What do you mean you tossed them out? Are you out of your mind? That was raspberry jam! Margaret Maggie Thompson flailed her arms, almost knocking the glasses off the chain around her neck.
Mum, those jars have been sitting in the pantry for five years! Five years! Emily Clarke ran a weary hand through her hair. Theyre all mouldy now, can you hear me?
Nothings mouldy! I check my preserves every time. This was a brilliant jam made from the raspberries we picked at Aunt Valeries cottage in the Cotswolds. You wont find berries that sweet these days!
Victor, Emilys husband, let out a quiet sigh and tried to slip out of the kitchen unnoticed. The squabbles between the motherinlaw and his wife had become a regular thing ever since Maggie moved in after her husband died. But this time it was different.
And where do you think youre off to? Maggie snapped, turning her glare on Victor. You think this doesnt involve you? Who rearranged the pantry shelves last month? Who said all the old stuff should be thrown away?
Victor froze in the doorway like a kid caught stealing cookies. Hed suggested clearing out the pantry, where dozens of jam, pickle and relish jars had piled up, but he hadnt expected it to turn into a fullblown family drama.
Maggie, I was just trying to tidy up. Some of those jars have changed colour, Victor tried to explain.
Changed colour? Maggie squinted, and it didnt look promising. You think youre an expert on homecanning? Ive got forty years of experience! Forty! I was already teaching your grandmother how to pick berries when you were barely a tot.
Emily rolled her eyes. Shed heard that line a thousand times, just like the old stories about food shortages during the war when homepreserves were a family lifeline.
Mum, calm down. I only tossed what was clearly spoiled. The rest is still there, Emily said as steadily as she could, though inside she felt like a kettle about to whistle.
And who gave you the right to decide whats spoiled and what isnt? Maggie pressed her hands to her hips. These are my jars! I sealed them myself!
In our flat! In our kitchen! And we stored them in our pantry! Emily snapped, unable to hold back.
A heavy silence settled. Milo, the cat lounging on the windowsill, opened one eye, took stock of the scene and padded off to a quieter corner.
So Maggies voice dropped to a chilling whisper. If this is your flat and your pantry, then I guess I have no business here.
She marched off to her bedroom. A minute later, the clatter of drawers being pulled out rang out the unmistakable sound of Maggie packing her things.
Emily sank into a chair, burying her face in her hands.
Oh great, again, she muttered. Now shell be off to her sisters in York. The third time this month.
Victor slung an arm around Emilys shoulders.
Maybe shell actually go this time? there was more hope than confidence in his tone.
You know how she is, Emily sighed. Shell start gathering her things, then complain about the long bus rides, then say Lucys flat is tiny And by evening everything will be forgotten until the next fight.
In Maggies room, something crashed to the floor, followed by a tirade about ungrateful children who dont appreciate mums care.
This feels more serious, Victor observed. Its her strategic reserve, you know how shes obsessive about her preserves.
Emily let out an even heavier sigh. For her mother, the jam was more than a sweet spread; it was pride, a way to show love, a link to the past. Each jar held a story: those raspberries from a trip to the Lake District, those apples from the Golden Delicious orchard of a late friends cottage.
Ill have a word with her, Emily decided, rising from the table.
She stepped into the bedroom to find an open suitcase on the bed and Maggie carefully stuffing clothes into it.
Mum, enough. Lets talk calmly, Emily began.
Whats there to talk about? Its obvious. Im in the way. My jam takes up too much space in your precious pantry, Maggie emphasized your.
No one said you were in the way. Its just that some jars have been sitting so long theyre no longer edible.
Thats what you think! Maggie flared. I opened a tenyearold jar last year and it was perfectly fine! Do you know how many chemicals are in storebought jam? Mine is natural, homegrown!
Emily perched on the edge of the bed, choosing words that wouldnt spark another round.
Mum, I get that those jars mean a lot to you. But we really are short on space, and some of the preserves have been untouched for years.
Theyre not eaten because you dont understand their value! Maggie shot back. Youre all used to those preservativefilled supermarket sweets. If the worst happened, the first thing wed need would be homecanned food!
What, a war? A flood? Emily couldnt hold back a laugh.
Laugh all you want, Maggie shook her head. But I remember the 90s when we survived on my preserves. Remember the cherry jam you loved at New Year when the shops were empty?
Emily remembered that jar, and also how Mum once traded a jar of pickles for school notebooks. Times had changed.
Mum, things are different now. Shops are open all year. We dont need massive stocks.
Exactly! Thats why you dont value the work! Maggie exclaimed, snapping her suitcase shut. I spent whole summers at the stove, cooking, sealing, and you just toss it all away!
Tears glistened in Maggies eyes, and Emily felt a pang of guilt. For her mother, each jar was a tiny triumph, a way to care for the family.
I didnt throw everything away, Mum. Only what was truly inedible, she said softly. Let me show you whats left.
Maggie hesitated, then curiosity got the better of her. She followed Emily to the kitchen and then to the pantry.
Look, Emily pointed to the shelves. All the jam thats still good is right here. These are the ones I was about to open.
She lifted a couple of ambercoloured apricot jars.
Remember you made this three years ago? Harry and I love it.
Harry, their fourteenyearold son, usually stayed clear of Grandmas kitchen experiments, preferring chips, but apricot jam was an exception hed eat it straight from the spoon.
Maggie examined the jars, counting and murmuring to herself.
Wheres the raspberry? Im sure we had six, only three left now. And the blueberry is missing!
Emily winced. Shed secretly thrown away a few jars one had tiny insects, another showed mould at the rim.
The raspberry we ate it, she fibbed, hoping Mum wouldnt push further.
All three? In one week? Maggie narrowed her eyes.
At that moment, Harry stumbled in, hair tousled.
Whats all the fuss? he asked, rubbing his eyes.
Grandmas hunting for the missing raspberry jam, Emily said with a dramatic sigh, shooting Harry a pointed look.
Harry instantly sized up the situation. Though he often clashed with his parents, he was surprisingly loyal when it came to family matters.
Ah, the raspberry he said. I ate it with some mates after their physics revision. It was brilliant, Auntie!
Maggie sat up straight. Teenagers approving her jam? That was a new kind of validation.
Really? she asked, skeptical but hopeful. Well, well make a fresh batch next year then.
Absolutely, Mum, Emily encouraged, though she suggested, maybe not too much space is tight.
Space is tight, Maggie muttered, but the anger was fading. What about the blueberry?
It Emily faltered, unable to spin a convincing tale.
Harry jumped in. I was in the kitchen late at night and knocked the jar over. It cracked. I cleaned it up, but I forgot to tell you. Sorry, Auntie.
Maggie shook her head, a halfsmile forming. The teenage mishap had saved the day.
Kids these days, always clumsy, she grumbled harmlessly.
She retreated to her room to finish packing. Emily gave Harry a grateful grin.
Thanks for that, mate.
No worries, he shrugged. Just remember, next time youre about to toss my mums preserves, check with Aunt Lucys cottage first. And give me a couple of days notice.
Victor, watching from the hallway, let out a soft laugh.
The next morning, Emily walked into the kitchen to find the very jars shed thrown away lined up on the table, Maggie standing proudly beside them.
Good morning! she chirped, far too bright for the early hour. Look what I found!
Where? Emily gasped, eyes wide at the familiar jars shed seen in the bin outside.
In the rubbish bin, of course! I got up early, checked, and they were still there, perfectly fine. Maggie tapped the lid of a raspberry jar. Nothings wrong with it.
She opened the jar, and a faint, yeasty aroma wafted out, with a thin white film on the surface.
Mum, its spoiled, Emily said gently, trying not to inhale the smell.
No, its just natural sugar crystallisation, Maggie insisted. In the old days wed let jam get that way so itd last longer.
Emily realised they were at an impasse.
Fine, Mum. Keep the jars, Ill figure out what to do with them, she said, already planning to toss them later when Maggie was out for her weekly tea with the neighbours.
But Maggie seemed to read her mind.
Ill take care of them myself. Ill make compote.
Compote from old jam? Emily raised an eyebrow.
Exactly! Ill thin it with water, boil it up. Brilliant compote, youll see! Maggie was already fetching a large pot.
Emily had to think fast. Drinking the contents was unsafe, but convincing Mum otherwise felt impossible.
How about this? she began cautiously. Lets buy fresh berries and make a new batch together, like we used to? Remember those afternoons with you teaching me how to sort the fruit?
Maggie froze, pot in hand.
Together? she asked, doubtful. You always say you have no time for preserving.
I can make time for a special occasion, Emily smiled. You taught me how to sterilise jars, how much sugar to use
Maggie’s eyes lit up.
Of course I remember! You were always a keen pupil, she said proudly. These days everyone just buys jam from the supermarket.
Lets prove homemade is better, Emily added, delighted the argument was moving away from the rotten jars. And we can get Harry involved, too.
Harry? Maggie laughed. Hes glued to his computer.
Not any more! He said yesterday he wants to learn to cook something proper, real food.
Emily knew Harry would rather do extra maths than jam, but she was willing to bluff for peace.
If thats the case Maggie thought for a moment. Theres a great strawberry stall at the market. Andy Stevens told me his daughter just brought back a massive, sweet bunch.
Perfect! Shall we go after lunch? Emily suggested.
Lets, Maggie agreed, then hesitated. And these she gestured at the salvaged jars maybe we shouldnt use them. My neighbour Tamara warned me her granddaughter got ill from threeyearold jam.
Emily let out a sigh of relief.
Better safe than sorry, she agreed. Safety first.
Maggie packed the jars back into a bag.
Ill toss them myself. Not that Im being difficult, she said, halfsmiling. I just dont want anyone thinking Im being a pain.
Oh, Mum, Emily replied, smiling. I know youre looking out for us.
After lunch they headed to the market and bought four kilos of topgrade strawberries. Back home, Maggie threw herself into the jammaking with surprising zeal. To Emilys astonishment, Harry, after hearing about the fresh berries, offered to help mostly by tastetesting the fruit before it hit the pot.
No, no, no! Maggie scolded, snatching a strawberry from his hand. First the work, then the reward! And you must wash them properly!
Come on, Auntie, a little dirt builds character, Harry joked, but he obediently washed his hands.
Victor returned from work to find a lively scene: his wife, motherinlaw, and son all busy around a huge pot, a mountain of cleaned berries on the counter, and paper circles for sealing the jars.
Can I join the team? he asked, inhaling the sweet scent.
Only if youve changed your shirt! Maggie replied sternly. Those strawberry stains are impossible to get out.
Victor swapped his shirt and dove in. It was the first time the whole family had cooked together since Maggie moved in.
The evening turned warm and friendly. Maggie, feeling like the resident expert, shared tips:
Dont overcook! The jam should be clear, the berries whole, and the syrup thick but not gummy.
When eight jars of fresh strawberry jam cooled on the table, Maggie beamed with pride.
Now thats real work! Not those supermarket knockoffs.
Theyll fit nicely in the pantry, Emily laughed. This jam wont sit there forever.
Absolutely! Harry agreed, sneaking a lick from his spoon.
Later, when Victor and Emily were alone in the bedroom, Emily confided:
You know, Mum isnt just being stubborn about the jars. She needs to feel useful, like she still cares for the family.
So youre thinking we should fill the pantry with her preserves? Victor asked cautiously.
No, Emily chuckled. But maybe we could give her a dedicated shelf or a little cabinet just for the good stuff. The rest well gradually sort out.
Sounds fair, Victor said. And honestly, its been fun. I forgot how we used to do this together.
The next morning Emily suggested a pantry reorganisation. To her surprise, Maggie welcomed the idea enthusiastically.
Its about time! We could label the shelves so you dont mix raspberry with strawberry.
Together they drafted a new layout. Maggie agreed that some jars had been stored far too long and should be used or discarded.
But Ill decide what to get rid of! she insisted. And well make new preserves together, like yesterday.
Deal, Emily said with relief.
That evening, the family sat down for tea with fresh jam, when Maggie suddenly said:
You know what? We should invite Aunt Lucy for a week. She always says my jam is the best. Let her come and see how its done!
Victor choked on his tea, and Emily winced internally. Lucy, Maggies sister, was even more headstrong about homecanning
But seeing her mothers delighted face, Emily couldnt argue.
Of course, Mum. Therell be room.
In the end, Emily thought, as she poured herself another cup of tea, jam jars arent the biggest crisis a family can face. Sometimes you just have to tolerate each others quirks for peace. Next time shes about to toss old jars, shell be more careful and maybe line the bin with cardboardjust in case.
Harry winked at her across the table, as if reading her thoughts, and Emily couldnt help but grin. All these little family squabbles only made them stronger.
