Oh, you won’t believe what happened with Emma and this bloke, James. Absolute madness.
So there they were, having breakfast—Emma pouring a proper cuppa, James slathering honey on his toast like nothing’s wrong. Then he drops it:
“Em, listen. This year, we’re doing Christmas proper. Full-on, big celebration.”
Emma smiled, stirring her tea. “Actually, I wanted to talk about that too. First Christmas together and all…”
“Brilliant!” James lit up. “Right, so Mum and Dad are coming, my sister and her bloke, plus the kids. Gotta have family around, yeah?”
Emma froze, mug halfway to her lips. The air went thick. “Wait… ‘coming’? We said it’d just be us.”
“Come off it,” James waved her off. “Who spends Christmas alone? They’ve already got their train tickets sorted.”
“You invited *six people* to *my* flat without asking?” Her voice was calm, but icy.
“Well, we *live* together now. What’s the big deal?”
“James, you’ve been here *two weeks*. Temporarily. Because your place was supposedly being renovated. We never even talked about moving in. And now you’re turning my place into a bloody B&B for your relatives?”
He huffed, rolling his eyes. “Oh, don’t start with the ‘boundaries’ rubbish. Normal people don’t act like this. Family’s family.”
“Exactly. So you *ask*. You didn’t even bother. Where d’you reckon we’ll fit six people in a two-bed flat?”
“Well… parents in the lounge, sis and her husband in your room. We’ll take the air mattress. Already ordered one.”
“You *what*?” Emma’s eyes nearly popped. “Without even checking with me?”
“Would’ve said yes anyway.”
She stood up, blood boiling. Flashes of the past two years—saving every penny for this flat, painting walls till midnight, picking each bit of furniture with care. And now this bloke she’d known *three months* was turning it into a holiday let.
“You know what, James? You think I’m being petty. I’m just tired of being walked over. This is *my* home. And I won’t let you turn it into a free-for-all.”
“So I’m just a temporary guest, am I? Spit it out, then!”
“You *know* we never agreed to live together. You *asked* to stay ‘while your flat was being done’. Except there’s no renovation, is there? You’ve *let* your place out—scamming free rent off me!”
He spun around. “Where’d you get that idea?”
“Saw your listing online. Your address. Your photos.”
Silence. Then, weakly: “So? Wanted to be closer to you. That’s normal.”
“No, James. *Lying* isn’t normal. You conned your way in, don’t lift a finger, invite a bloody caravan of guests, and drop it on me like it’s nothing. *That’s* your idea of ‘normal’?”
He flushed. “You’re just… frigid. Always calculating—”
“And you’re not a man. You won’t even pay your way. Didn’t even book your family’s train tickets, did you? Saw your sister’s text.”
He stepped back. “You’re *reading* my messages?”
“Hard not to when they pop up on *your phone* right in front of me. You don’t hide anything—just keep lying.”
Then—doorbell.
“That’s the air mattress,” he muttered.
“Don’t answer it,” Emma said flatly. “I’m refusing the delivery. And James? Pack your bags.”
“*What*?”
“You heard. Get your stuff. A relationship where one person decides for both? Not my style.”
“You’ve lost the plot!” he shouted. “Over *nothing*, you’re kicking me out?”
“It’s not ‘nothing’. It’s *you*. You leech off people and think the world owes you.”
She yanked his suitcase from the cupboard, started stuffing his clothes in. “Leave the keys in the postbox. Taxi’s on its way.”
“I’m not going!”
“You are. You’ve got no choice. You’re not welcome here.”
He grabbed for the suitcase—Emma locked eyes, jaw tight. “Piss off, James. Before I call the police.”
Doorbell again. The courier. Emma opened it.
“Delivery for James?”
“Cancel it. Send it back.”
“No refunds—”
“*His* problem.”
Door slammed. James was against the wall, pale.
“You’re really ending it? Over *Christmas*?”
“No. Ending what was *never real*. Opening my eyes. Cheers for the lesson.”
He left, door banging behind him. Half an hour later, Emma checked the postbox. Keys at the bottom.
And for the first time in ages—she breathed easy.
