“We’ll Stay Here Till Summer!”: How I Evicted My Cheeky In-Laws, Changed the Locks, and Reclaimed My…

6th March

Well, that just about takes the biscuit. Never have I regretted marrying into someones family more than I did this morning, and its only Saturday.

The drama began at an ungodly hour. The intercom wasnt just ringingit was howling for attention, demanding to be noticed. Bleary-eyed, I squinted at the clock: seven in the morning, on my only free Saturday after a hellish week closing out the quarterly figures. Instead of catching a proper lie-in, I found myself dealing with uninvited visitors. There, glaring through the screen, was Gracemy wifes sister. Grace had that look like she was about to storm Buckingham Palace, and lurking behind her were three tousled little heads.

Emily! I shouted from our hallway, not even bothering with the receiver. Your familys here. You sort it.

My wife shuffled out, throwing a dressing gown over her pyjamas, and I could tell by the edge in my voice she knew Id reached my wits end with her lot. As she muttered into the intercom, I folded my arms and dug my heels in. This was my flatmy rules. Id bought this three-bedroom place in West London years before we tied the knot, working overtime shifts and pinching pennies. The very last thing I wanted was any kind of invasion.

But the door swung open, and suddenly my pristine, citrus-scented hallway was swamped with the lot of them. Grace, loaded down with carrier bags, didnt even bother with the usual pleasantries. She simply nudged me aside with her hip like I was a stray chair.

Oh, thank goodness, we made it! she gasped, dumping her bags straight onto the cream Italian tiles. Emily, why are you just standing there? Put the kettle on, will you? The kids are starving.

Grace, I said evenly, while Emily shrunk into herself like shed rather disappear. Whats going on?

What, Emily didnt say? Graces eyes went wide, all innocence. Place is being redone! Full-on renovationpipes changed, floor ripped up, total dust-bowl. Have to stay somewhere, dont we? Itll only be a week. You two have so much space here, anyway. All those rooms barely touched!

I shot a look at Emily, but she couldnt meet my eye. She was looking at the ceiling, already picturing her fate that evening.

Emily?

Its just for a week, honestly, she bleated. They really cant have the kids around building mess.

One week, I said, announcement-style. Exactly seven days. You sort your own food. No running about, no grubby hands on the walls, no one comes near my study, and peace after ten.

Grace rolled her eyes, letting out a dramatic sigh. Blimey, Tom, youre strict. Youd think you were the governor of a prison. Alright, deal. Where do we sleep, then? Not the floor, I hope?

And thats how hell started.

Their week stretched to two, then three. My carefully designed flat, once my oasis, slowly morphed into a madhouse. The hallway was a mountain of muddy shoes. The kitchenutter chaos: greasy splodges on the counters, crumbs and sticky puddles everywhere. Grace made herself at home like she was lady of the manor and I was just extra staff.

Tom, whys the fridge empty? she griped one evening, peering at the shelves. Kids need yoghurts, and Emily and I quite fancy some steak. You do alright for yourselfyou could be a bit more generous to family, you know.

You have a debit card; there are supermarkets, I said, not looking up from my laptop. They do deliveries, too. Twenty-four hours.

Stingy, she muttered, slamming the fridge so hard the jars rattled. Cant take it with you to the grave, remember that.

But that wasnt the final straw. No, that came the day I dashed home early and found my nephew bouncing on our memory foam mattress (which had cost a small fortune), while little Maisie was drawing all over the wall withof all thingsmy limited-edition Tom Ford lipstick.

Out! I barked, scaring them half to death.

Grace raced in at the commotion. She just flapped her arms at the ruined wallpaper and snapped lipstick: No need to yell! Theyre just kids. Its barely a mark, you can boss it off. And its only lipstick, Tomhardly the crown jewels. Buy another one, you wont be out of pocket. Listenweve been thinking. The builders are total cowboys, looks like well be here until summer. Its better for everyone, much more festive with us around!

Emily just stood, silent. Useless.

I said nothing. Instead, I went into the bathroom to stop myself committing an actual crime. Needed a moment to breathe.

That night, while Grace was in the shower, shed left her phone on the kitchen counter. A notification lit up the screen. Nowspying isnt usually my thing, but the preview was clear: a message from Karen Lettings, reading:

Grace, transferred the rent for next month. The tenants love it here and want to stay till August, is that OK?
Then another: Deposit received: £850.

That did it. Suddenly, everything made sense. There was no renovation. Grace had smartly rented out her place for a tidy profit and decided to live off mehousing, bills, the lot. All while pocketing the extra cash.

I took a quick photo of her phone screen. Calm, no shaking.

Emily, I called, summoning my wife to the kitchen.

She came in, and I silently showed her the photo. She scanned it, first blushing, then going pale.

Maybe its a misunderstanding? she whispered.

No, a misunderstanding is you not turfing them out yet, I replied evenly. Pick. By lunchtime tomorrow, theyre goneor you can all leave together. Your mum, your sister, everyone.

Butwhere will they go?

Not my problem. The Ritz, for all I careif they can afford it.

In the morning, Grace breezed in, declaring she was off to get a lovely pair of bootsundoubtedly spending the rent money. She left the kids with Emily, who took emergency leave.

After the door slammed, I wasted no time.

Emily, take the kids and take them to the park. For a good, long time.

Why?

Because this flats about to get a deep cleanfrom parasites.

Once theyd gone, I rang the locksmith and then called the local bobby.

No more Mr. Nice Guy. I was done hosting.

Maybe its a misunderstanding? Emilys words bounced around my head as the locksmith efficiently took out the old barrel.

No mistake. Cold, hard economics, I muttered.

The locksmith, built like a rugby player, finished up quickly.

Decent front door, he nodded approvingly. And this new lock? Well, youd need the SAS to break in now.

Thats exactly what I want. Security.

I transferred him his feeenough for dinner for two at a nice gastropub, but frankly, it was a small price for peace of mind.

Nextsorting the junk. Sentimentality was not on my agenda. I grabbed the massive black bin bagsthe sort that could hold half the contents of Argosand swept up everything belonging to Grace and the kids. It all went in with zero ceremony. All the cosmetics littering my bathroom? Scooped into a bag with one motion.

By the time forty minutes had gone, the landing outside my door boasted five overstuffed black bin bags and a pair of battered suitcases, looking rather pathetic.

As the lift pinged and the young copper appeared, I was ready, paperwork in hand.

Morning, constable, I said, showing my leasehold and ID. I own this flat. No one else lives here. In a moment, some people will try to get in illegally. Please record it.

He flicked through my details lazily.

Relations? he asked.

Ex-relations, more like, I grinned. Its got messy over property.

Grace showed up an hour later, arms full of shopping from Selfridges and beaming like shed just won the lottery. That smile vanished when she set eyes on my little mountain of bagsand me, standing the bobby.

What is this? She shrieked, pointing at the bin bags. Tom, are you insane? Thats all my stuff!

Of course it is, I said, folding my arms. Take it and be off with you. Hotels closed, Grace.

She made a move for the door, but the copper was there in a flash.

Hold up, love. Are you registered here?

ImEmilys sister! Were just staying a few days! she sputtered, red-blotched with fury. Wheres Emily? Ill call her and shell sort this right now!

Go ahead, I said. Though she wont answer. Shes out telling your kids just how resourceful their mother is.

Grace dialled, let it ring, hung up. Emily, finally, seemed to have found her backbone, or perhaps just realised I meant business.

You cant do this! Grace shrieked, chucking her new shoes on the floor in rage. We have nowhere to go! The flats being renovated!

Drop the act, I said coldly, stepping closer. Say hi to Karen for meask if shell extend the let to August. Or will you have to throw your lodgers out so you can move back in?

She stared at me, mouth agape, like a balloon deflating.

How did you?

You ought to lock your phone, business mogul. A whole month youve eaten my food, destroyed my home, all so you could save up for some car? Nice work. But listen closely.

I lowered my voice; every word landed with a thud in the silent hallway.

Take your bags and disappear. If I see you, or your offspring, anywhere near here againIll report you for tax fraud. Letting property under the table, no HMRC returnstheyll be fascinated. And Ill file a theft report. Im missing a gold ring. You know where theyll look? Right in these bags when the police check them.

She paled, turning her make-up into a carnival mask.

You, Tom, are a bastard, she spat. God will judge you.

Gods not available, I said shortly. But I am. And now, so is my flat.

She snatched at the bin bags, swearing under her breath and jabbing at her phone for a taxi. The copper watched, barely concealing a yawn, good-humouredly relieved he wouldnt have to write a report.

Once the lift closed behind her, taking her luggage and broken plans, I thanked the constable.

Pleasure, he nodded. But get good locks next time, will you?

Back inside, I shut the new lock with a satisfying snap. The flat was filled with the fresh scent of cleaning spraymy cleaner had finished in the kitchen and was working on the bedroom.

Emily returned two hours later, alone. Shed handed the kids back to Grace at the taxi and walked home slowly, peering over her shoulder like she expected the roof to fall in.

Shes gone, she said.

I know.

She said some choice things about you out there.

I really couldnt care less what rats say when theyre tossed off the ship.

I sipped my freshly brewed coffee from my favourite, now undamaged, mug. The wall was clean, the fridge stocked with only my own groceries.

You didnt know about the letting? I asked, eyes still averted.

No! I swear, Tom! If I had

If you had, youd still have said nothing, I said sharply. Listen up, Emily. That was your familys last pass. One more stunt like this, and your bags will join theirs in the hallway. Do you understand?

She nodded, fast and nervous, and for once she seemed to believe me.

I took another sip of my coffee.

It was perfect.

Hot, strong, and, best of all, enjoyed in the total, blissful silence of my own home.

Lesson learned: my peace costs more than keeping up appearances. And from now on, the only people with a key to my castle will be the ones I trustnot a circus. My crown fits just fine, thanks.