Unwanted Guests: A Family Plot
Emily sighed wearily, wiping her hands on her apron.
“Margaret, these guests are driving me mad,” complained her mother-in-law, sitting at the kitchen table in their cottage in the village of Willowbrook. “How do we get rid of them? They seem to love it here! And their grandkids—absolute nightmares! Why aren’t you saying anything, Em?”
“I’m thinking,” replied Emily, gazing thoughtfully out the window. “Are you sure you want them gone?”
“Absolutely,” Margaret nodded firmly. “A whole week of this! My husband’s fine—he drinks their homemade cider and passes out. But they wander all night—balcony, kitchen, back and forth…”
“I’ll handle it,” Emily said firmly. “Don’t react to anything. Let me do the talking.”
Soon, the relatives arrived.
“Linda, what on earth is this?!” gasped Margaret’s sister, frozen at the doorstep.
Emily stood baffled when her husband broke the news.
“Em, Mum’s guests are coming. We need to host them properly.”
“Your parents’ guests?” She frowned. “And we’re hosting?”
“Well, yes,” James nodded. “Mum asked for help. They arrive tomorrow.”
“In our rented flat? One bedroom?” Emily could feel irritation bubbling inside.
“They’re family! Mum needs help with cooking. She really insisted.”
“You should’ve just said so instead of beating around the bush,” Emily sighed. “Fine, I’ll help cook. What else?”
“We need to clean, scrub everything, change the curtains. The usual.”
“Your mum’s place is always spotless,” Emily objected.
“Not enough for guests, apparently.”
“And we clean up after them? Remember last time? Your uncle George nearly ruined the curtains with his grubby hands! And the balcony looked like a rubbish heap. Mark my words—those guests aren’t crossing our threshold!”
“But we’ll have a house soon!” James reminded her.
“Not up for debate. Housewarming’s in summer, outside only. I’ll manage everything. No muddy hands allowed.”
“You’re going overboard with this cleanliness thing,” James muttered.
“Like your mother. She nearly fainted hosting last time. She’s not young anymore. Rest, we’ll sort it.”
Margaret sat at the kitchen table, watching Emily hopefully.
“Em, these guests are a nightmare. How do we send them packing? George keeps hinting about moving closer and visiting all the time. And those grandkids! Compared to our Oliver—night and day. Cat got your tongue?”
“I’m thinking,” Emily replied. “You’re sure you want them gone?”
“Wish they’d vanish,” Margaret sighed. “A week of this! My husband’s happy—knocks back their cider and snores, but they roam all night—balcony, kitchen, loo. Last time, they knocked a flowerpot off the balcony. Lucky it was night, just scared the cats. Shame about the flowers, though—new pot, too.”
“What are we cooking?” Emily asked.
“Maybe we’re hosting wrong,” Margaret wondered.
“How did they host you when you visited?”
“Well, it’s hard to say… Fine, I suppose…”
“Out with it!” Emily pressed.
“They’re different at home. There, George’s wife Sarah bosses him around. Barely sit for dinner—Sarah ‘finds’ work: digging, fixing things.”
“What’s the food like?”
“Basic. Thin soup, potatoes, pickled cabbage, cucumbers—all homegrown. Not even a roast! We brought meat once, but no time to cook it. Sarah said the table was full enough.”
“Full? No argument there,” Emily nodded. “Three types of cucumbers: fresh, pickled, salad. Veg, herbs, potatoes. Not a sausage in sight, let alone meat. Courgette fritters!”
“Maybe they’re vegetarian?” Margaret blinked.
“At home, sure. Here, they wolf down meat like there’s no tomorrow,” Emily smirked. “Got it. We’ll feed them their own menu. Less cost, less cooking. No meat. And do we scrub before they arrive?”
“Place is clean,” Margaret said. “I’ll clean after. But no meat?”
“James and your husband will manage. They’ll get a proper meal once the guests leave. Besides, it’s Lent.”
“We’ve never kept Lent,” Margaret said.
“We do now. If they complain, blame me. Their daughter-in-law’s bad? I’ll be worse.”
“But—”
“Needs must. Just play along. No reactions—I’ll handle it. We’ll stay with you a week. Oliver too. Guests don’t deserve two rooms. One’s enough, balcony included.”
“But there’s only a sofa, and there’s two couples and kids!” Margaret floundered.
“Needs must. James will bring an air mattress. They’ll fit.”
The guests arrived. George scowled at the table.
“Where’s the meat?” he demanded. “Bit sparse, isn’t it? Not even sausage in the salad.”
“That’s not salad,” Emily said smoothly. “Couldn’t afford good meat—prices are ridiculous. Thought about bones for stock, but they weren’t fresh. Market’s full of them, no one buys during Lent, yet prices soar!”
“Em, don’t fret,” Margaret cut in. “Why cook with subpar ingredients?”
“Exactly!” Emily agreed. “Better a veggie soup. Herbed potatoes, courgette fritters. Almost like meat—try them! Light, steamed, no extra pounds. Where else’d you get this? You’ve got meat at home. Here, it’s beetroot salad, carrot slaw—all seasonal.”
“What’s for tomorrow?” George grumbled.
“Cold soup in the fridge,” Emily said. “We’re all at work. Want something else? Cook it yourselves. Or wait for us—we’ve gone without meat ages now.”
“Should we serve you salmon next? Fancy some oysters?” George sneered.
“Oysters? Bit much. But fish is a splendid idea,” Emily smiled. “Tomorrow, then—no cooking.”
“Linda, what sort of hosting is this?” Margaret’s sister snapped. “Who’s in charge here?”
“James and Em are staying with us a while,” Margaret sighed. “We adapt.”
“How long must you endure this?” Sarah asked.
“Till the house is built,” Emily cut in. “Want to help? Think it over. Just one workday, then the weekend. Plenty to do. Now, bedtime—early starts. We’ll clear up, men handle beds and kids. You’re guests—this room’s yours. James will inflate the mattress.”
“Everyone sleeps here?” Sarah frowned. “You’re not leaving?”
“No, we live here now. Cramped, but what can you do? And don’t wander at night. I sleepwalk, by the way. If you see me—don’t panic, don’t wake me. Doesn’t always happen, but fair warning.”
“Lovely night ahead…” George muttered.
The guests slept poorly. By morning, they were packing.
“Too cramped,” Sarah declared. “We’re not used to sharing rooms—let alone with kids. Thanks for the… *delicious* dinner. We’re off. Our daughter-in-law’s no peach, but your Emily, Linda—good grief! How do you live with her? Even last night’s stroll was dreadful—that food had our stomachs growling.”
“What’s wrong with our food?” Emily feigned outrage. “It was lovely! Take what’s given. This is our usual now. Everyone’s adjusted—you will too. Sleep well?”
“Perfectly, thanks,” Sarah mumbled.
“Brilliant. Come again soon!” Emily beamed.
A month later, James asked,
“Em, the guests haven’t visited in ages. Should we invite them for the housewarming?”
“No,” she said. “I won’t eat beetroot salad and courgette fritters again. Let them think the house isn’t done.”
Mother-in-law asked for help with guests—they helped. Now, the guests don’t come at all…
