Relatives from the Countryside Arrived for a Week-Long Visit—Five of Them in Our One-Bedroom Flat, and I Greeted Them Covered in Green Spots—Like I Had Chickenpox

Relatives from the countryside turned up to stay with usthere were five of themall hoping to squeeze into our one-bedroom flat for a week. I greeted them covered in green spotssupposedly chickenpox.

My Saturday morning didnt begin with a cup of tea, but with my phone ringing insistently. Across the screen flashed the dreaded words: Auntie Dorothy (my relative).

Emily, lovely! Get ready! Aunt Dorothys voice was so upbeat and loud, any alarm clock would envy its effect. Were already on our way, love, and will be at yours first thing tomorrow! Fancy a little surprisethought wed see London and catch up. We are family, after all!

I sat bolt upright, struggling to process what Id heard. The single scariest word in her announcement was definitely we.

Who exactly is we, Aunt Dorothy? I asked carefully, giving my husband a nudge under the duvet, urging him to wake up ASAP.
Who else! Me, Uncle Bill, Claire and her husband, and our grandson. But dont worry, were not fussyjust need somewhere to crash, well be out enjoying the sights all day!

Five people. Plus me and my husband. In our 33-square-metre one-bedroom London flat, where free space means the welcome mat and a narrow gap between the sofa and the telly.

I hung up silently and stared at my husband. In his eyes I saw pure, unfiltered panic, coupled with the wish to leave the country on the spot… or at least pop out for a loaf of bread for an entire week.

Kindness Can Backfire
Memories of their last visit, three years prior, flashed before me. Back then there were only three of them, but the week they spent is seared into my nightmares. Uncle Bill puffed away on the balcony, flicking ash into my plants, waving it off with: Bit of fertiliser, love. Aunt Dorothy insisted on teaching me to make stew in my tiny kitchen, practically breathing down my neck: No, no, let me show you how its really done. Meanwhile, my husband and I slept on a blow-up mattress that deflated by morning, so wed wake up practically on the floor, while our guests claimed the sofa as if by royal decree.

Now there would be five. Claire and her husband were loud as a football crowd, and their son, Jamie, was a seven-year-old whirlwind who saw the word no as a personal challenge.

Weve got to say no, my husband said firmly, staring at the ceiling.
How? I sighed. Theyre already on the train. Am I supposed to tell them to turn round? You know what Aunt Dorothys likeshell start harping on about family bonds, how she changed my nappies, and accuse us of going all big city snobby. Then the whole village will say I slammed the door on my own, and Mum will be too embarrassed to show her face at the church fete.

When Diplomacy Isnt Enough
We sat in the kitchen with our mugs of tea, weighing dreadful options. Booking them a hotel was out: after getting the car fixed, our finances were shot. Letting them stay while we bunk with friends felt like surrender, and besideswhod put us up for a week? Not answering the door? Theyd bang until they summoned a locksmith.

And then an idea struck me. I needed a reason no one could argue with. Something that would send them packing with their own steam.

Chickenpox, I whispered.
Sorry? said my husband, bemused.
Chickenpox. Quarantine. For adults, its dreadfulhigh fevers, nasty complications, scarring.

My husband hesitated:
What if theyve had it?
Aunt Dorothy and Uncle Bill definitely havent; Mum told me. Not sure about Claire, but they wont risk it, not with Jamie in tow.

Green Camouflage
With barely four hours before their train pulled in, we sprang into action. I dug out an old bottle of green antiseptic.

Be generous with it, I directed, holding out my face. Forehead, cheeks, neck, handsthe more alarming, the better.

My husband, trying not to laugh, dotted on thick green spots. I glanced in the mirror and saw something straight out of a childrens picture book. To complete the look, I put on my baggiest dressing gown, wound a scarf around my neck, and wilded my hair.

What about me? asked my husband.
Youre exposed a walking incubator. Even scarier!

We devised our story: Id fallen ill the day before, temperature through the roof, saw the doctorstrict quarantine, and hed warned us about a mutated virus.

Cant We Even Stop By for Tea?
Right on schedule, the doorbell rang. Outside came the shuffle of bags, loud chatter, and Jamies whinging. I pulled my best tragic swan routine, my husband opened the door just a crack, blocking the way.

Bill, why didnt you come meet us? Uncle Bill barged up, already half-in.
Stop! barked my husband. Dont come in. Weve got a problem.

That was my cue: shuffling in slippers, clutching the wall, and breathing heavily.

Hello I croaked. Sorry. Ive got chickenpox, terrible case. The doctor said its highly infectiouseven the ventilation could spread it.

There was a stunned silence on the landing. Five pairs of eyes stared at my green blotches.

Chickenpox?! Claire instinctively stepped back, shielding her son. At thirty?

Weak immune system I moaned. Fever complications

I could almost see Aunt Dorothys mind whirring: the lure of free accommodation versus the dread of illness.

Bill, have you had it?
Dont remember think not Uncle Bill was already edging towards the lift.
Me neither! exclaimed Claire. Mum, lets just go to a hotel!

What about your husband? Aunt Dorothy shot a suspicious look at mine.
Im next, he sighed, resignedly. We share a bedonly a matter of time.

That did the trick. The prospect of cramming into our tiny flat with two infectious patients killed their enthusiasm instantly.

Get well soon, grumbled Uncle Bill, thumbing the lift button. Well keep our treatsmight come in handy at the hotel.

The lift doors swallowed up their suitcases, homemade jams, andmercifullyour entire predicament.

Back to Peace
We shut the door and my husband slumped against the wall, laughing so hard he cried. When I caught sight of my reflection, I joined in.

Turned out they found a hotel straightaway. They had plenty of money, apparentlywhy pay for a room when you can freeload off family, right?

A few days later, Mum rang:
Emily, why didnt you say you were ill? Dorothy said you were covered in green spots and near death!
Already recovering, Mum, I assured her cheerfully. The wonders of modern medicine.

I kept the real story to myself. Better they think I have a weak immune system than a hard heart.

The green dots washed off easily, and my husband and I spent a quiet weekend, ordering takeaway and relishing every square inch of our little but blissfully peaceful flat.

Sometimes, the lesson isnt about saying no, but simply finding a way to protect your own peace without ruining relationships. In the end, valuing your own comfort is not selfishnessits self-care, and that matters too.