Hell be living with us
A sharp, sober knock announced a visitor. Maggie tore off her apron, wiped her hands and padded to the door. On the doorstep stood her daughter with a young man. Maggie let them in.
Hey, Mumma, Poppy planted a kiss on her cheek. This is Charlie hes moving in with us.
Hello, the lad said, trying a British accent.
And this is my aunt, June, Poppy added.
Mum, thats Aunt June, Maggie corrected her.
Mum, whats for dinner? Poppy asked.
Pea purée and bangers, Maggie replied.
I dont eat pea purée, Charlie muttered, slipping his shoes off and heading for the bedroom.
Hang on, Mum, Charlie doesnt like peas, Poppy exclaimed, eyes bulging.
Charlie flopped onto the sofa, dumping his backpack onto the floor.
This is actually my room, Maggie said.
Charlie, follow me, Ill show you where well be staying, Poppy called.
I like it here, Charlie grumbled, getting to his feet.
Mum, meanwhile, figure out something to feed Charlie, Poppy urged.
I havent the foggiest idea. Weve only got half a packet of sausages left, Maggie shrugged.
Ill make do with mustard, ketchup and some bread, he replied.
Sounds decent enough, Maggie muttered, trudging to the kitchen. Shed once rescued a litter of kittens and puppies, and now shed brought in a soninlaw. Eat up, love, she said, scooping a ladle of pea mash, plonking two fried bangers on a plate, nudging the salad over, and tucking in with gusto.
Mum, why are you eating alone? Poppy popped into the kitchen.
Ive just got home from work and Im starving, Maggie said between bites. If anyone wants food, they can serve themselves or cook it. Oh, and one more thing why is Charlie moving in?
How come? Poppy asked. Hes my husband.
Maggie nearly choked on her sausage.
Your husband? she sputtered.
Exactly. Youre an adult, you decide whether to marry or not. Im nineteen, you know.
You didnt even invite me to the wedding.
There was no wedding, just a quick registry office thing. Now were husband and wife, so well be sharing the flat, Poppy said, eyeing her mums halfchewed sausage.
Congrats, then. Why no ceremony?
If youve got cash for a wedding, feel free to hand it over well find something to spend it on.
Right, Maggie kept chewing. Why our flat?
Because its a onebedroom flat and four of us would be crammed in.
So you didnt consider renting?
Why rent when I have my own room? the daughter replied, bewildered.
Got it.
Will you at least give us something to eat?
Poppy, the pot on the stove has mash, the pans got bangers. If thats not enough, theres half a packet left in the fridge. Help yourselves.
Mum, youve got a soninlaw now, Poppy said, emphasizing the last word.
And what? Im supposed to break into a jig for that? Im exhausted from work, lets skip the ceremonial dancing. Use your own hands and feet, will you?
Exactly why youre still single! Poppy snapped, slamming the door as she stormed back to her room.
Maggie finished her dinner, washed the dishes, cleared the table and slipped into her nightclothes, grabbed her gym bag and headed to the leisure centre. She was a freespirited woman, hitting the gym and the pool a few evenings a week.
Around ten oclock she got back, eager for a mug of tea, only to find the kitchen in total chaos someone had apparently tried to cook. The lid from the mash pot was missing, the purée had dried and cracked, the sausage packet lay open on the counter, a stale loaf sat without its wrapper, the nonstick pan was scorched and someone had poked it with a fork. The sink was full of dishes, a sugary puddle glistened on the floor, and the air reeked of cigarettes.
Blimey, this is new. Poppy never lets this happen, Maggie muttered, opening the bedroom door. The young couple were sipping wine and puffing away.
Poppy, sort the kitchen, will you? Get a new pan tomorrow, Maggie said, retreating to her room without shutting the door.
Poppy leapt up and chased after her.
Why do I have to clean? Im a student, I dont earn money for a pan. You think Im scared of the dishes?
Listen, Poppy: this house runs on simple rules eat, then clean; make a mess, then clean; break something, replace it. Everyone clears up after themselves. And Im not cheap on pans this one cost more than a few quid and now its ruined.
You dont want us here, Poppy snapped.
Nope, Maggie replied calmly.
She didnt feel like arguing; Poppy had never caused such drama before.
But I have my share, Poppy protested.
Nope. The flat is mine outright I bought it, I paid for it. Youre just on the tenancy. Dont expect me to foot your bills. If you want to stay, stick to the rules, Maggie said in a measured tone.
Ive lived by your rules all my life. Im married now, and you cant tell me what to do, Poppy shrieked. Besides, youre old you should hand over the flat to us.
Ill give you the hallway outside and a bench in the garden. Oh, you got married? No word from you. Youre sleeping here alone or with your husband elsewhere. He wont be moving in, Maggie retorted sharply.
Fine, youre stuck with the flat. Charlie, were leaving, Poppy shouted, gathering her things.
Within five minutes, the newly minted soninlaw barreled into Maggies room.
Alright, Mum, dont fuss and everythingll be tiptop, he slurred, swaying from the wine. Charlie and I arent going anywhere tonight. Behave and maybe well even get some quiet love in later.
What am I to you, Mum? Maggie snapped. Your mum and dad are still at home, so get on with it and dont forget to fetch your brandnew wife.
Right, Ill The lad raised his fist and smacked her nose.
Yeah, right, Maggie snarled, gripping his hand with manicured fingers and squeezing hard.
Let go, you lunatic! he howled.
Mum, what are you doing? Poppy yelled, trying to pull her mother away.
Maggie shoved Poppy aside, landed a knee in Charlies groin and jabbed his elbow into his throat.
Ill document this assault, the bruised lad hissed. Ill sue you.
Hold on, Ill call the police so they can note everything, Maggie replied.
The youngsters fled the tidy twobedroom flat.
Youre not my mother any more, Poppy shouted as she left. Youll never see my grandchildren.
What a tragedy, Maggie quipped, dryly. Ill finally have some peace.
She glanced at her hands some nails were broken.
Just losses thanks to you lot, she muttered.
After theyd gone, Maggie cleaned the kitchen, tossed the ruined mash and the cursed pan, and changed the locks. Three months later, her daughter appeared near her work, gaunt, cheeks hollowed, looking miserable.
Mum, whats for dinner? she asked.
I havent a clue yet. What do you fancy?
Chicken and rice, Poppy whispered, saliva forming. And a bit of salad.
Then well get chicken. Make the salad yourself, Maggie replied.
The daughter asked nothing else, and Charlie never turned up again.
