Did she really say that? Tara repeats her husbands question.
Max nods and takes a sip from his mug. The tea is still piping hot, and he winces.
Exactly that. My sister insists that mum should transfer the flat to her and move out. She says Victor has proposed to her, and the young couple need a place of their own, you understand? Max says in a high, shrill voice, clearly mimicking his sister.
Tara watches him, unable to believe what shes hearing. Its beyond reasondemanding a parents flat for free?
And what did mum say? Tara asks cautiously.
Max shakes his head.
Theres no clear answer. But I know mum, and I know how much she dotes on Sophie. So anythings possible.
Could a daughter actually kick her own mother out of the only flat she owns? Tara would never have even considered asking her parents for something like that. She refused to take a deposit from them; she saved every penny, bought a flat, and paid off the mortgage before she married. She took pride in thatit was her home, her property.
You know, Max continues, staring off somewhere, a while back mum sold the cottage to fund Sophies university fees. And what happened? She dropped out in her second year. Turns out you actually have to study, believe it or not.
Tara snorts.
Your sister never was the diligent type.
Max falls silent. Tara sees the tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers clutch the mug. What could she say? What could she suggest? Family matters are always messy.
Days turn into weeks. Max calls his mother a few times, but the conversations are brief and strained. Tara stays out of it, recognizing this is his pain.
One Saturday they decide to visit his mother.
Max unlocks the front door with his key, and Tara pauses on the threshold. The flat is a maze of boxes, suitcases, rolledup blankets. Stuff is piled against the walls, on the sofa, on the tablepure chaos of a move.
Mum? Max calls as he steps inside.
Margaret Anderson emerges from the hallway, her face gaunt, shadows under her eyes. Tara has never seen a motherinlaw look so exhausted.
Max, Emily, come in, Margaret whispers.
Max scans the rooms and asks straight away:
Are you going to give the flat to Sophie?
Margaret sighs, lowers herself onto the edge of the sofa and pushes a dishbox aside.
Itll be better that way, love. A young couple needs their own place. Victors a good lad, has a steady job. I can manage elsewhere.
Tara stands at the side, her stomach twisting. How can anyone give away their only home? Where will Margaret go?
Where will you live? Max asks hoarsely.
Ill rent a room. My pension isnt much, but itll cover it. Dont worry about me.
Tara watches Maxs colour drain, sees his hands shake, but says nothing. This isnt her battle.
Two months later Margaret lives in a rented flat in a different borough. Max makes regular trips to her, bringing groceries, medicine, helping with chores. Tara doesnt object; she knows Max is still carrying the weight.
One evening Max returns home, shoulders slumped, quiet. He sits at the kitchen table and stares at a spot on the wall.
Whats wrong? Tara asks, sitting opposite him.
Max lifts his eyes slowly.
Mum cant make ends meet. Her pension doesnt cover rent and living costs. Shes barely getting by.
Tara frowns.
Then she should move back into her flat.
The flats already in Sophies name. She wont let Mum back in. She says she and Victor are planning renovations and Mum would be in the way.
Tara senses where this is heading. Before Max can finish, he says:
We could take Mum in. We have a twobed flat, theres room.
Her flat. Her flat. The words echo in Taras mind. She stays silent, letting Max persuade himself, even though every fibre of her being rebels. What could she say? That she wont let his mother, who was pushed out by her own daughter, move in? That would be cruel.
Four days later Margaret moves in with them. On the first day shes like a ray of sunshinegentle, quiet, grateful. She apologises constantly, promises not to cause trouble.
Tara tells herself everything will be fine. She and Margaret have never quarreled before. What could go wrong?
A week passes and things start to shift.
The first sign is the disappearance of Taras favourite mug.
Margaret, have you seen my blue mug with the flowers? Tara asks.
Margaret looks startled.
Oh, dear, Im sorry. I dropped it while washing dishes. Ill buy you a new one, I promise.
Tara nods. Accidents happen.
The next day the expensive face cream Tara bought from a specialty shop is gone from the bathroom. The halfempty jar has vanished.
Margaret, have you seen my cream? Tara asks.
That one? Margaret holds up an empty tube. I used it on my feet. The air is so dry, my skin was cracking. Its a good cream, by the way.
Tara clenches her jaw. Shell just buy another.
The final straw is the meat. Tara had bought a pricey steak fillet, planning a nice dinner. When she gets home from work she finds a pan on the hob with greasy burgers. The mince contains more breadcrumbs than beef.
Margaret, Tara tries to stay calm, this meat is expensive. Its not meant for burgers, especially not like this.
Margaret turns from the stove.
I always do it this way. The burgers turned out lovely, give them a try. Whats the problem?
Max, seated in the living room, pretends not to hear.
Over the next few weeks Margaret imposes her own routines. Breakfast is now only porridge and a boiled egg. She schedules a deep clean every Saturday at eight oclock sharp. No one is allowed to stay up past nine, even on weekends.
Tara walks through the flat, barely containing her anger. Max tries to soothe her, begs her to be patient, promises to speak with his mother. Nothing changes.
At dinner Tara spreads cottage cheese on toast, tops it with a slice of tomato. Shes exhausted from work and doesnt feel like cooking anything elaborate.
You have no taste in food, Emily, Margaret snarls. Thats nonsense you eat.
Tara lifts her head slowly.
Im fine with it.
Youre ruining my son with your habits, Margaret snaps, gaining momentum. Max looks at you and thinks its okay to be lazy, that dishes can stay unwashed, that clothes neednt be ironed. I didnt raise him that way. I taught him order and neatness. Youre tearing up all my effort.
Taras patience snaps.
Ive had enough, she says coldly. I tried to respect your age, stayed quiet while you broke my things, used my cosmetics, spoiled my food. But Im done. If its this bad, move back to the flat you gave to your daughter. Dont live in my house that I bought with my own money.
Emily! Max leaps up. What are you saying?!
Exactly what Im thinking! Tara turns to him. I have my own rules too, and the first one is: your mother will not live in my house!
Margarets face turns pale.
Max! Do you hear what your wife is saying? Stop her!
Mum, Emily, lets calm down, Max tries to mediate.
No! Tara looks at Margaret. Let her pack and leave. I dont care where she goes.
We cant throw my mother out! Max shouts. Do you understand what youre saying?
Tara laughs, a harsh, bitter sound.
You cant, but I can. By evening shell be gone.
Max sits up straight, his expression turning to stone.
If she leaves, Im out too.
Tara fixes Max with a long stare.
Oh, have we come to ultimatums? Youve forgotten the promise to keep your mother under control. You asked us to be patient, and now youre giving me conditions? Well done, Max.
Margaret bursts into tears and rushes down the hallway. Max stands in the kitchen, stunned.
They begin to pack slowly, in silence. Tara doesnt help; she sits by the window, watching the empty, cold, oddly soothing space.
An hour later Max and Margaret appear in the hallway with suitcases, bags, parcels. Max opens the front door, letting his mother walk out first, then turns to Tara.
Emily, lets
Tara cuts him off.
If you still dont get that a mother loves only her daughter and uses you, we should split now, before she seeps into us completely.
She walks to the door and slams it shut in front of Maxs face.
Taking Margaret in was a mistake. Now Tara sees that Max cannot stand up to his mother, and their marriage has no future.
The divorce is quiet. There are no children, no shared assets. Max looks at her with sorrowful eyes, begs for forgiveness, swears he will never involve his mother in their marriage again. Tara, however, is not one to grant second chances.
