Were you planning to say something? – she asked, standing in my kitchen

It happened a year and a half ago, during a frosty winter, when my son was just five months old. My husbands brother rang one day to ask whether he and his girlfriend might stay with us for a week. How could I possibly refuse? I cant say I was particularly delighted by the prospect, given that our baby was still so little I barely slept, scarcely ate, and had no time to myself and, as is often the way with family, there was no way to say no. But, I thought, perhaps theyd lend a hand, let me have a little rest, and at least Id have someone to share a cup of tea and a bit of conversation with.

They arrived within days, empty-handed not so much as a rattle for the baby. Ive always held firm to the view that you never go to a house with a child in it without bringing a gift, at the very least. Thats how I was brought up. But perhaps, I thought, this situation deserved an exception.

They said they had business to attend to, though they were rather vague about the details.

I played the dutiful hostess: cooking, keeping the flat tidy, and gradually getting to know them better. Outwardly, all seemed fine. But, throughout the days they stayed with us, not once did she offer to help with the cooking, wash up, or watch my little one while I did the chores.

Most mornings she slipped out early, running errands she said. Her boyfriend lazed about, not rising until nearly midday. My husband, of course, went off to work, leaving me chasing about the place with my baby in my arms. When she did return, shed make herself comfortable on the sofa, settling in to while away the hours with the television, utterly relaxed.

Meanwhile, I was forever tidying, mop in hand, for outside it was wet and muddy and shoes tracked dirt everywhere. There was always food to be made, endless washing up, and the baby to feed and bathe.

By the third day, Id had quite enough. I told my husband how unhappy I was, but he simply shrugged it wasnt a mans place, he said, to step into an argument between women. The next day, when my husband came home from work, our house guests headed off blissfully to the cinema.

He and I set about dinner together, working quickly, and by the time wed finished eating, they returned. This time, theyd actually brought something an armful of beer and all sorts of nibbles, but, as youd expect, not a single thing suitable for a breastfeeding mother. Not even a sweet treat.

The happy couple dined, then disappeared to watch a film together, ringing my husband to invite him along. I felt hurt, and so I quietly pulled his girlfriend aside and said,

Im sorry to say this, but couldnt you offer to help me out, just once? Ive a tiny child; Im run ragged. You could peel some potatoes for the soup or at least ask if I need a hand.
Are you trying to punish me? I dont see why I should Im tired, too. (From what, precisely? Lying on the sofa?)
Look, youre living in my flat. Im not your guest. You are mine.
Ive no interest in hearing this!
Do you know what, my dear? Pack your bags and kindly leave!

And so, they packed up their few things and left. I wept with resentment for quite some time after that.

Looking back now, I often wonder was their behaviour truly right?