Caught My Sister-in-Law Trying on My Clothes Without Permission

I caught my sisterinlaw, Iona, fumbling through my clothes without asking.

Sam, please, can we keep the nightstays to a minimum? This isnt a hotel, and your wifes flat is only a short train ride away in Brighton, Lucy said, nervously polishing the glasses as she held them up to the light. The water spots on the crystal irritated her just as much as the upcoming visit from my family.

Lucy, whats the problem? I sighed, rubbing the bridge of my nose without looking away from my laptop. Iona and Margaret are just passing through. Mom has a cardiology appointment, and Iona is coming along for company. We cant just send them back on the night train.

Just passing through, right, Lucy muttered. Last time they passed through and stayed a week while Iona hunted for winter boots all over London because, you know, we have better options. I fed, watered and entertained them while you were at work.

I promise this time will be different. One evening, dinner, a nights sleep, breakfast, and theyll be on their way. Be a bit more lenient; theyre family.

Lucy only sighed. In my world the word family was almost holy, a blanket excuse for any misdeed. But my younger sister Iona and my mother Margaret had a habit of being, if not criminal, at least shamelessly rudean uncouthness that, as they say, can be worse than theft.

Lucy ran a logistics division at a major firm, earned well, and prized order and quality. Her wardrobesilks, cashmeres, designer bagswas her pride and, arguably, her Achilles heel. She tended to her clothes as a gardener tends rare orchids, and that very wardrobe was a red rag to Iona.

At six oclock sharp the doorbell rang. Margaret stood on the threshold with a bag of greasy, deepfried pasties that always gave Lucy heartburn, and Iona followed, eyes scanning Lucy from head to toe.

Oh, Lucy, hello! Iona breezed in without taking off her shoes and planted a kiss on Lucys cheek. Whats with the fancy dress? New? Expensive, I bet?

Hi, Iona. Just a simple athome dress, Lucy replied, forcing a smile despite the way Ionas gaze lingered on the fabric.

Simple, huh? Iona snorted, shrugging off her jacket. Pure cotton with embroidery. Thatll set us back half a salary. Lucky you, Sam spoils you.

I earn my own money, Iona, Lucy reminded her, hanging the jacket in the closet.

Come on, you work. Dad isnt made of coins either. Mum, hand me the bag, Ill take it to the kitchen.

The evening unfolded in the usual way. Margaret immediately began reorganising the spice jars as she liked, and I, happy to have my relatives home, poured tea while listening to my mothers endless stories about neighbours, pressure on the water bills and the price of buckwheat.

Lucy kept a steady smile, offering food and counting the hours until they left. Tension rose when the conversation turned to Aunt Zinas upcoming jubilee.

Girls, I have no idea what to wear, Iona complained, shoving a slice of cake into her mouth. Ive put on weight over the winter and nothing fits. And the restaurant will be full of highsociety types. I cant look a fool.

She stared at Lucy, who took a sip of tea and stayed silent. The look said, Make me an offer.

Lucy, youve got a wardrobe full of stuff. Can I borrow something for the weekend? Were practically the same size almost. Remember that blue sequined thing you have?

Were not the same size, Lucy said firmly. Im a size 12, youre a size 16. And I never lend my clothes. Thats my rule.

Great, there it isprinciples. Iona rolled her eyes. Youre being stingy. My brothers sisterinlaw has a dress hanging about, gathering dust, and I just want to try it on. Ill return it clean.

Iona, why do you need someone elses clothes? I tried to intervene, noticing the white knuckles on Lucys hand. We could buy you something new, I could transfer a few pounds.

Buy what? Margaret interjected. Why spend money when the wardrobes full? Lucy, honestly, you have a closet bursting at the seams. Let the girl have a bit of joy. Were family, not strangers.

My dear, that topic is closed, Lucy snapped, her voice a shade sharper than intended. My clothes are mine. I dont take others and I dont give away my own. Lets change the subject.

The rest of dinner passed in strained silence. Margaret pursed her lips, Iona avoided Lucys gaze, and I shuffled uncomfortably between the two women, unwilling to argue further.

The next morning I left early for work. The guests were still in bed. I took the day off to drive my mother to her appointments, so the house was essentially mine.

Ill be back about seven, I told Lucy as she slipped on her shoes. Please make sure they dont move anything in the bedroom. You know I hate that.

Youre being paranoid, I laughed, kissing her cheek. Who cares about the bedroom? Theyll have breakfast, well go to the clinic, then a stroll, then straight to the station. By the time you get back, theyll be gone.

Lucy left, but a knot of anxiety gnawed at me all day. I knew Iona would interpret my earlier refusal not as a final no but as a challenge.

At around three, a migraine hit me out of nowhere, colourful rings dancing before my eyes. The pills did nothing.

Eleanor, you look pale, my deputy noted. Go home, well handle the report.

I didnt argue. I needed quiet, so I called a taxi.

When the cab pulled up, I glanced at the thirdfloor flats windowslights on in every room despite the bright sunny morning outside. Strange, I thought. Sam said theyd be out by evening.

I slipped the key in, opened the door, and was hit by a sweet, cheap perfume mixed with hairspray. Music and loud laughter echoed from deep within.

I slipped off my shoes and moved down the hallway. Laughter came from the bedroom; the door was ajar.

Mum, is this really happening? Ionas voice shouted, delighted. Look at this dress! The colour, the cut! The size its not right, but its mine!

Darling, you look marvelous! Margaret cooed. Its Italian silk, not that cheap stuff you get abroad.

I pushed the door open.

What I saw could have been a scene from a lowbudget soap opera, but it wasnt funny.

In the centre of the bedroom, before a fulllength mirror in a builtin wardrobe, Iona was writhing in the dark emeraldgreen silk gown I had bought in Milan two years ago for a fraction of its price, wearing it only once at a New Years office party. The dress was literally tearing at the seams. The zipper on the back had split midway, exposing undergarments, while the fabric along the hips strained as if it might snap with a loud pop.

On her feet were my favourite beige pumpsmy own pair, now forced onto Ionas narrow feet, the heels slipping off the back. The immaculate bed was strewn with other items: a cashmere sweater, two blouses, scarves, boxes of jewellery. Margaret sat in an armchair, holding my handbag, inspecting its contents with a gleam in her eye.

What on earth is happening? I asked, my voice low but echoing in the sudden hush.

Iona let out a shriek and twisted, the ripping fabric making a harsh sound.

Oh Iona froze, eyes wide as she stared at my reflection.

Margaret dropped her lipstick, which rolled across the parquet floor.

Lucy? Why are you up so early? Sam said youd be back by seven she began, trying to sound casual but failing miserably.

I stepped deeper into the room. Fury, cold and measured, replaced the migraine.

Take it off, I said, looking straight at Iona.

Lucy, youve got it wrong, I was just trying it on we werent going to keep it, just see how it fitsSam said it was fine! Iona stammered, grasping at the stubborn zipper. The zippers stuck!

The zippers stuck? I repeated.

It jammed! I tried to zip it up, and now it wont move either way! she panicked.

I moved closer. The smell of her perfume mixed with sweat filled the air. The silk under her arms was already darkened with moisture. A gaping hole yawned where the seam had given waythreads torn apart.

Youve ruined a dress that cost over a thousand pounds, I said flatly. Do you understand that?

What pounds?! Margaret interjected, rising from her chair. Its just a seam! We can have it sewn. She just wanted to feel pretty. Your husband earns peanuts, and youre

Margaret, put the bag back and leave the room, I said without turning. Otherwise Ill call the police and treat this as burglary.

Youre threatening my sons mother with the police? she blushed furiously. Were guests!

Youre not guests when you rummage through someone elses private space. Out!

Margaret muttered curses and stormed out into the hall. I was left alone with Iona, who was huddled, head buried in her shoulders, tears streaming.

Turn around, I ordered.

I inspected the zipper. The pull tab was caught in the lining, the fabric ripped right through the seam. The dress was beyond repair.

Ill have to cut it, I said calmly.

No! Youre insane! Im in it! Iona wailed, trying to pull herself up, but the toosmall shoes gave her no balance and she nearly fell.

Either I cut the dress to free you, or you go home in that wreckage. Your choice, I warned.

Just then the front door burst open.

Girls, Im home! Mum, where are you? I bought a cake! Sams voice rang cheerfully, unaware of the storm hed walked into.

He stepped into the bedroom, a box of cake in his hands, his smile fading as he took in the scene.

Whats happening? Iona, why are you in Lucys dress? he asked, bewildered.

Sam! She wants to kill me! Shes got scissors! I was just trying it on and shes yelling, calling the police! Iona shrieked, stumbling toward him in the cramped dress.

Sam stared at me, then at the torn gown, the exposed skin, the scattered belongings. I stood with my arms crossed, looking at the chaos with utter contempt.

Sam, your sister slipped into my designer dress, ripped it, broke the zipper and ruined my shoes, while your mother rifled through my bag. Im giving them ten minutes to pack up, I said.

Lucy, maybe Sam began, trying to mediate.

Look at the dress, Sam, I interrupted. Come here.

He approached, saw the hole, the wet stains, the broken zipper, the mess on the bed.

Iona why did you do this? I asked you not to. He looked at me, pleading.

What? Its just a dress! Fix it! Youre rich, buy a new one! You think Im the one who should forgive? Iona snapped. Your brother is now more important than his own wife! Mother is waiting for a heart attack and youre fussing over my clothes!

Take it off, Sam said hoarsely.

What?

Take the dress off. Now.

It wont come off! I shouted. The zipper is jammed. Get the scissors.

The rescue operation took five minutes, accompanied by Margarets wailing from the hallway and Ionas strained sobs. I had to cut the silk along the back. Each snip felt like a stab to my heart, but I kept my composure. The ruined dress fell to the floor in a heap of expensive scrap.

Iona was left in her torn underwear and stockings, quickly scrambling for her own clothes and muttering, Eat your own rag, you petty middleclass snob.

Fifteen minutes later the flat was empty. Sam called a taxi for Iona and Margaret, slipped them a few poundsenough for the ride, I saw but said nothingand returned home.

The living room was dead quiet. I sat on the sofa, staring at the torn dress on the coffee table like evidence of a crime.

Sam sat beside me, hesitant to move closer.

Im sorry, he finally said.

For what? I asked without turning.

For not listening to you. For bringing them over. For everything.

You cant control who they are, but you can control where they are. I dont want them in our house again, Sam. Not even for a minute.

I understand.

You dont. This isnt a whim. Its a breach of every boundary. Your sister invaded my personal space. The dress it wasnt about the moneythough it cost as much as a decent carbut about respect. She thinks she can take whatever she wants just because youre my husband, and your mother encourages it. If you ever suggest they visit again, Ill file for divorce. Im serious.

He looked at the dress, then at me, seeing that I wasnt trying to manipulate himjust stating facts.

I promise. No more visits. If I need to see my mother, Ill go to her. They wont set foot in this house again.

And another thing, I added, standing. Were changing the locks tomorrow. Your mother has a spare key you gave her just in case a year ago. I want to be sure that just in case never happens when were not home.

He nodded. Ill arrange for a locksmith in the morning.

I picked up the ruined dress.

What will you do with it? he asked.

Throw it away. Its tainted. I cant wear it even if it could be repaired.

I carried it to the bin, the silk sliding into a plastic bag, taking with it the last hope of normal relations with my husbands relatives. Relief washed over me.

A week later my phone erupted with messages from Ionainsults, accusations about my mothers health, demands for compensation. I blocked each number without a word.

That evening Sam came home, looking thoughtful.

Mum called, he said at dinner.

Im glad, I said, bracing for another plea.

She found the same dress online, only a cheap Chinese copy. She wants me to buy it as an apology for the scissors incident.

I laughed, genuinely for the first time all week.

And what did you say?

I told her I have no sister, only a woman who owes me two thousand pounds for damaged property. Until she pays, we have nothing to discuss.

I looked at Sam with surprise and respect.

You really said that?

Absolutely. Id had enough. I thought maybe it was just a little envy, a bit of drama. But when I saw how they were rummaging through our bedroom, how my mother was digging through my bag I got scared. Scared of the people I let into our home. You were rightsimple rudeness can be worse than theft.

I moved close and embraced him.

Thank you.

Ive changed the locks, by the way. Told the concierge not to let anyone in, even if they claim to be the Pope.

Life settled back into a familiar rhythm. I bought a new dressbetter than the lastand now, whenever I leave the house, I lock the bedroom door, just in case. My husbands relatives remain where they belong: on a blocked list and in the past, no longer wielding power over our present.