So, get this—Emily was knackered when she got home from work, absolutely starving. The smell of roast beef filled the kitchen, and her husband, James, was chopping up a fresh salad. “Blimey, that smells proper good,” she mumbled. “Just doing my bit for our guests,” he grinned. “What guests?” “Well, you said your cousin Lucy and her bloke were popping round to use the shower, didn’t you?” James shrugged. “Yeah, but honestly, love—don’t go to any trouble. You’ll only regret it later,” Emily sighed heavily.
Turns out, her mum had rung her at work with some “urgent” news—her niece Lucy and her husband Mark had just bought a flat in the next estate, but they didn’t have water yet ‘cause of the renovations. Mum guilt-tripped her into letting them shower at theirs for a couple days. Seemed like no big deal. But Emily knew better—when it came to Auntie Brenda and her daughter Lucy, nothing was ever simple.
James, bless him, decided to play the gracious host. Lucy and Mark rocked up in the evening, all smiles and noise. Lucy immediately started giving herself a tour of the flat, even peeking into the bedroom before Emily shut the door in her face. Then, all businesslike, she asked James for towels—”forgot mine.” After their shower, they made themselves right at home, plonking down at the table where the roast was still steaming. Lucy tucked in like she hadn’t eaten in weeks, and James just caught Emily’s exhausted glance—he could only shrug.
Next day? Same thing. And the day after. They’d shower, settle in for dinner, and eat like they’d been stranded on a desert island. James put effort into the meals, but the patience was wearing thin. Lucy started getting picky—”What’s this broccoli bake? You lot actually eat this?” By day four, she turned her nose up at the spaghetti bolognese: “Where’s the beef? It’s all sauce!” Emily finally snapped and casually asked Mark when their water was getting sorted. His reply? “Oh, it’s been on since yesterday morning.”
Lucy went bright red. “Well, the shower’s not fitted yet…” she muttered.
Once they finally left, James collapsed into a chair. “How much longer’s this gonna go on? I feel like I’m running a bloody canteen!” “We need a plan,” Emily agreed.
Next evening, James greeted them with a deadpan smile. On the table? Bowls of plain porridge oats, grated apple, and a kettle of boiling water. “Beauty salad. Very French. Brilliant for your skin, hair, nails. Me and Em are on this diet now. Help yourselves,” he said, totally straight-faced.
Lucy poked at the porridge. Mark took two sips and shot up. “Right, we’ll be off—loads to do…”
Next morning, Lucy rang Emily. “You’re not seriously having that… salad again tonight?” “Course. James says it’s a ten-day cleanse. Fancy joining? Oh, and if you do, bring some proper food—I’d kill for a sausage right now.” “Nah, we’re good. Shower’s sorted. Cheers though,” Lucy said tightly.
A few days later, Mum called. “Love, Auntie Brenda reckons your James isn’t feeding you proper.” “Mum, don’t be daft. I’m fed, happy, and my husband’s an absolute gem. Oh, and we’re moving soon—selling this place.”
After that? Not a peep from the “guests.” And the porridge? Well, it’ll always remind them of their great escape.