Ma, I never signed up to be your maid, I heard my mother say, clutching the phone after my sons earlymorning call.
Mother, weve got a problem. The landlady wants us out of the flat, and she needs it done yesterday. Clear out as much of my room as you can. Well be there this evening, the whole family, Alex told her, his voice tight.
Good grief, Margaret muttered, halfshocked. Ive read that you cant be kicked out of a rented flat in winter without a proper tenancy agreement. They should at least give us time to find somewhere else. She seemed at a loss for words.
Dont count on any grace period, Alex snapped. Natalie had a row with the landlady yesterday, and thats why shes furious.
Ah, so thats it, Margaret replied dryly. Natalie needs to learn to keep her mouth shut and show a little respect to other people.
Dont start, mum, Alex warned, irritation spilling over. Just get the room sorted; well bring the boxes later tonight. He hung up with a grunt.
The line clicked, the handset buzzed, and Margaret slumped to the floor, bewildered. Yesterday had been a nightmare at work: two new clerks started, her boss demanded she walk them through everything, and she had to churn out two reports for senior management plus a heap of other tasks. By the time she got home, she felt shed crawled into her flat on all fours.
She had big plans for the weekend. Saturday was meant for a liein and a stroll through HydePark; Sunday, a catchup with her friend and a shopping trip. And now?
She couldnt imagine squeezing four peopleherself, her son, his wife Natalie, and her sevenyearold grandson Oliverinto a tiny twobedroom flat. The grand weekend scheme lay in ruins. First she had to clear out Alexs former bedroom, shuffle a few things around, then dash to the offlicence and cook dinner before nightfall.
The prospect did her no good. It wasnt that she disliked her son or grandson; it was the strained relationship with Natalie that made things tense. Margaret always tried to treat Natalie with courtesy to avoid upsetting Alex, but disagreements flared now and then.
Despite the smashed plans and sour mood, she set to work, later hauled herself to the shop, and managed a dinner.
By evening everything was ready. When Alex arrived with the family the flat buzzed with noise and laughter. Margaret slipped away to her room early. Alex and Natalie lingered at the table while Oliver glued himself to a cartoon.
Good night, then. Youll clear the table yourselves, right, Nat? she called from the doorway.
Yeah, Natalie muttered, eyes glued to her phone.
Through the halfasleep haze Margaret heard chuckles and footfalls but paid them no mind. She assumed the visit would be briefjust a temporary crashpad while Alex looked for a new place. Natalie, however, had stirred up the whole mess herself. Margaret had repeatedly urged Natalie to learn compromise and respect, but Natalie either brushed her off or launched into another dramatic scene.
The next morning the alarm jolted Margaret awake. She shuffled into the kitchen and froze. Cups with halffinished tea, a mountain of candy wrappers, and apple cores littered the table. The sink was piled high with unwashed dishes.
Ma, whats for breakfast? a sleepy Alex called as he trudged in, still stuck in traffic.
Just make some toast and a cuppa. Im having coffee only, she replied.
Ma, Im starving. One slice of toast wont fill me up, he groaned.
Then blame your wife. She can spend forty minutes in the bathroom and still manage to make you breakfast. I never hired myself as a servant, you know. Yet here I am, late for work and still washing dishes because you didnt tidy up yesterday.
She barely finished the sentence when Natalie appeared, rubbing sleep from her eyes.
Right, Margaret Thompson, its half past seven and youre already complaining, she said.
Im not complaining, Nat. Im talking to Alex. Could you at least make him breakfast? I cant keep washing dishes and cooking for you lot, Margaret retorted.
Sure, Natalie murmured, still scrolling.
The following five days dripped with nervous tension. Margaret held herself together as best she could, hoping Alex would sort the housing issue within a week so she could get her life back to normal.
Friday night passed without any sign of the family moving out. Margaret guessed Alex simply didnt want to drag her into his mess. Saturday morning found Alex and Natalie sleeping like the dead. By lunchtime Alex emerged from his room, and Margaret realised they had no intention of moving.
On Sunday she asked him straight out:
Alex, have you found a place?
Been looking. Everythings either too pricey or too far. Well probably stay with you another week.
Fine, stay then, she said resignedly.
She couldnt throw her son and his family out onto the street, so she endured another week. Better than a fullblown fight, she thought.
But nothing changed. A week later, the family was still there, seemingly settled in her flat, not even looking for a new lease. Natalie made a habit of tossing dirty dishes into the sink, then heading for the sofa. She tossed her clothes into a basket, leaving Margaret to spend the weekend washing, ironing, cooking, and cleaning.
Natalie, Im off to the shop. Could you at least mop the floor? Margaret asked.
Youre the lady of the house, Margaret. Ill do something else later Not that its dirty. Well sort it this evening or tomorrow, Natalie replied.
Okay, Im the lady of the house, but you live here too, Margaret pointed out.
Whats your problem, youre all up in my face! My head hurts! Got it? Natalie snapped.
This is absurd! Margaret blurted.
Exactly! Youre the ones who started this! Natalie retorted.
Margaret didnt press further. She went to the shop, did a wetvac clean, poured herself a tea, and tried to relax.
A sudden, relentless banging woke her. Oliver was thumping a ball inside.
Oliver, you should be playing outside, not in the flat. Its evening and the neighbours can hear, Margaret warned.
Grandma I want to play now, but Mum and Dad wont take me out. Im just having fun, he replied, bouncing the ball off the floor.
Stop it, she ordered.
Alex popped his head out of his room.
Alex, tell Oliver to stop, Margaret said.
Ma, he always plays inside Alex began, but Natalie cut in.
Exactly! Youve been nagging me all morning, now youre picking on the kid. What, you want to kick us out? she shouted.
Natalie, if you cant respect my house rules, perhaps you should find somewhere else to live, Margaret said calmly.
A heavy silence fell.
Great, youre going to throw us out! By the way, Im pregnant and I cant be stressed! Natalie yelled, then stormed off.
Ma, shes really pregnant Alex whispered.
First, I didnt know. Second, Im not asking for miracles. I just want my own place, Margaret replied.
That evening Natalie packed her bags, announced she and Oliver were moving to a nearby town to stay with her parents while Alex kept hunting for a flat.
Margaret felt a knot in her stomach. Shed tried to reason with Natalie, but the daughterinlaw was stubborn, dramatically wiping her nose, gathering her things, and refusing any compromise.
Three days later Alex finally secured a flat. The family moved out, and Margaret gave the flat a thorough spring clean, then took a weeks holiday. Life fell back into its usual rhythm, though the bitter aftertaste lingered.
Communication with her son grew so thin that she learned about the birth of her granddaughter from mutual acquaintances rather than directly. It was awkward, the family feud still hanging over everything, but what could she do?
Margaret now lives for herself. Twice a year she visits a spa resort, sends a little cash to her grandchildren on their birthdays, and receives a birthday call from Alexjust a phone ring. No spa or personal space can replace real contact with her grandkids, but she believes you can only give happiness to others when youre truly happy yourself. Thats her philosophy, and she doesnt regret her choices. Shes ready to reconnect with her grandchildren whenever she feels the time is right. Whether Natalie allows it or not is entirely up to her, and any future actions will rest on Natalies conscience.
