[Continued from Part 1]
A small drama began to unfold, as often does when deals are made between family members. The noise and the dirt of the ongoing building annoyed Sara and she started to complain to Melvin. The complaints escalated and she would email or phone him several times a week about the inconvenience of having building supplies delivered or of noise while she had a headache. She bombarded him with requests and complaints when he was working at the house. Melvin is a highly affable man and a people-pleaser. His favourite responses are “no problem” and “I will sort that out”, so when he became frustrated enough to mention to Pete what was happening, I realised that Sara’s moaning was a problem. Little did I know that Sara was to up her usual “poor me” game. One Saturday morning, Melvin and Jenny travelled down with a few of the labourers to level a veranda that was to be extended. This was to everyone’s advantage because of the pleasant coastal climate and the restful view; an outside living area was definitely a plus. Much to their surprise when they arrived and started to offload the truck, Sara came flying out of the house in her dressing gown and tore into Melvin.
“Get out of my fucking house”, she screamed. “It is my weekend and I am not having it disrupted again. I am sick of the noise and the dust. Just get out!”
Jenny, in her usual non-confrontational way, walked away and got back into the vehicle. She sat there, embarrassed and humiliated in front of the labourers. Melvin struggled to find words to stem the flow of anger from Sara, but soon gave up and packed up his workers and drove the two hour trip home. Thomas was seen in the house, but he turned on his heel and disappeared when the shouting started.
The verbal abuse continued. Sara started making demands – she wanted a wall built between her and her neighbour because her dog and the dog next door kept fighting. She allowed the hand basin to overflow, which caused water damage to the newly-installed bathroom cupboard. The swimming pool was allowed to turn green, weeds grew in the paving and her emails became more frequent and more abusive. Melvin chatted to Pete and both men were at a loss as to what to do in the face of this woman’s rage. I suggested she was having a bad menopause and should be evicted.
Jenny phoned me and asked if I had spoken to Sara and if Sara had said anything about her. I told her no, even though Sara had phoned me and asked if Jenny had said anything to me. Several more tearful phone calls ensued and I kept urging the two of them to talk to each other. I suggested the four of them get together and chat to each other face to face to resolve the issues. I was not going to play go-between like we were still children. Melvin stopped all building on the site. If he had to go down and sort out a blocked drain or broken pool pump, he did it reluctantly. For someone with a passion for renovation and house-flipping, this was unusual. Sara and Thomas would stay in the house and not greet him, let alone offer him a cup of tea or a friendly word. It was awkward and unnecessary. They are family and they all used to be friends.
One day, my phone rang. It was Sara and she started with her usual complaints.
“I don’t know what to do any more”, she said. “What do you think I should do?”
My inner voice whispered, “She has asked your opinion, tell her.”
I didn’t say anything then. I mulled it over. I decided that if I sent her an email, I could be careful about what I wrote and how I worded it. I worked on the message for three days: I deleted words and selected others; I slept on it; I reread it; I pondered and I sent it anyway.
Hi Sara,
I have been reluctant to interfere in this issue between you and the Watsons, but since you have repeatedly asked for my opinion, I am going to give it to you. I think you are behaving very badly. Your methods of dealing with conflict are to collapse and let others pick up the pieces or to shout and scream and bully people into submission, and it is not okay. You are at best the tenant in Melvin’s house. You know that your rent is low because there would be the inconvenience of the ongoing building. I still think the best option is for you to talk (nicely) to Melvin and Jenny or, if you are not prepared to do this, move out of their house. Melvin is a good man and I think you owe him an apology.
Love,
Josie
Within five minutes of my hitting the send button, an email was flung back. Sara was furious; she reacted, as always, with a knee-jerk response: Whatever came into her head was spewed out through her typing. She could not see anything wrong with how she behaved and did not feel anyone deserved an apology. She said she wanted nothing further to do with me and she would block my phone number and unfriend me on FB. I was surprised in a way, but it was also what I thought might happen. I had done it anyway. So, what if I hadn’t? What if I had let the non-confrontational Jenny sort out her own battle with the permanently angry Sara? That is what a wise woman would have done, but by this stage I was annoyed with both of them and wanted to have my say. Besides, the petty conflict bored me. I had no wish to continue being a witness to it.
Sara has always played a little game where she tries to be our mum’s favourite. It has never worked, because Mum doesn’t play it too. The rest of us try to not involve our aged mother in family problems and petty squabbles, as it upsets her. As soon as Sara had emailed me, she phoned Mum and told her a version of the story. Obviously, it was a very slanted account, including that I kept emailing really nasty things that make her cry when she reads them. I only know this because some weeks later, Mum asked me about all the emails I had been sending and I told her I had sent one email about the argument with the Watsons (of which Mum was unaware) and then another when I received my invitation to Charmaine’s wedding. Charmaine is Sara’s twenty year old daughter. The entirety of her ambitions seem to be to look good in a bikini, to get married to someone wealthy and to make her mother happy. In the second letter, I had asked why I was invited. I said I only wanted to go to the wedding if I went as Sara’s sister and friend and not as an enemy. The invitation should be sincere and not an obligation. Mum laughed.
“I thought it strange when she said you demanded to know why you are invited. I really think she could grow up”.
“You and me both, Mum.”
The next day, Mum phoned (showing her ignorance of technology is voluntary and put on when it suits her).
“I’ve been thinking about all this stuff that is happening. Is it possible that someone else could be sending emails to Sara and is pretending to be you?”
“No, I don’t think so and why would they?”, I asked, failing to keep the surprise out of my voice.
“Sara is adamant that you sent so many horrible messages that she had to block you.”
“No, Mum. It is not possible to pretend to be me, unless you are a clever hacker, but it is possible that Sara is not being totally honest.”
I patted myself on the back for my tact but my inner voice wanted to say more:
“She is a crazy woman and a liar. She always thinks she is 100% right and will never apologise.”
Even then, I thought things would blow over as they had done many times before. It wasn’t much of a story. It was the kind of mundane tale of petty conflict with which I would tire half-way through and lose interest in the telling. However, I am telling it because it was the beginning of something far more interesting.
I was a little sad about it, but Pete and I went on living our lives, running his business, keeping our home functioning and, when we had the energy, we hiked or dined out and rested.
Lead image generated by This Person Does not Exist and edited with FaceApp.