So, youve decided to play housewife now? sneered Margaret, eyeing the new curtains with disdain.
Wheres my grandson? were the first words Emma heard as she opened the door. Margaret stood on the doorstep with a large bag and a sour expression.
Hello, Margaret, Emma greeted politely. Olivers asleepI just put him down an hour ago.
Asleep? At two in the afternoon? Margaret huffed, stepping inside. When David was his age, he was up all day.
Emma swallowed yet another criticism and helped her mother-in-law out of her coat. Every visit from Margaret felt like an interrogation. She managed to find fault in everythingfrom how Emma raised Oliver to the way she washed dishes.
Would you like some tea? Emma offered, heading to the kitchen.
Of course. And put out those biscuits, the oat ones I brought last time.
Margaret strode into the living room and stopped by the window. Yesterday, Emma had finally hung the new curtainssoft beige with a gold sheen, which shed spent weeks choosing. Shed saved from her paycheck to buy them, wanting to make the house feel cosy.
So, youve decided to play housewife now? Margaret scoffed, gesturing at the curtains. Whats thisroyal splendour?
Emmas chest tightened. Again. Once more, shed done something wrong in Margarets eyes.
The old ones were falling apart, she said quietly. David said it was time to replace them.
David said? Margaret turned sharply. And how much did these set you back? Half a months wages, Ill bet.
I used my own money, Emma replied, forcing calm.
Your own? Margaret sank into the armchair, eyeing her daughter-in-law. Shouldnt a family have a shared budget? Or are you the independent type now, making all the decisions yourself?
Emma set the tea down and sat opposite her. The conversation was taking the usual unpleasant turn.
David and I discuss everything, she said.
Discuss? Margaret sipped her tea and grimaced. Too weak. Ive told you how to brew it properly. And these curtains they dont go with the room at all.
Emma glanced at the windows. To her, the curtains were perfectbrightening the space, making it feel warm.
I like them, she murmured.
You like them, Margaret echoed. And your husbands opinion? Or his grandmothers?
David approved.
Davids too soft, Margaret sighed. Hates conflict. And you take advantage of that.
A cry came from the nursery. Oliver was awake. Emma stood, but Margaret cut in.
Ill go. At least I can spend some proper time with my grandson.
Margaret vanished into the nursery, leaving Emma at the kitchen table, staring at the new curtains. Were they really so awful? Should she have consulted Margaret first?
From the nursery came Margarets cooing voicegentle, patient, loving. With Oliver, she was a different person. But with Emma? A relentless critic, always finding flaws.
Emma! Margaret called. Come here! Look at your child!
Emmas heart lurched. She rushed in to find Margaret holding Oliver by the crib.
Whats wrong? Emma asked anxiously.
Whats wrong? Hes got nappy rash! Margaret snapped. Dont you see? Dont you take care of your own son?
Emma examined him. A slight rednessnothing serious.
Its from the new nappies, she explained. Just a mild reaction. Ive already put cream on it.
Cream? Margaret shook her head. In my day, we raised children without all these potions. And they turned out fine.
But now there are better
Now theres too much nonsense, Margaret cut in. Whats the point? The poor boy suffers while his mother wastes money on curtains instead of watching him.
Emmas throat burned with tears. Every visit ended like thisher feeling like a terrible mother and useless wife.
I do watch him, she whispered.
Oh, really? Margaret handed Oliver over. Then whys he so thin? David was twice his size at this age.
The doctor says his weight is normal.
Doctors, doctors, Margaret muttered. Wheres a mothers instinct? I can see hes not eating enough.
Emma held Oliver close. He was perfectly healthythriving, even. But to Margaret, it was never enough.
Back in the living room, Margaret settled into her chair and surveyed the room.
When did you even have time to hang these curtains? While he napped? Instead of doing proper housework?
I did it last night when David got home, Emma said, rocking Oliver.
With your husband? He helped?
Yes.
Of course, Margaret smirked. Bothering a man with household trifles. My David never lifted a finger for such things.
Emma bit back the retort that David had happily helpedthat hed insisted. Arguing was pointless.
How much did you pay? Margaret pressed.
Two hundred pounds, Emma admitted.
Two hundred?! Margaret gasped. For curtains? Have you lost your mind? That couldve bought Oliver clothes for months!
He has clothes. We hadnt changed the curtains in years.
And why should you? The old ones were fine. Not as garish as these.
Garish? Emma studied the subtle beige drapes. What was garish about them?
Keys jingled in the hall. David was home. Emma exhaledperhaps Margaret would focus on him now.
Mum! David grinned, walking in. How are you? Just got here?
Only just, Margaret hugged him. Ive missed you.
Missed you too. Hows everything?
Oh, came to see my grandson, but hes got nappy rash. And hes too thin.
David frowned, glancing between his wife and mother.
Mum, hes fine. No rash. Emma takes great care of him.
Oh, really? Margaret pursed her lips. Youre too busy to notice. But you might want to check how she spends your money. Two hundred pounds on curtains! Can you imagine?
David finally noticed the curtains.
You hung them! They look brilliant.
You like them, Margaret said, as if humouring a child. Two hundred pounds, David. For curtains.
So? Fair price. Wed been saving for them.
Saving?
Emma put aside a bit each month. Wanted it to be a surprise.
Margaret studied Emma with fresh suspicion.
Saving behind your husbands back? Interesting.
Mum, what? David frowned. We talked about updating the house. Emma said shed handle it.
Ah, shed handle it, Margaret nodded. I see. Making all the decisions now.
Davids patience frayed.
Mum, whats your problem? Emma did a lovely job. The place feels homier.
For whom? Herself?
For all of us, David said firmly.
Margaret fell silent, displeasure simmering. Oliver began to fusshungry.
Ill feed him, Emma said, turning toward the bedroom.
Wait, Margaret stopped her. Give me a bottle. Ill feed him.
Hes breastfed, Emma said.
What? Margaret blinked. Still? At eight months?
The doctor recommends at least a year.
Doctor, doctor, Margaret muttered. Dont you think its time to wean him? A child needs independence.
Mum, enough, David cut in. Breastfeedings good for him.
In my day, children grew up just fine without all this fuss.
Emma left to nurse Oliver. David stayed with his mother, their muffled conversation driftingarguments she knew were about her.
When she returned, Margaret was gathering her things.
Leaving so soon? Emma asked.
Yes, things to do, Margaret said curtly. She kissed Oliver and headed out. David walked her to the door.
Mum, dont fuss over nothing. Emmas a wonderful wife and mother.
If you say so, Margaret said coolly. But mark my wordswhen a woman starts acting out of turn, it never ends well.
The door shut. David returned, exhausted.
What did she say? Emma asked.
Nothing important, he waved it off.
But Emma saw his weariness. Every visit left the house tense.
Maybe talk to her? she ventured.
About what? She raised me alonecontrols all she knows. We just have to endure it.
And I endure her insults?
David pulled her close.
Im sorry. I know its hard. But she doesnt mean harm. Shes just afraid of losing me.
So this is
