Emily, has James already told you? my motherinlaw asked as she slipped the phone into the receiver. Listen, therell be up to twenty guests, so well start cooking in the evening. Ill be there about six oclock tomorrow night.
What? In the evening? Emily replied, raising an eyebrow. I never signed up for that.
Hold on, Im not finished yet, my mother persisted. James has already sent Margaret the shopping list; he promised to buy everything.
James had always looked after his older sister Margaret. By the time she turned thirty shed married twice and divorced twice, each marriage ending because the man just wasnt right. Their mother, Martha Wilson, had been telling her son since he was a lad:
Your sister needs a hand.
And James did what he could he lent her money when Margaret was temporarily out of work, patched up the flat she rented, and hauled her belongings from one address to another after every split.
Then James married.
Emily put up with it at first. But when Margaret, for the fifth time this year, asked to borrow our car for a few days because hers had broken down again, Emily said gently but firmly:
James, isnt that enough? We need the car this weekend ourselves. I thought we had plans
I cant walk there, I tried to argue. Its a mile to my parents cottage in the Cotswolds, and theyve left us two buckets of cucumbers to bring back. I thought youd heard me mention it.
Emily softened a little. I get that Margarets got an emergency.
Thats what she always says, I muttered. Im not sure what this one is, but she always seems to need more.
No, James. This time it wont fly. Either you say no to your sister, or you get me a car. Im tired of taking the bus while you could be giving me a lift.
For the first time I actually considered refusing Margaret, but before I could say anything my mother burst in:
Are you going to turn your back on your sister? Shes alone! Who else will look after her?
So I helped again, despite the growing tension with Emily. A few days passed without a word between us, and I finally snapped:
Whats with the silence? Did I offend you?
Offended? Emily snapped. It took you three days to work that out? She crossed her arms. Im not the one who got dragged to the Cotswolds for a whole weekend because Margaret needed to get to a friends cottage. I thought youd just give her a lift, and you end up staying there for two days. Does that bother you at all?
Only a few drinks, I admitted. Her ex was there, we chattered a bit, and I thought we should mark the occasion. I didnt think I was being foolish.
You could have at least called, she shot back.
And you could have called too, I retorted.
I tried! Your phone was off. Imagine what I was supposed to think I was on edge, not knowing where you were. And you just decided to take a break from me, Emily fumed.
I shrugged it off and gestured that the phone was ringing. I stepped out onto the balcony, where I finally answered. On the other end was Margaret, bubbling with excitement.
Hey, big brother! she chirped. My jubilee is in two weeks thirty years! You know what I mean, right?
I glanced at Emily, who was ladling soup. What do you want? I asked.
You get me, dont you? Margaret laughed. I want to celebrate at your place. Your living room is huge. My rented flat is cramped and the landlord would have a fit. The restaurant would be too pricey.
Maybe we could do it at a café? I could chip in whatever you need, I suggested.
Youre joking, arent you? Margaret snapped. Its my jubilee! Do you expect me to foot the bill for a venue when you have a flat of your own? Im not a millionaires daughter.
Ill talk to Emily first. Its her flat too. Maybe she has other plans, I said.
Too late! she interrupted. Ive already told everyone the partys at your place. Clear the flat for the whole day, ok? Mum will sort the cooking.
She hung up, and a text buzzed in from my mother:
Margaret said to draw up a menu. Heres the list of dishes. We still need to buy the ingredients. Tell Emily to help out, and she can lend a hand in the kitchen too.
Emily, oblivious to Margarets jubilee, was settled in her armchair, remote in hand, ready to watch her favourite drama. When I walked in, lowered my eyes, she instantly pieced it together.
So, whats the plan this time? she asked calmly, pausing her show.
Emily, listen Margarets got a jubilee thirty years. She wants to mark the date, I explained.
Emily lifted her head. Well, let her celebrate. Are we supposed to forbid her?
Its not that, I tried. She wants to celebrate at our place.
What? In our flat? Emily leapt up. Hold on. Only one evening? She says the restaurant is too dear, and her place is cramped
So youre on board? I asked.
I said Id talk to you first, but Margarets already invited everyone and Mums already planning the menu, she said, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath.
James, are you a grownup or just a mouthpiece for Margarets wishes? she asked, her tone dripping with irony as she held up my phone. No one even called me. This is my flat, not a transit hub for your relatives. She wants to throw a party in my home, Im supposed to help, and my mothers supposed to assist without even asking me?
Just then the phone rang again.
Oh, look at that, Emily murmured, waving the device. Your mother.
Emily, has James already told you? my mothers voice crackled again. Look, therell be up to twenty people. Well start cooking in the evening, Ill be there around six tomorrow.
What? In the evening? Emily repeated, skeptical. I never signed up for that.
Hold on, Im not finished, mother said. James already has a list of groceries; he promised to buy everything.
Fine, Emily said, but wheres the money coming from?
James promised to help, Mother replied briskly.
So you want to turn our flat into a restaurant and we foot the bill? Emily snapped.
Margaret isnt a stranger! Its only one day cut some veg, make some sandwiches youre the lady of the house! Mother urged.
Mrs. Wilson, Emily interjected, I just found out about this party. I never gave my permission for Margarets birthday to be held in my flat.
Youre both married, you share everything, the mother retorted sharply. If it were Jamess flat youd be more agreeable. Then Id just be a dependent.
Dont talk nonsense. Thats it, conversation over. We need to buy everything by Friday, she said, hanging up.
What was that? I asked Emily after the beeping stopped.
Enough playing the victim! I finally said. Youve been told youre wrong. Own up and stop digging your heels in.
Emily was stunned. She rose, opened the wardrobe, and silently stuffed a huge sports bag with my shirts and jeans. She then went to the bedroom, opened the chest of drawers and began packing my clothes in a monotone rhythm.
Meanwhile, I felt like a victor. I flung open the fridge, grabbed a bottle of lager, slammed the door, and plonked myself in front of the telly as if nothing had happened.
I thought Emily would simply cool off and everything would go back to normal. She might grumble a bit, then settle. I even turned the football on, expecting her to pop in and call me to dinner. I was wrong.
Half an hour later Emily stood in the hallway, a shopping bag in one hand, the overstuffed sports bag in the other. I stepped out of the living room to fetch another drink and saw her.
Whats this now? I muttered. What kind of theatre are you putting on?
Emily stared at me coldly.
This isnt a play, James. Its the end. Im done being a shadow in my own life, a servant in my own flat, a backdrop for your mothers and sisters whims. If you want to be a good son and brother, go back to Mum and help her plan the party. Im sure shell gladly give you a corner in her sitting room.
Youre serious? I took a step toward her. Im not going back.
Absolutely serious, Emily said, her voice firm. I dont want you back. Ive tolerated enough that I now even question myself. But enough is enough. If you cant learn to respect me in three years, the future wont get any brighter.
Emily you cant just tear everything down in one go! I pleaded.
Its impossible to destroy whats already fallen apart, she replied.
I smirked, still not grasping that shed made up her mind.
And thats that, Emily added, pointing at the pile of my shirts and jeans. You can thank me later. Get out now.
I opened my mouth, but Emily turned the front door. I stood there, cheeks flushed, jaw clenched. Id hoped shed give in, but her calm only fed my rage.
Fine then! I shouted. Think youll find someone better? Good luck finding another me!
Emily huffed and stepped back.
Someone like you is a rarity thank heavens.
Youll regret this! I yelled, grabbing the sports bag. Youll be on your knees when you realise no one wants to talk to you! Without me youre nothing!
If nothing means a person who lives in their own flat, works, doesnt cater to an ageing inlaw and wont tolerate rudeness, then Im happy being nothing, she said.
I left, and Emily stayed alone. She took a deep breath, walked to the window, pulled back the curtains and watched me shove the bag into the boot of a taxi with my foot.
Months later the divorce was a mess. I tried to paint Emily as greedy and materialistic. The main fight was over the car wed bought during the marriage. I claimed Id paid for it outright, while Emily simply used it.
Your Honour, I paid every penny for the car. Its registered in my name! I declared in court. My wife didnt give me a cent!
Emily opened a folder, spread bank statements, transfer receipts, and a signed deposit agreement across the table. Im not contesting his share, but I wont hand over mine either, she said calmly.
The judge ruled in her favour.
I didnt like that. That car was mine now, and Id have to sell it and split the proceeds. I left the courtroom with a face twisted by fury.
At home, my mothers voice rang out, You absolute muppet! You gave her everything the car, the flat! At least get a decent solicitor!
On top of that Id taken out a loan to foot Margarets jubilee dinner at a restaurant, because Id got her a place. Now I was living in a tiny spare room in my motherinlaws house.
Emily, for the first time in ages, slept soundly. She decided she was still young enough not to waste her time on men like me. Good men were out there; the trick was just to know who they were.
