The Midnight Relative and the Cost of Peace

Night Visitor and the Price of Peace

Oh, not again, Lucy muttered quietly as she stared into the sink filled with soapy water.

The kitchen clocks hands ticked on, unwavering, reading 1:15am. The house was completely still. Little Amelias gentle snores drifted through the wall from her nursery. In the bedroom, Tom must have already drifted off to sleep. A soft yellow pool of light from the lamp shone on the table, highlighting a lone, neglected mug of lukewarm chamomile tea.

The doorbell shattered the peace, sharp as a knife. It rang long and hard, with little pauses in betweeneach stop just enough time to wish fervently, please, not tonight, maybe another time.

A sleepy but resigned whisper came from the bedroom:

Him again?

Lucy wiped her hands on her dressing gown, fighting back a yawn she wanted to turn into her own Im asleep, world, leave me alone sign, and headed to the door. She went through a muddle of irritation, a tinge of guilt for that irritation, and a weary heaviness that weighed her down like a soggy blanket.

Peering through the spy hole, she saw a familiar figure. Broad-shouldered, wearing an old leather jacket and a flat cap shoved to the back of his head, stood Harry, her father-in-law, as always, slightly side-on to the door. One hand braced against the wall, the other clutched a bulky cardboard box.

At his feet lay a shopping bag with a green logoLucy already knew thered be biscuits inside. Always the same ones.

She opened the door.

Lucy, my dear! Harry beamed, as if it were midday, not the dead of night. Still up? Thats a stroke of luck. Ill only be ten minutes.

Hello, Harry, she said, trying for a polite smile. Its well, its the middle of the night, you know.

Oh, come on, the nights still young! he scoffed. And so am I, while my legs still work. Wont you let an old boy in? Ive got a real treasure.

He hoisted up the box. On the lid, a faded label read 8mm Film. Someone had scrawled in biro: 1978. New Year. Home. The box smelled of dust, old cupboards, and that other life Lucy only knew from sepia photos.

Found it, can you imagine? Harry was already squeezing into the hallway, not waiting for a formal come in. Was up in the loft at my neighbours place. I told him, Thats mine! He didnt believe me at first, but then he recognised Lindas handwriting. Said it straight off.

Linda. Harrys wife, gone ten years nowtheir name seemed to echo down the narrow corridor, a bit like a ghost.

From the bedroom, Tom appeared, blinking against the light. He wore a faded T-shirt and joggers.

Dad he cleared his throat. Its one in the morning.

Exactly! Harry perked up. Prime time for a trip down memory lane. Whats wrong, son, is this too late for you? Back in my day, the party would only just be getting started at this hour.

Lucy felt each of his cheery comments throb in her temples. Still, she couldnt help thinking, Hes all alone. Its so dark over there. He must be scared, probably.

Lets go into the kitchen, she said aloud, swallowing a groan. But keep it downAmelias asleep.

Of course, quiet as a mouse, Harry promised as he shuffled off his jacket.

A mouse, thought Lucyone that rings out like a fire alarm.

***

In the kitchen, Harry always took the same chairclosest to the radiator. My back hates a draught, hed say. Lucy put the usual mug in front of him, poured tea more out of routine than anything.

Tom, still yawning hugely, sat opposite and nodded at the box.

Whats all this? he asked.

Our very own home movie! Harry announced, full of pride. Old-school film reel. Its ancient, but it still works. Your mums in here, youre just a toddler Theres our tree, silly-looking salads, Aunt Cathys face with that nosegoodness, the size! Anyway, its history.

Lucy slumped onto a chair and propped her head on her hand. The kitchen clock marched on, 1:27, then 1:28 Harry, on the other hand, was just getting going.

I remember how we left the door open that night, he reminisced, animated. Gone midnight, and Simon and his wife turned up. Snow everywhere, freezing cold, but we just said, Come in! Our door is always open! Linda said a brilliant thing thenlet me seeah! He furrowed his brow, trying to recall. Nighttime doors should be open to those who really, truly need it.

Lucy nodded. The words stuck in her mind like burrs.

Dad, Tom rubbed his eyes, are we actually going to watch that film? Is it working?

Harry snapped to attention. Yes, of course! But the projectors long gone. Didnt think you two might have one?

In our two-bed flat on the fourth floor? An 8mm projector? Lucy gave a tired laugh. Of course, right between the grand piano and the printing press.

The sarcasm, as always, slid right past him.

Oh, well sort it out, he said optimistically. You could take it to a shop and have it transferred. Youre the computer whiz, Tom, youll figure it out. Meanwhile, I can just fill in the blanks.

And so, he started. He told stories about buying the first camera, filming in the back garden, Linda laughing as snow went down her collar. His words poured out like an endless teapot of tea, not a hint that it was the middle of the nightHarry seemed to live by memories, not by the clock.

Lucy listened on the edge of sleep, feeling more than understanding, a single refrain beating in her head: Up at seven tomorrow, breakfast for Amelia, work report due, cant keep my eyes open

***

A small sound made her jump.

In the kitchen doorway stood a tiny figure in pink-pyjamad starsAmelia, rubbing her eyes, blonde hair sticking up everywhere.

Mummy she whispered sleepily.

Amelia, darling, what are you doing up? Lucy hurried over, scooping her into her arms.

I thirsty, the little one murmured, half-asleep. And Grandad was in my dream. Again.

Harrys face lit up at the mention of Grandad.

There you go! he said warmly. Kids can always sense the connection.

Amelia blinked at him, still half in a dreamworld.

You come in my dreams every night, she announced. You always come up, knocking and knocking. I cant shut the door, though, because the handles too hot.

A chill went through Lucys stomach like a fist of ice. Tom frowned deeply.

Since when have you had these dreams? he asked quietly.

Theyre not nightmares, Harry said, quick and sure. Just means her spirits drawn to her grandad.

Or just to the silence, Lucy thought wearily, but managed out loud: Come on, Amelia, lets get you back to bed. Grandads visits are better saved for well daytime.

At night? Amelia checked, uncertain.

Lucy caught Harrys eye. His look was genuinely puzzled, almost childlike.

Even better in the daytime, darling, Lucy said gently.

Amelia sniffled and buried her head into her mothers shoulder.

Lucy took her back to bed, listening as the voices in the kitchen picked back up, still much too lively for this hour. She tucked Amelia in, stroked her hair, and thought, Its always like this. His just ten minutes always turns into an hourtea, biscuits, gritty eyelids, and cracks running through any hope of order.

The hallway clock ticked closer to two. Lucy took a deep breath. Her patience, like a snooze alarm, was running out of time.

***

And again at one in the morning! Lucy ranted into the phone to her uni mate Sarah the week before. Absolutely no shame. Like my house is some 24-hour Café Son!

Sarah gave sympathetic little hums.

Lucy Jane Edwards, she intoned, mock-serious, my heartfelt condolences. Youve had your home taken over by the Nightly Spirit of the Elderly.

Ha ha, very funny, Lucy groaned. Im serious. I cant ever just relaxalways on edge, what if he rings again? And he always does! One, half one, even gone two Always just popping in, only ten minutes!

Sounds like a game, Sarah snorted. Your night mode is set to hardwake up, stick the kettle on, listen to a monologue, prize: biscuits.

Lucy couldnt help but smile.

Its always the exact same biscuits, she said. Oat ones, green packet. Im sick of the sight of them.

Thats a symbol now, Sarah mused. Get him a special alarm clock.

Meaning?

Ring him yourself at one a.m.

Thats cruel, Lucy spluttered.

Sorry, Sarah giggled. But honestly, you need to draw a line somewhere. Otherwise, he thinks its finecos you always answer.

But hes my father-in-law, Sarah, Lucy said quietly. Hes alone. His wifes gone, Toms his only child. How do I say to him, Mr Thompson, please dont come over at night? Hes got his heart, his blood pressure, all his old memories

Youve got a heart, too, Sarah said pointedly. And a child, and a job. Boundaries arent mean. Theyre just grown-up. Sometimes it even helps everyone.

Lucy fell quiet. Boundaries made her itch with guilt. Shed always thought a good daughter-in-law was just supposed to put up with it.

***

Harry first started coming round at night six months after Linda died.

Back then, Lucy really thought it was just a one-offgrief, simply spilling over in the night, because the day was too busy and noisy.

She and Tom were tucked up in bed, almost asleep when the downstairs buzzer suddenly erupted.

Who could it be at this hour? Lucy gasped, heart pounding.

The sound was persistent, a little desperate. Tom hauled on his trousers at speed.

Something must’ve happened.

When they opened the door, there stood Harrydishevelled, no jacket, old jumper, bare-headed. His eyes shone.

Sorry he said, but was already half-way inside, I just couldnt sit at home. Its empty.

He smelled of tobacco and cold air. In his hand, that same green packet of oat biscuits.

Dad, is something wrongyour blood pressure?

No, no, he waved it away, but his gaze was distant. I just I needed to see you.

Lucys throat ached. She thought of Lindas funeral, Harry gripping his hat, lost as if someone had wiped out his whole sense of place.

They sat him down in the kitchen and made tea. Hed hardly said anything that nightjust broken sentences now and then:

She always liked her late-night cuppa

His hands shook, breaking the biscuits.

I saw these in the shop today, he murmured. Thats how we met, picking for the same box. She said, Go on, you take it, Ive a waist to look after. I thought then, Thats it, Im marrying her.

Back then, Lucy only felt sorry for himno irritation, just sad empathy.

Come by whenever you need to, Harry, she told him, seeing him out at dawn. Were here for you.

And it turned out to be literal. Harry always came by. Only, his when he needed to usually meant after midnight.

The first visit became the second a week later. Then a third. It was soon impossible for Lucy to recall if thered ever been a proper break between visits.

***

Tom, whenever Lucy tried to talk about it, just shrugged.

You know hes always been a night owl, hed say. He worked all night, even when I was little. Hed be in the kitchen at two in the morning, reading.

But then it was his own house, Lucy replied softly. Now its ours.

To him this is still home, Tom tried to explain. He must get lonely, especially at night.

I get scared too, Lucy admitted. From exhaustion. From Amelia waking up. From leaping up at every late knock on the door like its a fire drill.

Tom looked guilty and fell silent. Something always left unsaid between him and his dadat once resentful and sympathetic. The phrase But hes my dad hovered in the air, stopping anything blunt being said.

One night, Lucy finally snapped and stayed in bed.

She lay in the dark, pretending to sleep. Tom went to open the door. The door creaked, then shut. Footsteps, shuffling, voices.

After about half an hour, she heard a quiet muttering. Curiosity eventually beat fatigue. Lucy quietly cracked open the bedroom door and padded to the kitchen.

Harry was sitting alone at the tableTom mustve gone to bed. Before him sat a stack of old photos, the lamp making the little space glow like a stage.

Linda, look at you he whispered, clutching a photo. Said Id go off you if you ever got pudgy. I was a foolish ladshouldve told you then

He flipped the photo.

Tom was just a snotty kid here. Remember that telly? Wed sit up watching films. Remember when Simon arrived at one in the morning and we kept him til three? You said, Let them come while they still can. Shut the door only when were gone.

He wasnt really talking to himself. There was a plea buried in the whispers. Let there be some house where the doors dont lock on me at night.

Lucy stood in the doorway, chest tight with feeling. Her father-in-law wasnt a monsterjust a lost, lonely boy at heart, stuck in the night with nowhere to go.

The irritation didnt vanish, but mingled now with a kind of helpless pity that only made things more complicated.

***

One time she decided to have a bit of fun with it.

It was early summer, the night was warm, window propped open. Doorbell, right on schedule. This time, Lucy didnt rush to throw on her dressing gown but draped a bright silky robe over her pyjamas, stuck a sleep mask (a gag gift from Sarah) up on her brow so she could see, keeping it as a little prop.

Ooh, film star arrival! Tom grinned.

Yep, Lucy snorted. Tonights featureA Night with Mr Thompson.

She opened the door with as much dramatic flair as she could muster.

Good evening! she declared. Welcome to our exclusive midnight screening. Menu: tea, biscuits, and chronic sleep deprivation.

Harry burst out laughing.

You young ones! Full of your jokes. I thought you lot were pensioners alreadybed at ten, up at six, that sort.

In the kitchen, she theatrically produced a new packet of coffee, gave their oven timer a tap.

Perhaps we should start a tradition: Midnight Italian Styletea, biscuits, mandolins. Sadly, the six a.m. start never goes away.

Oh, but come on, Harry laughed. Youll have things to remember! Back in the day, wed take night trains, you remember, Tom? A carriage, tea in glasses with metal holders, everyone like family. The best chats always happened at night.

And then he said: There are some doors in life that you should always leave open. Just in case someone really needs you.

The words clung to Lucy like wet snow to bootstouching, but also, in a way, dangerous.

These someones sometimes forget there are people living on the inside too, she thought grimly. Out loud she only smiled: And there are windows in life you should close so no one catches a cold.

As usual, Harry missed the double meaning and carried on with his endless stories, not noticing the mixture of fatigue and quiet fury gathering in his daughter-in-laws eyes.

***

Once, Lucy simply didnt open the door.

Amelia was poorly, temperature running high, a sleepless night. Lucy had just got her settled back to sleep and sat down for a moment whenlike clockworkthe doorbell went.

Oh please, not tonight, she whispered.

Tom was working a night shift. It was just her and Amelia. Lucy froze, let the bell ring out. Once, twice, three times. Then silence.

She sat, counting to a hundred. To two hundred. Her heart battered her ribs. Well, is the world ending? her inner voice sniped. You didnt open up just this once, and nothing happened.

In the morning, heading out to put out the bins, she found a green packet by the door. Biscuits, damp from a nights drizzle. Beside them, a little note, almost childlike: Youd fallen asleep. Didnt want to wake you. H.

That was it. No guilt trip, no complaints. Just that packet.

Lucy felt ashamed and angry all at once. Why on earth does wanting to sleep make me feel like the bad guy?

***

After another late visit, the house felt thick and clammy, like a cardigan soaked in rain.

Amelia had caught a chillshed been running to the kitchen barefoot while Harry held forth. Now she had a temperature, coughing all night. By morning, Lucys under-eye circles resembled a pandas. She staggered through work, propped up by cup after cup of coffee.

That evening, home again, Lucy set a saucepan of soup on the hob. Suddenly, something in her just snapped.

I cant keep going like this, she said, staring into the pot.

Pardon? Tom was filling the kettle.

I mean it. She turned, sharply. I cant live by his midnight rhythm. Were not an on-call teashop. Weve got a child. Ive got a job. I dont even feel in charge in my own home.

Tom opened his mouthjust about to wheel out the usual but hesbut Lucy held up a hand.

Hang on. I always hear: Hes your dadhes aloneits hard for him. And me? Im a wife, a mum, a person with a body, nerves, and boundaries. And it seems nobodys bothered asking how it feels for me.

Tom looked down.

Lets do this, Lucy bit her lip. Tonight, when he comes, we talk. All three of us. No jokes, no just ten minutes. I need the night to myself. A real nightno rings, no late guests.

You want to ban him from coming? Tom asked carefully.

I want him to come during the day. Or, at the very least, not after nine at night. Im not kicking him out of our livesjust out of our night-time.

Tom exhaled heavily.

He might be hurt, he muttered.

Well, Im already hurt, Lucy said quietly. Its been a year of pretending things are fine. My okays have just turned into little surrenders every time I put someone elses comfort above our own.

Hearing herself say it out loudit all finally made sense. Tom let out a sigh.

Alright, he agreed. Tonight we try. Ill back you.

***

When, that night, Harry turned up with the film box in his hands, it all slotted together.

Family Christmases 1979, read the label on the lid. Harry, hanging his jacket, planted the box down on the kitchen table with pride.

Look at this! he kept repeating. Imagine, I found it! Its a lifetime in here!

Maybe, Lucy said gently, we ought to have a chat first, before the celebrations?

Whats so serious it cant wait til after? Harry tried to joke.

Its about nights, Lucy replied, serious. Yours and ours.

Harry stopped smiling.

Im listening, he saidthough he looked wary.

You visit so often in the dead of night, Lucy said, as kindly as she could. Its always after midnight. For you, the night is time for memories. For us, its time to sleep. Tom has work in the morning, I do too. Amelias got nursery. We struggle, having to wake up every time someone rings the bell.

Harry frowned.

You mean Im in the way? he asked quietly.

Tom jumped in:

Dad, its not that. We love seeing you. We do! But the late-night visits leave us shattered. Especially Lucy. And Amelia too.

Lucy nodded. I honestly dread every ring after ten, she confessed. My hearts in my mouth. I cant relax. And Ameliashe keeps having those dreams, about knocking and the hot door handle.

Harry looked from her to Tom to the box.

I thought itd be like before, he said, slowly. Linda and I, we loved those late-night cups of tea. Door was always open. We used to say, If someone comes at night, they must really need it.

But at night, what we really need, Lucy said softly but firmly, is sleep. We need the doors shut. Not because we dont love youbut because we love ourselves and our child as well.

A silence fell.

Harry stared at his trembling hands.

So you dont want me coming? he said quietly.

Of course we want you, Lucy hurried to say. Just not at one in the morning. Come in the day or the evening, but not after ten. Ring first. Well get your favourite tea. Well all be ready.

Tom nodded: Dad, honestly, I want to spend time with youbut not when Im half asleep.

Harry was silent a while, then said quietly:

I didnt realise I made things so hard for you. I thought if I couldnt sleep, surely no one else could, either

Lucy felt something inside her unclench.

He wasnt a villain. Just a man whod lost track of time and boundariesbecause his own time had sort of frozen, that night Linda was gone.

Lets make a plan, Lucy said softly. Id love to watch the film. Really. But how about Saturday afternoon? Well all come togetheryou, us, Amelia. Nice tea, biscuits, like Christmas 79.

Harry looked at the box, then at her.

And if I feel down one night? he startedbut couldnt finish.

If youre unwell, or need us urgently, Lucy said calmly, ring us. Well pick up. But, if its just for tea, lets wait till the morning.

Tom nodded, adding, Dad, I want time with you where Im not completely exhausted. Otherwise, I dont even remember your stories!

Harry gave a wry, sad little smile.

Im a silly old devil, he said softly. Thought my just ten minutes couldnt be a burden.

Those ten minutes have turned into a year, Lucy pointed outkindly.

He nodded.

Alright, he sighed. Lets save the film for Saturday. Ill be off, then.

Ill see you out, Lucy offered.

He made a long job of putting his coat on, as if stalling.

Lucy he said, stopping at the door. If I accidentally ring in the night

Ill only worry that somethings wrong, she told him. But I cant always answer. Im human too.

He nodded. Something new flickered in his eyesmaybe respect.

***

Saturday afternoon came soon after.

On the table stood a battered old projector Tom had borrowed from a matelooked like it belonged in a museum. The living room was set up like a cinemacurtains nearly shut, a white sheet tacked to the wall.

Harry sat as close as he could, guarding the box like treasure. Amelia plonked herself on Lucys knee, clutching her teddy. Tom wrangled cables and fuses, muttering at the antique tech.

Finally, the projector whirred to life. Light beamed through the gloomand old, faded figures danced on the wall.

A young woman in a cotton dress, beaming like sunriseLinda. Next to her, a young Harry, no trace of grey, arms around her shoulders. In between, a toddler Tom, round and trusting.

On-screena Christmas table, tangerines, tinsel, silly old-fashioned food, twinkling fairy lights. The camera swept to a homemade sign on the front door: Our house is always open. Even at night. For friends and family.

Lucy felt the writing hit her square in the chest.

Harrys breath shuddered.

She made that sign, he whispered. Linda She wanted people to know.

On the film, Linda laughed, opening the door to someone unseen, waving them in: Come on in! Light, laughter, bustle. A clock in shot1:05am. Underneath, in felt-tip, someones added: Always welcome, day or night.

Harrys shoulders shook as he quietly wept.

Amelia grew heavier in Lucys arms, drifting off in the darkness, arm slung about her mums neck.

The pictures flickered ona younger Linda drying dishes, Harry kissing her cheek, tiny Tom circling the tinsel-stuffed tree.

Lucy understood. Harrys night-time visits werent just a quirk. They were a desperate attempt to bring back the time when doors were open for laughter, not headaches over boundaries.

***

The projector clicked off in the end, the living room falling into dusk. Amelia, snuggled in Lucys lap, dozed with her head on her mums shoulder.

Harry wiped his face with both hands.

Sorry, he said suddenly. I truly thought I was doing something good. That if I came round at night, I wasnt alone.

Lucy spoke softly: Youre still not. Even without the late-night visits. Lets just open our doors in the daylight, now.

A few days later, Lucy walked to the supermarket. She picked up not just the green packet of oat biscuits, but also a sleek silver flaskkeeps hot for eight hours, said the box.

Back home, she boxed up the flask and biscuits and tied their spare key to a cheerful fob.

On a little card, she wrote: Harry Thompson, youre always welcome here. Especially in the mornings. The flask is to keep you warm. The key is for daytimelet us know when youre coming. Love, Lucy, Tom, Amelia.

That afternoon, she rang him upher first daytime call to him ever.

Hi, Harry, its Lucy. Tomorrow were having teathe morning! Pop by whenever suits, just so long as its before twelve.

He chuckled, with real warmth.

Is this a formal invitation? he asked.

Its my shot at a new tradition, Lucy replied. No more graveyard shifts.

The next morning, Harry arrived spot on ten. Hed rang aheadIm setting off, be ready. On the doorstep, he wore a crisp shirt and held daisies in one hand.

These are for you, Lucy, he said, a bit shyly. For being patient.

And tucked under his arm, a soft teddy bear in a nightcap.

And this, he added for Amelia, to keep away any dreams of knocking granddads. Just stories from now on, eh?

Lucys smile finally reached her eyes.

Come in, she said, warmly. Teas just brewed.

Light poured over the table. The tea was hot, the biscuits sweet. Amelia, fully rested at last, clung to her new bear. Tom filled Harry in on his latest project. And Harry, in turn, had a story about the time he mistook a night train for a day one.

It was the same Harry, the same storiesbut the moment was different. Morning instead of midnight. An open invitation, not a surprise incursion.

That evening, as Lucy tucked Amelia in, she heard, Mum, Grandad didnt come in my dreams tonight.

And how was that? Lucy asked.

It was fine, said Amelia thoughtfully. I just slept. And in the morning, he was really there.

Lucy smiled in the dark.

May it stay that way, she whispered.

That night, when the clock ticked past 1:15am, the house was silent. The doorbell didnt ring. For the first time in ages, Lucy woke upnot startled out of sleep, but because shed actually rested through the night.

She realised shed finally learned to speak up for her own boundariesnot with shouting or shame, but with clear words. The world hadnt ended. Her father-in-law was still very much in their lives. He just didnt turn up at one in the morning anymore.

And that, in its quiet way, was a little victory for herand for everyone living in that flat.