Riding on Family Coattails, English Style
Look, Emily, you could at least have done up the dishes for yourself and Sarah! Its always the sameJames does the roast, I make the salad and set the table, and the two of you just relax and eat, Jane finally snapped. Every single time.
Emily raised an eyebrow in surprise but didnt bother looking up from her mobile.
No need to bite my head off! I dont mind helping, but you could just ask, couldnt you? Im not a mind-reader.
Well, you dont need special powers to clear your own plate! We dont have servants here. Who do you think should tidy up after you lot?
Emily pouted, stung, yet made no move to help. But Jane wasnt retreating this time. She plonked herself by the window, pretending to be captivated by the rain-sodden garden beyond.
Old memories crept in, as they do when nothing makes sense: images twisting in the fog of dream.
For years, Jane had prided herself on being peaceable and easy-going, swallowing slights just to keep things warm at home. Not that Jamess family ever really put her out; his parents were kind, and her husband caring.
It all changed three years ago, when Jamess younger brother, Andrew, brought home his young sweetheart. Sarah was nearly ten years Janes junior, and everyone seemed stunned by her limitless energyalways the first with a cheerful plan to get the family out in the countryside.
Jane felt shed found a true friend at last. She and Sarah trawled Westfield together, got their nails done at the same salon, whispered over the latest gossip and style. Life seemed brighter, more alive.
But that glossy dream glass shattered as little things began to nag at Jane. All of Sarahs enthusiasm evaporated precisely when ideas needed to turn into action.
Take their trips to the country. It was always the same. Sarah would spark up the family group chat, send web links to scenic cottages and woodland retreats, suggest weekends, and then disappear. Jane was left to fret over what to pack, send James running for charcoal, meat, and veg, ring the landlord about the cottage…
Sarah would only pop up again once everything was sorted.
Gosh, Jane, slammed at work! Missed the whole thread! Looks like youve handled everything, though? Ill just grab some Pimms for the weekend! shed type, breezy as you like.
Sometimes Jane even paid ahead for Sarahs share, lest someone else book the place up. Sarah rarely repaid her; one week her banking app was on the blink, another week the cat needed urgent vet medicineitd have to wait till payday. After a few next times, Jane gave up chasing her.
Maybe it was coincidence. But noit happened again and again, not just with holidays.
Visiting Jamess parents in Dorset was no different. Margaret and Gerald lived in a rambling country house; there was always work needing doing. In the old days, the brothers weeded the vegetable patch and mended fencing side by side.
Now everything had shifted.
Jane and James would arrive at sunrise, spade in hand, sweating in wellies as they hauled watering cans and fought stubborn weeds. But Emily and Andrew only ever glided in Sunday after lunch, just as the barbecue smoke curled lazily up and Margaret set out scones and jam on the patio.
Sorry we missed yesterday! Had to wait for a parcelcourier was late Emily would shrug, palms up.
Excuses changed, but the result was the same: Emily could barely be bothered to lift more than a glass of prosecco or a sausage on a fork.
Water running in the sink snapped Jane from her daydream. Emily was scrubbing at last, grudgingly, aware that no one else would do it. Jane, not wanting to seem a headmistress, quietly packed their things. Home was merely hours away.
The drive back was carved from icy silence. Watching golden fields flicker by, Jane realised a simple truth: being easy-going was little more than offering your other cheek for another slap. Shed had her fill. Time to school the family.
The next three weeks simmered in cold-war unease. The sisters-in-law avoided each other entirely; only their husbands, awkward and caught in the crossfire, tried to mend the breach. Eventually Jane, with heavy reluctance, agreed to another family weekend.
The May Bank Holiday loomed.
But gone was docile Janeshe vanished like an old school photograph. In her place was someone offloading every bit of the burden that wasnt hers. As soon as the trip was planned, Jane began divvying up the chores.
Andrew, youre to fetch the tents from the loft and pitch them at the site, she wrote crisply in the group chat. Emily, youre on four kilos of pork for the barbecueshout if you need a marinade recipe.
In the past, Jane simply shouldered it all in silence. Now she took another tack.
The reply came quick.
Absolutely, no worries! Emily answered, topped with a sunny emoji.
Of course, real miracles are rare.
When they reached the woodland glade, it turned out the others had forgotten the tent pegs. Emily hadnt found time to marinate the pork, simply packing it chopped and soaking in tubs. Half the meat was going off, the rest cooked up tough as an old boot.
Before, Jane would have rushed to fix things: jump in the car with James, fetch new pegs, drag everything herself, jury-rig shelters out of tarps and boughs. Now, she merely shrugged, settled into a folding chair with a detective novel.
The result was as bleak as a foggy Tuesday in November. The group chewed dry meat by torchlight and crawled into sagging, draughty tents to sleep. Emily blushed crimson under the silent glare of the menfolk.
Jane hoped this lesson sufficed, but it didnt.
A week later, Jane and James turned up at the Dorset house. Emily and Andrew were, as expected, missing.
Right, well divvy up the work exactly. And thats all we do, Jane announced to her husband. Dont you dare cover for your brother and his sly wife anymore.
Suits me, James grunted. Im tired of digging up half an acre for those two to waltz in and grab Mums pickles.
Agreed. By dusk, theyd tackled precisely half the soil. Last years leaves were raked, but the greenhouse and berry bushes they left untouched.
Sunday, one oclock. Sun glaring straight down. The sleek car of the little brother swung up the drive; out flounced Emily, gleaming trainers and immaculate hairdo, Andrew slouching after her. They made straight for the arbourand froze, bewildered.
The barbecue was cold. No mouthwatering breeze of grilled meat. No mugs and drinks on the patio. James was swinging in the hammock with a frosty ginger beer, Jane deep in her crime story, utterly unruffled.
Um wheres the barbecue? Emily squeaked, fluttering long lashes. Were starving!
Jane slid a bookmark into her novel, took off her glasses, and fixed them with a brisk stare.
Bit early for the barbecue. Were not finished yet. Well, youre not. Weve already done our halfthe beds, the leaves. Now its your turn: rest of the patch, greenhouse and all. You know where to find the tools.
Emilys cheeks flared red, but she pasted on a nervous smile.
Oh, dont be boring! she laughed hollowly. Lets just eat, have a natter, and crack on later. The greenhouse will wait, right?
But from the garden shed emerged Margaret, the mother-in-law, clutching two pairs of gardening gloves. Shed sized up her younger daughter-in-law long ago and wasnt having any of it.
No, not this time, dears, she declared sternly. Work first, then fun. I know the lot of youyoull lunch, laze around, chatter till sunset, then slink off. Greenhouse first, socialising later.
Neither Andrew nor Emily dared argue.
Soon the garden was alive with effort. Emily, muddy and sweating, tore up weeds, swearing at crawling bugs, wincing at the spiders. Her pristine trainers turned a dull grey, nails ruined. Andrew sulked nearby.
Jane, meanwhile, sat under the old apple tree, sipping cool herbal tea, watching with the faintest glimmer of a smile.
It worked like a charm. Next time, everyone arrived togethersometimes to the minute. No more urgent deliveries, no imaginary work crises, no phantom flat tyres. The easy life was over, once and for all. The sisters-in-law kept things businesslike; that suited Jane perfectly. Better this than letting everyone ride on your neck, dressed up as family.
