I never understood why my wife dreaded her mothers visit until the day she arrived and seized control of our lives.
When my motherinlaw, Margaret, phoned to tell us she would be staying a few days, I saw Charlottes shoulders tighten in an instant.
It puzzled me. Margaret lived alone in Manchester and rarely ventured down to our quiet cottage near the Lake District. I imagined it would be a pleasant family reunion.
But as the date drew nearer, Charlotte grew more on edge.
Why are you so worked up? I asked, trying to laugh it off. Shell be here a few days, enjoy our company, see the kids it cant be that bad.
Charlotte gave me a tired, resigned look.
You dont know her like I do, she murmured.
At that moment I thought she was overreacting.
I had no idea what lay ahead.
The invasion
Margaret turned up with two enormous suitcases, as if she intended to move in for the year. She didnt even pause for a kiss before stepping inside, scanning our home with the air of an inspector measuring everything against her own standards.
At first everything seemed normal. She wrapped us in tight embraces, handed the children presents, and left a bag piled with homemade jam, biscuits and readymade pies.
I convinced myself Charlotte was simply being nervous.
Then the next morning arrived.
And our house was no longer ours.
This is your tea? How dreadful! How can you drink something so bitter? she shouted, staring at me as I sipped from my mug.
I smiled, assuming she was teasing.
She was far from finished.
These curtains are hideous! They make the room look gloomy. We need brandnew ones.
Why have you placed the sofa there? It makes no sense! The whole layout must be redone.
You still dont wash the dishes properly? First rinse with hot water, then scrub, then rinse again!
Within hours she had claimed the cottage, upended our routines and imposed her own rules.
Charlotte kept quiet, but I could see the strain in her jaw, the effort it took not to speak.
But Margaret wasnt about to stop there.
Déjà vu
The scene reminded me of an episode a few months earlier with Charlottes younger sister, Harriet.
Margaret had visited Harriet in Bristol, promising a twoweek stay. She left after just four days.
We wondered why. Harriet was always gentle and easygoing, never complaining.
The answer soon emerged.
In Bristol Margaret had behaved exactly the same way: criticizing the childrens upbringing, rearranging the kitchen, dictating how Harriet should run her life.
Harriet could not stand a few more days. She quietly packed a suitcase, bought a train ticket and escorted Margaret to the station without a word.
Now the pattern was repeating.
Only this time we were the ones trapped.
The point of no return
By the fourth day the tension was unbearable.
After work I found Charlotte sitting at the kitchen table, eyes empty.
I sat opposite her.
I cant take it any longer, she whispered.
That morning Margaret had crossed every line.
You dont make a proper breakfast for your husband? Just cereal? Thats a childs meal!
You never call me! A daughter should look after her mother!
Ive been thinking what if I moved in with you? Im alone in Manchester; youre my family now
It was too much.
We realized that if we did nothing, she would never leave.
The next morning we mustered all our courage and told her it was time to go.
She froze.
So thats it Im a bother. Youre kicking me out, just like you did to Harriet, right?
We tried to explain that we simply needed our own space, that we were exhausted.
She would hear none of it.
In silence she closed her suitcases and walked out without a goodbye.
The calm after the storm
When she finally left, an uncanny quiet settled over the cottage.
Charlotte and I remained at the kitchen table, sipping tea in stunned silence, still reeling from the past week.
Do you think shell ever forgive us? she asked softly.
I sighed. I have no idea.
For the first time in days I felt a genuine sense of relief.
A neverending circle
A week later Harriet called.
I cant believe you did that to Mum! she exclaimed, outraged.
Charlotte and I exchanged a look. The irony was bitter.
When Margaret had stayed with Harriet, she had quit after just four days and sent her back home. Now she was accusing us of doing the same.
We sat in silence for a long while, each of us lost in thought.
Do all parents become this way as they agemore intrusive, more demanding, more oppressive?
And the darkest question of all
Will we one day become like her?
