, Dont come. That would be uncivilised.

Uncivilised? Ainsley slowly set the ladle back into the pot. The clank rang in the quiet like a distant bell. And whats civilised? Dragging three strangers into our flat? Oliver, we have only thirtythree square metres! Thirtythree, with the balcony where the paint cans and the old skis sit!

She swept her arm across the cramped space. It was the classic studio she had bought before we married, putting all her savings and five years of scrimping into it. She loved that flat with a fierce devotion. Every inch was planned: a foldout bed, floortoceiling wardrobes, a tiny but cosy kitchen that merged with the sitting area. It was a perfect nest for one, at most two, provided they lived in harmony and didnt fling socks about.

Theyre only staying for three days, Oliver tried to defend weakly. Well manage. A little tightness wont hurt.

Whos they? Ainsley crossed her arms, feeling a twitch in her left eye. Lets list the guests, shall we?

Uh Aunt Valerie, Uncle Peter and Sophie with the little one.

Ainsley felt the ground drop from under her. She collapsed onto the chair opposite Oliver, her nightgown fluttering open.

Four people? Oliver, are you mad? Aunt Valerie is, to put it mildly, a large woman. Uncle Peter smokes like a chimney and snores so hard the walls shiver. Sophie is their thirtyyearold daughter, and her little one is already five and, by your own tale, a terror who wrecks everything he can reach. And you want to cram that lot into here? Where shall we sleep? On the chandelier?

Just why are you? Oliver snapped, offended. We could put an inflatable mattress on the kitchen floor and give them the spare room. Theyre guests, after all, travelling from the countryside. The child needs a routine.

The kitchen? Ainsley laughed hysterically, eyeing the fivesquaremetre area that barely held a table and two chairs. Under the table, perhaps? Or shall I stick my legs in the oven?

Mary, dont start. Theyre family. My mother will be hurt if she learns we turned them away. Theyre coming with all their goodies bacon, cucumbers

I dont eat bacon, Oliver! And the cucumbers we have are on sale at the shop! No, this wont happen. I wont let them stay the night. Tea, fine. Dinner, Ill manage. But not a nights sleep. Theyll have to find a hotel.

They have no money for a hotel, Mary! Theyre simple folk from the village. Our prices are astronomical to them. Put yourself in our shoes!

Who will put themselves in my shoes? I work all week. Tomorrow is my only day off, and I wanted to sleep in the bath, not be offered a floor mattress while Uncle Peters snore rattles the walls. Call them and say the pipe burst, weve got the plague, weve been evictedanything but that they come here to sleep.

Oliver sighed heavily, pushed his plate aside and stared at his wife with the look of a beaten dog.

I cant. Theyre already on the train. Theyll be at the station tomorrow morning. I promised to meet them.

Ainsley stared at him, knowing he would never make the call. It was easier for him to endure the discomfort, to make his wife suffer, than to say a firm no to his brazen relatives. That was his perpetual problem wanting to be good to everyone except his own family.

Fine, she said, her tone as cold as ice. Youll meet them. But I wont move a finger to create sleeping quarters for them. And if they think Ill stand over the stove for three days serving a mob, they are gravely mistaken.

The night passed uneasily. Ainsley tossed and turned, picturing how her immaculate white flat would look after the onslaught. In the morning Oliver left for the station and Ainsley stayed behind, putting herself in a state of combat readiness. She skipped the traditional big feast of ploughmans cheese and mince pies, brewing only coffee and toast, sitting down to read a book as if the day were proceeding according to her plan.

The intercom buzzed like an airraid siren. Ainsley shuffled to the door.

Mary, its us! Open up! Olivers voice sounded as if hed brought home a winning lottery ticket.

Within minutes the hallway echoed with clamor loud voices, laughter, the crash of something heavy. The door swung wide and a throng poured in.

First came Aunt Valerie, a towering woman in a floral dress, wheeling a suitcase that left a dirty track across the polished floor. Oh, Mary dear! Hello, love! she bellowed, arms wide for a hug, smelling of train smoke, boiled sausage and cheap perfume. You look so thin, dear! This city has drained you! Never mind, well feed you!

Behind her lumbered Uncle Peter, a massive sack slung over his shoulder, from which a pork leg protruded. Well, hello, host! Where shall we drop the mammoth? he croaked, shaking ash from a cigarette he had finally stubbed at the door, the tobacco scent clinging to his coat.

Sophie followed, a tiredlooking woman with pursed lips, dragging a fiveyearold boy. The child bolted straight for the room, screaming, Where are the cartoons?! and fled down the corridor, shoes thudding on the carpet.

Stop! Ainsley shouted, but it was too late. Muddy trainers were already trampling the plush rug by the sofa.

Its just a child, Sophie waved off, tossing her shoes in the middle of the hallway, almost making Ainsley stumble. No slippers? Were all sweaty from the road.

The entry hall, meant for two, instantly became a rushhour subway car. Bags, backpacks, people a chaotic heap. Ainsley felt a wave of claustrophobia she had never known.

Please, come in, she forced out, trying to keep some politeness. Just leave your shoes on the rack and the coats in the wardrobe.

Dont bother with the niceties! Aunt Valerie marched straight into the kitchen. Oh, what a tiny kitchen! How on earth do you cook, love? Two hostesses cant even turn around!

She plonked her suitcase on the dining table.

Aunt Valerie, could you move the suitcase from the table, please? Ainsley said firmly, stepping forward. Its a dining table.

Its clean, love, I only set it on the floor of the train where there was a newspaper underneath! Aunt Valerie huffed, shifting the bag to a chair. Now, lets eat! The men are hungry, we only had tea on the train. Oliver said youre waiting for us.

Ainsley looked at her husband, who lingered in the doorway, trying to disappear.

Ive put the kettle on, Ainsley said. There are sandwiches. I didnt cook a full meal; I thought youd just want a cuppa, maybe a shower, then we could decide where youd eat.

A pause hung in the air. Aunt Valerie planted her hands on her hips.

What do you mean where well eat? As if were not at home! Weve come to see family! Youll meet us with an empty table? In the country we never do that! If a guest steps over the threshold, the best is laid out!

In London we usually give a headsup before a visit, Ainsley retorted. And ask if its convenient for the hosts.

We gave you a headsup! We told Oliver! Uncle Peter interjected, already opening the fridge and eyeing its contents. Ah, a cold brew! Yours, Oliver?

Mine, Oliver whispered.

Cheers! Peter barked, cracking open a can of beer with a loud pop and taking a generous gulp.

Ainsley closed her eyes and counted to ten. It didnt help.

Now, dear guests, she announced loudly. Lets be clear. This flat is tiny. There is only one sofa. Its for two of us. You are four. There is simply nowhere to sleep here.

How can there be nowhere? Sophie asked, peering into the room. The sofa is big, well all squeeze onto it, Dad can take the armchair on the balcony. You, the young couple, could even sleep on the floor, or we could ask the neighbours.

The audacity of the suggestion left Ainsley momentarily speechless. They werent just asking for space; they were trying to push the hosts onto the floor of their own home, bought with her own money, or to find strangers to host them.

No, Ainsley said firmly. That wont do. The sofa is our sleeping place. I will not give it up.

You see? Aunt Valerie flared, waving her hands. Youre a dainty thing! Relatives travel three hundred miles and you wont even let them use a couch! Weve sent diapers to your little Oliver, mailed parcels while he was in the army! And now you wont let us in?

Aunt Valerie, no ones chasing you away, Oliver tried to intervene. Mary shes just tired, the space really is limited

Shut up, you henpecked man! the aunt shrieked. Your wife doesnt respect us, and youre crying like a baby! We came to you, not to her! The flat is yours? Then you have the right!

The flat is mine, Ainsley said quietly but clearly. I bought it before we married, the mortgage is in my name. Oliver lives here because hes my husband. That doesnt give anyone the right to turn my home into a hostel.

The room fell silent. Peter stopped drinking his beer. Sophie halted her foottapping. Aunt Valeries face flushed.

So thats it, she sneered. Youll turn a slice of bread into a slap? Youre proud of your square footage? Forgot where your roots lie?

What do roots have to do with this? Ainsley snapped. Its about basic respect and personal space. You arrived as a party of four in a oneroom flat. You didnt even ask if it was convenient for us. You just assumed.

Its family! Aunt Valerie retorted. We thought wed sit, chat, have a bite. And you

At that moment a crash and the tinkling of broken glass filled the room. Everyone rushed to the source. Fiveyearold Charlie, curious about the shelves, had toppled an expensive vase and knocked over a stack of books. He stood amid the shards, wailing.

Oh God, Charlie! You didnt cut yourself? Sophie swooped, cradling the boy. What have you done? Why place vases where a child runs? He could have been killed!

Ainsley stared at the wreckage of her beloved Italian vase the final straw.

Enough, she said, voice trembling with fury. The show is over. Pack your things.

What? Youre throwing us out? With the child? Aunt Valerie sprang up, towering. Out onto the street?

Not onto the street. Its daytime, its bright. You have plenty of time to find a hotel or a hostel. I even have a list of cheap places I looked up yesterday.

Ainsley fished a folded piece of paper from her jeans pocket and handed it to Oliver.

Oliver, heres the list. Theres a decent hostel two blocks away, family rooms, and a budget hotel called The Rising not far off. Prices are reasonable.

Youve lost your conscience? Sophie hissed. Weve been saving for the doctors visit, not for a hostel! You want to rip the childs mouth open?

I just want order and peace in my home, Ainsley cut in. You came to London for treatment, you should have planned accommodation. Or you expected me to foot the bill?

Aunt Valerie! Peter roared. Are you a man or a rag? Tell your wife to shut up! Were not leaving! Well stay!

Oliver stood between his wife and the raging aunt, redcheeked, eyes flicking between Ainsleys steely resolve and the relatives ready to fight.

Aunt Valerie he began, voice cracking. Its true space is tight the vase is broken perhaps a hotel is best. Ill chip in a bit.

What?! shouted the aunt and Sophie in unison.

You sold us for a skirt? the aunt shrieked. You traded blood for this witch! Ill never set foot here again! Peter, grab the bags! Were out!

Peter, who had been quietly sipping his beer, set the empty can on the polished sideboard and muttered, Fine, lets go. Well find somewhere else to crash. The world isnt short of kindness.

The frantic packing began. Bags were shoved back in haphazardly. Aunt Valerie cursed Ainsley, invoking the names of ancestors back to the seventh generation. Sophie tried to soothe Charlie loudly, Dont cry, love, the angry aunt kicked us out, but well find good people.

Take the bacon! Aunt Valerie shouted at Oliver, pointing at the sack. Dont leave us anything!

Peter shouldered the sack.

Just before the door shut, Aunt Valerie turned, looked Oliver in the eye and spat on the carpet. I have no more nephew. Forget our number. Ill tell your mother everything. What a snake you are.

The door slammed, the bang echoing down the stairwell. A lift clanged and voices faded away.

Silence settled over the flat, the broken vase glinting among the shards, the carpet stained with mud. Ainsleys hands trembled. Oliver sat on a pouffe in the hallway, his face buried in his hands.

Well, he muttered, now the whole family will curse me. Mother will have a heart attack. Happy?

Ainsley turned slowly to him, no pity, only exhaustion and disappointment.

Did you expect me to be happy while they scraped their feet on my floor? They shattered my thing, they treated my home like a barn, and you think I should just endure it for family peace? What peace? One where Im not worth a penny?

It could have been softer he whispered.

Softer? With people like that you cant be gentle. They only understand force. If Id yielded today, theyd be back next month, and the month after. Tomorrow a third cousin of the wifes uncle would turn up, the next day a neighbour of Aunt Valerie. Our home would become a free hostel. Thats not what I signed up for.

Oliver said nothing. He knew she was right, but admitting it out loud would mean admitting his own weakness.

Ill clean up, Ainsley said, picking up a broom. You can either go to the hotel with them, help carry their bags, or hand over some money. Its your choice. But they will never step foot in this flat again.

Oliver stayed in the kitchen all evening, nursing the last of the brandy, letting call after call ring unanswered mother, sister, Aunt Valerie, all trying to add more grief. He never lifted the receiver.

Ainsley scrubbed the carpet, washed the hallway floor, aired out the lingering smell of smoke and cheap perfume. She later took a long shower, slipped into her favourite nightdress and finally lay on that very sofa still hers alone.

It hurt, the ache of the argument, the sting of the harsh words. Yet deep down a quiet pride settled. She had defended her boundaries. She had protected her little world.

The next day Oliver finally spoke to his mother. The conversation was a battle of raised voices; his mother accused his wife of selfishness, of lacking a proper English heart. Oliver mumbled explanations about the cramped space and the broken vase, but his mother heard none of it.

Nothing, he said later, entering the living room, eyes hollow. Shell get over it.

What about Aunt Valerie? Ainsley asked.

Shes off to a cousins in Surrey. Said they treated her like royalty, fed her, let her sleep on proper beds. She called us city scum.

Ainsley smirked. Good for her. I hope her cousin has a threebedroom house and steel nerves.

A month passed. The tempers cooled.Years later, Ainsley still sipped her tea on that solitary sofa, content that her home remained a sanctuary of her own making.