**Diary 12May**
Today the day began with a familiar knock of tension. My motherinlaw, Margaret, breezed into the kitchen just as I was stirring the soup.
Emily, has Tom told you yet? she asked, eyes bright with whatever plan shed already hatched. Listen well have up to twenty guests, so we should start preparing this evening. Ill be there early, around six.
What? In the evening? I replied, a hint of disbelief in my voice. I never agreed to that.
Hold on, I havent finished, Margaret continued. Ive already sent Tom a shopping list; he promised to get everything.
Tom has always been the one to look after his older sister, Susan. By the time she reached thirty shed been married twice and divorced twice, each time blaming the wrong man just not the right one. Their mother, Margaret, had been telling Tom since he was a boy:
Your sister needs help.
And Tom obliged. Hed handed over cash when Susan was temporarily out of work, fixed leaky pipes in her rented flat, and shuttled her belongings after yet another split.
Then he got married.
Kate, his wife, put up with it for a while. But when Susan, for the fifth time this year, asked to borrow the car for a few days because it had broken down again, Kate finally said, gently but firmly:
Tom, isnt it enough? We need the car this weekend too. I thought we had plans
Whats the alternative? Walk?
No. I cant walk to my parents cottage. Theyre sending us two buckets of cucumbers, remember? I thought you heard me when I mentioned it.
Tom sighed. I get it, but Susans situation is urgent.
Again? What exactly?
Im not sure, Tom muttered, but she needs more than we can give.
No, Tom. This time I wont bend. Either you refuse your sister, or you buy me a car. Im tired of the trolleybus when you could drive us somewhere proper.
For the first time I saw Tom pause, about to call Susan to say no, when Margaret swooped in:
Youd abandon your sister for your wife? Shes alone! Who else will help her?
And Tom fell back into the old pattern, despite my protests. A few days of silence passed, and Tom finally cracked:
Whats with the silence? Did I offend you?
Really? It took you three days to realise? I snapped.
I just cant see whats wrongwhat exactly?
I laughed at his confusion. Honestly? You dont get it? Your little sister commandeered you for a weekend because she needed to get to a country house. I thought youd just give her a lift, but you ended up staying two days. Does that bother you?
Whats there to be bothered about? We had a few drinks, met her expartner, chatted normally. I didnt want to look foolish, you know?
You could have at least called.
You could have called too, Tom shot back.
I did! Your phone was switched off. Imagine my nerves, not knowing where my husband was. Then he decides to take a break from me, I vented, my voice rising.
Dont make that up, Tom waved his hand, indicating his phone was ringing.
He stepped onto the balcony and finally answered. I knew she wouldnt appreciate another chat with his sister.
Hey, bro! Susan chirped. My anniversary is in two weeks thirty years! You get it, right?
I glanced at Kate, who was now spilling soup.
What do you want? I asked.
You always understand me, Susan laughed. I want to celebrate at your place. Youve got a big living room. My rented flat is cramped and the landlord will be furious. The restaurant is pricey.
Could we maybe use a café? Ill chip in whats needed.
Youre joking! This is an anniversary! You want me to foot the bill for a venue when you have your own flat? Im not a millionaires daughter.
Let me talk to Kate first. Its her flat too. Maybe she has other plans.
Its too late! Susan snapped. Ive already told everyone the partys at yours. Clear the flat for the whole day, okay? Mum will handle the cooking.
I sighed, covering my face with my hand, trying to think of a way out. My phone buzzed again a message from my mother.
Susan said to put together a menu. Heres the list of dishes and the groceries we need. Ask Kate to help with the cooking.
Meanwhile Kate, unaware of Susans upcoming celebration, settled into her armchair with the remote, ready to watch her favourite series. When I entered the room, eyes downcast, she instantly sensed something was off.
So what now? she asked calmly, pausing the show.
Kate, listen Susans anniversary thirty years. You know, a date. She wants to mark it.
Kate lifted her head. Fine, let her celebrate. Are we banning her?
Its not that, I said, rubbing my temples. She wants to celebrate at our place.
What? In our flat? Kate jumped up. One evening? She says the restaurants expensive, her house is tiny
So what? Youre on board?
I said Id talk to you first! But Susans already invited everyone, and Mums already drafting the menu
Kate closed her eyes, took a deep breath.
Tom, are you an adult or just a messenger for Susans wishes?
What are you starting?
Im starting, Kate said, holding up her phone. And nobody even called me? This is my flat, not a transit hub for your relatives. Susan wants to throw a party here, I have to help her, and even your mother expects me to assist all without asking me first!
Just then her phone rang.
Oh, the cherry on top, she muttered, waving the device. Your mother
—
Later, the conversation resurfaced with Margaret again, this time over the phone.
Emily, has Tom told you? the motherinlaw chirped. Well have up to twenty people, so we start prepping this evening. Ill be there around six, the night before.
What? In the evening? I asked, skeptical. I never signed up for that.
Hold on, Margaret replied. Tom already has the shopping list; he promised to buy everything.
Okay I sighed. What about the money? Where will we get it?
Tom promised to help, Margaret said briefly.
So were turning my flat into a restaurant and you want us to foot the bill? I snapped.
Susans not a stranger! Cant you spare a day to cut some veg, make salads, sandwiches youre the lady of the house after all!
Margaret, I just heard about this. I never gave permission for Susans birthday to be in my flat.
You keep saying my flat. You and Tom are a married couple. Everythings shared!
If the flat were Toms, youd speak differently. Id just be a kept woman, wouldnt I?
Enough nonsense. The conversations over. By Friday we need to buy everything, Margaret said, hanging up.
What was that about? I asked Tom, hearing the short beeps.
Stop playing the victim! he finally barked. Youve been told youre wrong. Admit it and stop digging your heels in.
I was stunned. I stood, opened the wardrobe, and silently pulled out a large sports bag. Then I walked to the bedroom, opened the dresser and began, methodically, folding Toms shirts and jeans.
Tom, feeling triumphant, swung open the fridge, grabbed a bottle of lager, slammed the door shut and plonked himself in front of the TV as if nothing had changed.
He thought Id just cool off and everything would revert to the usual rhythm. A bit of grumbling, a little sulking, then calm again. He even turned on the football, assuming Id pop in for dinner. He was wrong.
Half an hour later I stood in the hallway with a shopping bag in one hand and the sports bag, now bursting with his stuff, in the other. Tom left the lounge heading for the fridge, only to find me there.
Whats this now? he muttered, bewildered. What kind of drama have you staged?
I looked at him coldly.
This isnt drama, Tom. 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 the good son and brother, go back to your mother. Help her prepare for the party. Im sure shell gladly give you a corner of her living room.
Youre serious? he stepped toward me. Im not going back.
Completely serious, I nodded. Im not letting you return. Ive tolerated enough that I now even question myself. But Ive had enough. If you cant learn to respect me in three years, theres no future.
Emily you cant just tear everything apart in an instant!
Its impossible to destroy whats already broken.
Tom scoffed, still not grasping that my decision was final.
And thats that, I added, all your shirts and jeans are right here. No thanks needed. Get out now.
He tried to say something, but I opened the front door. He stood there, cheeks flushed with anger, lips tight. I hoped hed relent, but his calm composure only infuriated me more.
Fine then! he shouted. Think youll find someone better? There are plenty out there!
I huffed and stepped back.
There are plenty like you to look for thank God.
Youll regret this! Tom yelled, lunging for the bag. Youll be on your knees when you realise no one wants to talk to you! Without me youre nobody!
If nobody means a person who lives in her own flat, works, doesnt cater to overbearing relatives and refuses rude demands, then Im happy being nobody.
Tom left, and I was alone. I took a deep breath, walked to the window, pulled the curtain aside, and watched him shove the bag into a taxis boot with his foot.
—
Months have passed.
The divorce was messy. Tom tried to paint me as greedy and materialistic, fighting over the car we bought together. He claimed hed paid for it outright, while I simply drove it.
Your Honour, I contributed every penny; the car is in my name! he declared. My wife contributed nothing!
I calmly opened a folder of documents, laid out bank statements, transfer receipts, and a signed deposit agreement.
Im not contesting his share, but I wont surrender mine either, I said.
The judge sided with fairness.
Tom didnt like that. He now viewed the car as his property and was forced to sell it and split the proceeds. He left the courtroom with a face twisted by rage.
At home, Margarets fury roared.
Youve given her everything! The car! The flat! At least get a decent solicitor!
On top of that, Tom had taken out a loan to fund Susans anniversary at a restaurant, because hed arranged a flat for her. Now he occupied a tiny spare room in Margarets house.
I finally slept peacefully. I decided I was still young enough not to cling to men like Tom. Good, decent men are out there; the real trick is learning whos who, and when.
