Margaret thought that after the divorce, Id support her out of fearbut she had no idea what I really had in mind.
Laura stared at the elderly woman standing on her doorstep, suitcase in hand, and couldnt believe her eyes. Margaret Harrington, her former mother-in-law, stood there as if she were visiting an old friend.
“Laura, darling,” she began in that drawn-out tone, “Ive nowhere else to go. Tims moved that whats-her-name Olivia in with him. And I wouldnt dream of getting in the way of young love, would I? Youll let me stay for a bit, wont you?”
Laura silently stepped aside, letting her in. What could she say? Throw a sixty-year-old woman out onto the street? Yes, the divorce had been painful. Yes, Timothy had turned out to be the sort who, after twelve years of marriage, suddenly “found himself” in the arms of a twenty-five-year-old colleague. But what did any of that have to do with his mother?
“Margaret,” Laura said quietly, closing the door, “I dont understand. You have your own flat. Why would you need to stay here?”
“Oh, Laura,” Margaret sighed, settling onto the sofa and untying her shoes, “you know how tiny my place is. This is so much more spacious. Tim said youre rattling around in this two-bed all by yourself. Whats the harm in letting an old woman stay?”
Laura clenched her fists. Of course Timothy had said that. How convenientinstalling his new girlfriend in his home while dumping his mother on his ex-wife. And no one cared how *she* felt.
“Its only temporary,” Margaret repeated, already shrugging off her coat. “Just until I sort things out.”
For the first week, Laura tried to be understanding. She made breakfast for two, bought the “urgent” medicines Margaret suddenly needed, quietly tidied up after her. Margaret wasnt the tidiest houseguestdirty dishes piled in the sink, clothes strewn about, loud TV dramas blaring late into the night.
“Laura, dear,” she said one morning, “my pensions so small. Could you spare a bit for groceries? And my blood pressure pills. Im completely broke.”
Laura wordlessly opened her purse and handed over fifty pounds. Then thirty more for “a new heart supplement.” Then twenty for “something sweet with tea.”
“Margaret,” Laura said carefully a month later, when yet another request left her purse nearly empty, “maybe we should live within our means? Im not made of money, either.”
Margaret turned sharply, and that familiar fire lit her eyes. Laura knew that lookthe prelude to a spectacular scene.
“What did you just say?” Margarets voice shot up an octave. “Live within our *means*? How *dare* you! I welcomed you into this family like my own daughter! Twelve years, I treated you like family! And now youre throwing pennies in my face?”
“Im not throwing anything, I just”
“What do *you* know about hardship, you childless!” Margaret shrieked, waving her arms. “I raised my son alone after my husband passed! Worked three jobs! And now you begrudge me heart pills? Ill tell the whole neighbourhood what youre *really* like! Ungrateful!”
Laura endured it silently. And the next outburst. And the one after that, over some imagined slight at dinner. Margaret was a virtuoso of dramahours of shouting, rallying the neighbours, listing Lauras sins as if reading from a scroll.
After the latest performance, Laura called Timothy.
“Tim, come and get your mother. Now.”
“Laura, dont be like that. Im building a new life. Mums still upset about the divorce. Youve got the spacewhats the problem?”
“The problem is *my* money, *my* nerves, and *my* peace.”
“Dont be dramatic. Shes elderlyshe needs support. If you can help, you should.”
A dial tone. Hed hung up.
Sitting at the kitchen table, Laura realised shed had enough. Margaret acted like she owned the place, staged daily meltdowns, demanded money, and never once doubted her right to do so.
*Margaret thought Id keep supporting her out of fear. She had no idea what I was planning.*
The next morning, while Margaret was at the doctors, Laura called a locksmith. The locks were changed within an hour.
That evening, Margaret returned from her usual roundsshopping and complaining to shop clerks. But her key didnt turn.
“Laura! Open this door!” She banged on it. “What kind of joke is this?”
Laura stepped onto the landing, calm as she took in the flustered woman.
“No jokes, Margaret. Pack your things. Ive called a taxi.”
“*What*? Have you lost your mind? Where do you think youre sending me?”
“Home. To your son. Where you belong.”
“But I cant! Olivias there! Its awkward!”
“And was it *easy* for me?” Laura asked, watching Margarets face harden, ready to strike.
“How *dare* you!” Margaret screeched. “Im an old woman! My hearts weak! Youve no right!”
“Ive every right. This is *my* flat.”
“Ill tell the neighbours! Ill ruin you!”
“Tell them. I dont care anymore.”
The suitcase was packed quicklyMargaret didnt own much. In the taxi, she was silent except for dramatic gasps and clutches at her chest.
At Timothys building, Laura stepped out first, hauling the suitcase inside. They took the lift to the third floor. The door swung open to reveal a bewildered Timothy in joggers.
“Laura? Mum? Whats going on?”
“Youre getting your mother back,” Laura said, shoving the suitcase inside. “Margaret no longer lives with me.”
Olivia appeareda pretty blonde in a dressing gown. Her face fell at the sight of Margaret.
“But she cant stay here!” Timothy protested. “Weve justwere”
“Building a new life,” Laura finished. “Lovely. Build it. Without me.”
“Laura, you dont understand,” Timothy said in that patronising tone. “Mum needs help. Shes elderly, unwell. Her pensions tiny.”
“She has a son. *He* can help.”
“But Ive got a new family now!”
“And Ive got a new life. One that doesnt include your problems.”
Margaret, silent until now, erupted:
“Timothy! Do you *see* how she treats me? Throwing an old woman onto the street! Heartless! I *loved* her like a daughter!”
“Mum, come on,” Timothy stammered, but Laura saw the panic in his eyes.
“Throw your mother outthats your conscience,” Laura said, turning away. “But none of you will ever set foot in my flat again. I wont open the door.”
“Laura, wait!” Timothy called after her.
But she was already downstairs, ignoring Margarets wails and Timothys spluttered protests.
Back home, Laura opened her laptop and booked a holiday. The money shed saved for new furniture became a two-week all-inclusive in Spain. Exactly what she needed after a month of Margaret.
That evening, the phone rang. Timothy.
“Laura, how could you be so cruel? Mums in tears.”
“Let her cry in *your* flat.”
“But Olivia and Iweve just moved in together! You *know* how it is!”
“I do. And I know its *your* problem now.”
“Laura, be reasonable. Well figure something out, but not yet. Just give us time.”
“Youve had time. A whole month of me bankrolling your mother. Times up.”
She hung up and switched off her phone.
For three days, it buzzed with callsTimothy, Margaret, even unknown numbers (probably Margarets gossipy friends). Laura ignored them all.
On Thursday morning, she sipped coffee by the window, watching children play below. The silence in the flat was bliss after a month of shouting and demands.
The doorbell rang. Olivia stood on the step, tearful.
“Laura, can we talk?”
“About?”
“Margaret. I know youve had a falling-out, but”
“We didnt fall out. I set boundaries.”
“Shes difficult,” Olivia whispered. “She blames me for breaking up the family. Screams at me daily. Tims never home, and Im stuck with her. The things she says”
Laura almost smiled. A month ago, shed have pitied the girl, offered advice, maybe even helped. Now, she just looked at her.
“Thats your familys problem.”
“But maybe we could take turns? Or”
“No.”
“She cant live on the *street
