The Estranged Relative Who Came Knocking

How do you picture that, Mum? Ilya snapped, looking annoyed. Im supposed to live two weeks with a complete stranger?

Stranger? Hes George, son of my cousin Ada, our family! Mom retorted. Remember you used to play with him when we were kids? We were staying at their place back then.

Mum, Im almost thirty! Im not a child anymore Iva tried to get through to her mother. Are you trying to set me up again?

Dont be silly, hes family. So just have a guest over, nothing will happen to you Mom said firmly and hung up.

Mum always prized blood ties; family was sacred. So shed just now thrust the idea of George, now in his forties, moving to the capital the city of opportunities.

Take him in as family, she said. You wouldnt turn him away, would you, now that were in London?

Iva, a wellread English teacher who lectured in literature to sixthformers, remembered that the adverb familywise was a favourite of the notorious broadcaster Reginald Havers, famed for his lessthancharitable antics.

She offered Mum to look after her secondcousin because she was such a nice sort. After all, who wants a stranger crashing on their sofa?

But Mum and Dad lived in a cramped postwar council flat with a laughably tiny kitchen even a folding chair wouldnt fit. Are you really going to lug George in here, Iva? Mum asked. What are you, a circus performer?

Ivas mood soured. Shed been on her own for ages; a shortterm marriage wasnt on her agenda.

Her previous fling during university had lasted six months, then fizzled out. No children. She didnt want any more drama from a first husband who turned out to be a complete fool.

She was approaching thirty, still single, but that didnt bother her. The only thing she owned was a solid Edwardian twobed flat inherited from her grandmother. Sure, the furnishings were a bit dated, but everything worked: the washing machine spun, the fridge kept cold, the telly showed pictures what more did she need?

She earned a decent salary, respected at school, and had a tight circle of friends. Her loneliness at home was eased by her cat Mog, named after the scrappy terrier from that classic childrens story.

She set up a guest room and, with a hint of trepidation, waited for Georges arrival. Hell grow on you, Mum had said.

When George finally turned the key, he did a proper walkthrough, checking every shared space.

What are you looking for, gold and diamonds? Iva asked, halfjoking. Did you expect me to have a golden loo waiting for you?

I just want to know where Ill be living, he replied.

And if you dont like it, you wont stay? Iva pressed, genuinely curious.

Ill stay, but

What? But what?

Nothing, really. He shrugged.

They sat down for tea and got to know each other. George brought a homemade cake that Ada had passed down, plus a small, tasty trolley cake hed bought. He turned out not to be a leech at all.

In practice he was a top bloke: he cleaned up after himself without being asked, helped with the dishes, was decent at cooking, and never left puddles in the bathroom. In short, he was toilettrained.

Thanks to Aunt Ada and Georges exwife whoever that was he was actually divorced himself.

Seriously? laughed Lara, Ivas best mate, when Iva told her about the new housemate. Hes a readymade husband, youve got to grab him!

Lara knew what she meant; shed split from her own Lev because of a similar situation.

But were family! And I dont like him! Iva protested.

What kind of family are we talking about? Seventh jam on toast? How can you not like him? Is he a…? Lara trailed off.

Hes decent looking, just not my type, Iva admitted.

He just didnt click. Their rhythms were off: she was a night owl, he a early bird. She favoured a slow, measured life, quoting the old saying, Hurry slowly. He was all about constant motion, a fiery motor instead of a heart. It fit him perfectly.

On day one he whisked Iva off to a theatre, tickets booked online in advance. She wasnt keen on theatres, but she didnt want to send him packing on his first day, so she went.

There are people like that, and theyre not as rare as you think many just dont admit it.

Iva loved classic plays shed watched on YouTube, but modern reinterpretations never grabbed her. She hated the lack of curtains, the contemporary costumes, the mangled delivery of the lines. Its not even set in our time! she muttered, while the director kept insisting it was fresh.

George, meanwhile, loved it. On the way home he tried to argue that Iva was wrong, passionately defending his view.

He didnt win; he only managed to irritate her. Shed never had someone try to force their opinion on her before.

Dont you get it? Its progressive, its new! he blurted.

And why do I need new? The old works fine for me, Iva replied calmly.

Its about moving forward, he said, launching into a monologue about progress and, of course, London the city of opportunities and his grand plans for the future.

Meanwhile, Mog the cat bolted under the bed, his usual retreat whenever something or someone displeased him. Clearly George wasnt winning him over either.

The thirtysomething guest started involving himself more than just with the chores. On the second day he bought a new doormat and tossed the old one that had been lying on the stairwell. Iva accepted the change without a word.

He also fetched a new saucepan because the old one was sticking to the bottom when she made porridge. She didnt comment; she just sipped her morning coffee with toast, noticing hed bought the pot for himself he liked a proper breakfast, not the halfhearted bits she usually made.

He even offered to pay the utility bills. Ill cover the water and electricity, he said. Im an ideal gentleman, not a lazy bloke.

Iva refused. She felt it was an intrusion on her space. Why would you start paying for my flat? Are you trying to claim a piece of it? she retorted.

He balked at the idea of footing the bill for her home, muttering something about not being a guest who pays rent.

He wasnt idle, though. He sent out dozens of CVs and attended a slew of interviews, convinced something promising was just around the corner.

Towards the end of his twoweek stay, he started sneezing, his nose ran, and his face broke out in a rash. It coincided with the final day of his visit.

But no one left. In fact, George grew bolder, even shouting at Iva about why she was wearing boots in the kitchen, Cant you just be comfortable? and complaining about the laundry powder shed bought, Youll never wash that out of the clothes!

Iva felt like a complete fool. It seemed the cat ruled the house, not her, and George was just another temporary lodger.

Mog continued to ignore George, only emerging from beneath the bed when George wasnt looking.

On the eighteenth day, George got a call: hed landed a job! Finally, someone took me on! he exclaimed. The news brightened his mood, but he kept quiet about moving out.

Iva, fed up, decided to confront the overripe relative. Are you bored of being the host, dear? she asked, setting a chat for the next day.

George had a medical checkup scheduled for the following morning, a prerequisite for his new job.

When Iva returned from work the next day, the dining table was all set for a feast.

Is this a farewell dinner? Bless you, dear God! she thought, relieved that the uncomfortable talk might be over. Her spirits lifted.

George, ever cheerful, poured wine and began to speak.

Then, out of the blue, he announced his intentions: Id like to propose to you. Not a business deal, but a marriage proposal, despite the fact they were technically relatives.

I think we could make a decent pair, he said, smiling. Im not repulsive to you, youre attractive to me. At our age, marriage should be a conscious choice. We already have a flat and good jobs. Love just complicates things; respect is what matters, and we respect each other.

Iva stared, mouth open, while Mog finally crawled out from under the bed. Either he was bored of hiding, or hed decided George was acceptable after all.

Is that your cat? George asked, surprised.

Yes, Iva replied, equally surprised. First time youve seen him?

First time! Blimey, Im allergic to cat hair! The doctor just told me today, he confessed. And you didnt notice the litter box?

Yes, I notice everything around me, Iva replied.

What do you mean, annihilate the cause? Iva asked, puzzled.

The doctor said I need to deal with the cause, not just the symptoms. I cant live with a cat in the same flat, George said.

Whos forcing you? Iva shot back. Dont live here if you cant.

So, what, dont live? Get married? George sputtered.

Which wedding, George? Did your allergy sneak into your brain? Iva shot back.

Its ours, he insisted. The cat will be in the way!

You want me to put him out of his misery! Iva snapped.

Thats an option. I could even pay for it, he offered.

Id rather put you out of your misery! Iva retorted after a pause, eyes flashing. You, not the cat. And stop staring at me like that get lost! Im talking to you, not Mog.

George finished his wine, got up, and with a final snort said, Never thought youd be so primitive.

And you, goodbye! Iva said, relieved.

When he left, the saucepan vanished from the kitchen. The new doormat stayed, apparently too heavy for him to carry away.

Mom called, shocked. How could you kick him out? He already complained!

He wanted me to marry him! If youre so nice, go and marry him yourself! He disgusts me, Iva said before hanging up.

No one called back. The matter was settled.

And that was fair; who knows if the next family member will develop an allergy to her? There are stories of husbands allergic to their wives dandruff, and it never ends well.

So, mum, next time you think of housing the kin, remember: whoever invites them in ends up driving. Iva and Mog are managing just fine on their own.