I often think back to those days in the old terraced house on Victoria Street, when the whole family seemed to be holding its breath.
Did she really say it that way? my sisterinlaw, Agnes, asked, turning to her husband.
George gave a short nod, lifted the mug and took a sip. The tea was still steaming, and he grimaced.
Exactly so. Evelyn demanded that our mother transfer the twobed flat into her name and move out. She says Victor has proposed, and a young couple need a place of their own, you see? Georges voice rose in a thin, affected tone, as if copying his sisters manner.
Agnes stared at him, unable to believe what she heard. It was beyond reason to ask ones parents for their home, let alone to be given away without a word.
What did Mother answer? Agnes asked cautiously.
George shook his head.
There was no clear reply. But I know Mother well, and I know how much she dotes on Evelyn. So anythings possible.
Could a daughter really drive her mother from the only home she owned? Agnes would never have imagined asking her own parents such a thing. She had refused even to take a loan for a deposit; she saved, bought a flat, and cleared the mortgage before she married. That flat was her pride, her property.
Listen, George went on, looking off into the distance, Mum sold the cottage years ago to pay for Evelyns tuition. And what happened? She dropped out in the second year. Turns out you actually need to study at university, can you imagine?
Agnes snorted.
Your sister never did have the patience for study.
George fell silent. Agnes could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers clenched the mug. What could she say? What advice could she give? Family matters are never simple.
Days turned into weeks. George called his mother a few times, each conversation short and strained. Agnes kept out of it, knowing it was his burden to bear.
One Saturday they decided to visit his mother.
George unlocked the front door with his own key. Agnes halted at the threshold. The flat was a maze of cardboard boxes, suitcases, folded blankets. Belongings were piled against the walls, on the sofa, on the tabletotal chaos of a move.
Mum? George called as he stepped inside.
Mildred Whitaker emerged from a bedroom, her face drawn, shadows under her eyes. Agnes had never seen a motherinlaw look so exhausted.
George, Agnes, come in, Mildred whispered.
George scanned the room and asked bluntly,
Are you giving the flat to Evelyn?
Mildred sighed, shifted a dishcart aside, and sat on the edge of the sofa.
Itll be better this way, love. A young couple needs their own place. Victors a good lad, he has work. I can manage elsewhere.
Agnes stood apart, her throat tightening. How could anyone hand over the only flat they owned? Where would Mildred go?
Where will you live? George asked hoarsely.
Ill rent a room. My pension isnt much, but it will do. Dont worry about me.
Agnes watched George turn ashen, his hands trembling, but said nothing. It wasnt her battle.
Two months later Mildred was living in a modest rented flat in another district. George visited often, bringing groceries, medicines, helping with chores. Agnes never objected; she understood how much the strain weighed on her husband.
One evening George returned home, shoulders slumped, silence hanging over the kitchen.
Whats wrong? Agnes asked, sitting opposite him.
George lifted his eyes slowly.
Mum cant make ends meet. My pension barely covers the rent, let alone food. Shes scraping by.
Agnes frowned.
Then she should move back into her own flat.
The flats already in Evelyns name. She refuses to let Mother back in, saying she and Victor plan to remodel, and Mother would be in the way.
Agnes sensed where the conversation was heading. Before she could finish, George spoke as if reading her thoughts.
We should bring Mother here. We still have our twobed flat; theres enough room.
His words rang in Agness mind like a bell. It was her flat, her propertyyet she stayed silent, letting George persuade himself, while inside every fibre rebelled. What could she say? That she didnt want to let in the mother who had been driven out by her own daughter? It would have been cruel.
Four days later Mildred moved in with them. At first she was like a gentle dandelion, apologising constantly, promising not to be a nuisance.
Agnes told herself everything would be fine. They had never quarrelled with a motherinlaw before; why should this be any different?
But after a week the atmosphere began to shift.
First, Agness favourite blue mug with daisy prints vanished.
Mildred, have you seen my mug? Agnes asked.
Mildred blinked, then said, Oh, dear, Im so sorry. I dropped it while washing dishes. Ill buy you a new one, I promise.
Agnes nodded, trying not to show the irritation.
The next day the expensive hand cream Agnes kept in the bathroom was gone.
Mildred, have you used my cream? Agnes inquired.
Mildred held up an empty tin. I needed it for my hands. The air is dry, you know. Its a good cream, really.
Agnes clenched her teeth. It was just a thing; she could replace it.
The final straw was the meat. Agnes had bought a pricey steak cut, intending to fry it for dinner. When she returned from work she found a pan of greasy meatballs on the stove, the mince mixed with far more breadcrumbs than beef.
Mildred, Agnes began as calmly as she could, this meat was meant for steaks, not for meatballs.
Mildred turned from the stove. I always make them this way. Theyre delicious, try one. Whats wrong?
George, lounging in the sitting room, pretended not to hear.
Weeks passed and Mildred established her own regime. Breakfast became porridge and a boiled egg. Once a week she imposed a Saturdaymorning deep clean, starting at eight oclock sharp. Lights were out by nine, even on weekends.
Agnes walked through the flat, her anger barely contained. George tried to soothe her, promising to speak with his mother, but nothing changed.
At dinner Agnes spread cottage cheese on a slice of bread, topped it with a tomato slice. She was exhausted from work and didnt feel like cooking.
Mildred grimaced. You have no taste, Agnes. Thats nonsense you eat.
Agnes lifted her head slowly.
Its fine for me.
Youre spoiling my son with your habits, Mildred snapped, her voice rising.
Agnes froze, sandwich in hand.
Yes, you are, Mildred continued, gaining momentum. George sees you lounging, thinks its acceptable to leave dishes unwashed, to wear wrinkled clothes. I raised him to be orderly, and youre tearing down all my efforts.
Agness patience snapped.
I have endured enough, she said coldly. I tried to show respect to your age, kept quiet when you broke my things, used your cosmetics, ruined my food. No longer. If its this bad, go back to the flat you handed over to your daughter. Do not live in the house I bought with my own money.
Megan! George shouted, leaping up. What are you saying?
What I think! Agnes turned on him. I have my own rules, too. Firstyour mother will not stay in my house!
Mildreds face went pale.
George! Do you hear what your wife is saying? Stop her!
Mother, Agnes, lets calm down, George tried to mediate.
No! Agnes stared at her motherinlaw. She can gather her things and leave. I dont care where.
We cant throw my mother out! Georges voice rose. Do you understand what youre saying?
Agnes laughed hoarsely, a bitter sound. You cant, but I can. By evening shell be gone.
George straightened, his expression hard as stone.
If she leaves, Ill go with her.
Agnes met his gaze for a long moment.
Oh, have we come to ultimatums? You forgot you promised to calm your mother, asked us to be patient, and now you set conditions? Very clever, George.
Mildred burst into tears and fled down the corridor. George stood in the kitchen, stunned.
They began to pack slowly, in silence. Agnes did not help, sitting by the window, watching the empty street. The flat felt hollow, cold, yet oddly soothing.
An hour later George and Mildred emerged into the hallway, luggage in hand. George opened the front door, letting his mother step out first, then turned to Agnes.
Agnes, perhaps
Agnes cut him off.
If you still dont get itthat a mother loves her own daughter and uses youbetter we part now, before she settles in our bones completely.
She walked to the door and slammed it shut in front of Georges face.
Inviting the mother in had been a mistake. Now Agnes saw clearly that George could never stand up to his mother, and their marriage had no future.
Their divorce was quiet. There were no children, no joint assets to split. George looked at her with sorrowful eyes, begging forgiveness, promising never to involve his mother again. But Agnes had long stopped believing in second chances.
