My son lives here, so Ill be staying too, declared Margaret, stepping into the flat.
Lets head to the market on Saturday for some seedlings, Emma said, pouring tea for her husband. Well pick up tomatoes and cucumbers for the cottage.
Andrew nodded, scrolling through his phone.
Sounds good. Lets leave early, otherwise well get stuck in a queue.
Deal, Emma replied, sitting opposite him. And maybe we could catch a film in the evening? That new release Ive been meaning to see.
Andrew lifted his eyes from the screen and smiled.
Of course, love. Its been ages since we went out just the two of us.
Emma exhaled contentedly. She imagined endless quiet evenings, weekend plans, no rush at all. After eight years of marriage they had learned to cherish this calm domestic rhythm.
Andrews phone rang. He glanced at the screen and frowned.
Moms calling. Odd she doesnt usually call at this hour.
Answer it, Emma prompted.
Hello, Mum, Andrew put the call on speaker. Whats up?
Andrew dear, Ive got news! Margarets voice crackled with excitement. Ive sold my flat!
Emma and Andrew exchanged glances.
How did that happen? Andrew stumbled. You never mentioned you were thinking of selling.
It was a spurofthemoment thing, Margaret blurted. Our neighbour, Tamara, mentioned her nephew was looking for a place. He offered a good price, so I agreed. The moneys already transferred, well sign the paperwork tomorrow.
Mom, hold on, Andrew rubbed his nose. Where will you live then?
You have a spare room, dont you? Margaret answered as if it were obvious. Ill be there tomorrow with my bags.
Emma felt a chill settle in her stomach. She looked at Andrew, who seemed at a loss for words.
Mum, can we discuss this calmly? he finally managed. Come over, well talk.
Theres nothing to discuss, Margarets tone turned steely. Im your mother, Ive nowhere else to go. Ill be off now, lots to do. See you tomorrow!
The line clicked.
Shes joking, right? Emma whispered.
I dont know, Andrew ran a hand through his hair. Mum can be impulsive. Maybe shell explain everything tomorrow.
Emma knew Margaret well enough to be skeptical. When her motherinlaw said shed move in, she meant it.
That night Emma lay awake, picturing the future: Margaret in the kitchen, in the living room, offering unsolicited advice at every turn. She tossed and turned while Andrew slept soundly beside her.
Morning found Emma exhausted. Andrew had already left for work, leaving a note on the kitchen table: Emma, dont worry. Well sort this with Mum this evening. Love you.
Emma crumpled the note. Easy for him to say, she muttered. Its not his mother moving in; its hers.
At work she couldnt focus. Her colleague, Laura, noticed her gloom.
Whats up, Emma? You look down.
Emma recounted the phone call.
Oh dear, thats rough, Laura said. My sisters husband had the same thing his mum moved in and they split after three months.
Dont scare me, Emma protested, heart fluttering.
Im not trying to frighten you, Laura replied gently. Maybe your motherinlaw is reasonable?
Emma let out a bitter laugh. Reasonable? Margaret believes shes the only one who can brew a proper stew, do the laundry, and run a household. Every visit turns into a lecture marathon.
That evening Emma arrived home early, hoping for a quiet few hours before Margarets arrival. She walked through each room, bidding farewell to the life shed known: the cosy bedroom, the TVfilled lounge where theyd watched films, the kitchen where she loved to experiment.
The lock clicked, and Andrew stepped in, followed by a hulking mover with a massive suitcase. Emma froze.
My son lives here, so Ill be staying too, Margaret announced, stepping over the threshold.
Behind her, the mover wheeled a second suitcase, while more boxes lined the hallway.
Good morning, Emma, Margaret planted a kiss on her cheek. Show me where I can put my things.
Andrew gave Emma a guilty look.
Mum, can we at least talk first? Have a cuppa?
Ill talk later, Margaret waved off. Im tired from the journey. Lets find me a room.
We only have two rooms, Mum the bedroom and the lounge, Andrew began.
The lounge will be mine, Margaret declared, as if it were common sense. Do you have a pullout sofa? Lovely. Young man, she turned to the mover, store everything in the lounge.
Emma stared, stunned. Their lounge, the place for friends and lazy evenings, was suddenly earmarked for her motherinlaws belongings.
Mum, cant we discuss this properly? You didnt give us any headsup.
Margarets eyes glittered with a cold superiority.
This is my sons flat. Im his mother. I dont need permission from anyone.
But Im his wife! Emma snapped.
Exactly, Margaret emphasized. Im the mother, youre the wife. Both have our place.
Andrew stood between them, pale and unsure. He said nothing.
Fine, Margaret said, paying the mover and closing the door. What times dinner?
I havent cooked yet, Emma muttered through clenched teeth.
No problem, Margaret replied, heading to the kitchen. Ill make something. Youve been surviving on readymeals, havent you?
Left alone in the hallway, Emma choked back tears. Why didnt you tell me she couldnt just move in? she asked Andrew.
Shes my mother, he shrugged helplessly. She really has nowhere to go. She sold her flat.
And she didnt ask us? Emmas voice quivered. Whats she doing with the money?
I think she invested it somewhere, Andrew stammered. She said it was a good business venture.
Emmas mind raced. Margaret had not only sold her flat but apparently vanished her money into some vague scheme.
From the kitchen came the clatter of dishes and Margarets muttering.
No proper pot! How can you cook in that?
Emma retreated to the bedroom, slammed the door, and collapsed onto the bed. For the first time in eight years she wanted to pack a suitcase and leave. But where could she go? This was her home.
An hour later Margaret called everyone to dinner. A steaming pot of soup sat on the table.
Sit down while its hot, she instructed. Andrew, slice the bread.
Andrew obeyed. Emma took a bite, but her appetite was gone.
Whats wrong? Not enjoying the soup? Margaret asked.
Im just not hungry, Emma replied.
Strange, Margaret said, sipping. A working woman should eat well. Perhaps youre on a diet? You could lose a few stone.
Emma clenched her fists under the table.
Mom, Andrew said, trying to defend his wife, Emma looks lovely.
Im only looking out for you, Margaret replied, offended. A husband wants a pretty wife, doesnt he?
Andrew flushed.
After dinner Margaret announced a thorough cleaning for the next morning.
We havent had a proper deep clean in ages, she declared.
Emmas teeth ground. Our place is already tidy, she said.
Only you think so, Margaret smiled condescendingly. My standards are higher.
Later, in the bedroom, Emma finally let the tears flow. Andrew hugged her awkwardly.
Please, dont cry. Its only temporary, he said.
How long? A month? A year? Forever? Emma sobbed.
I dont know, Andrew admitted. But well figure something out.
You didnt even defend me when she critiqued my weight, Emma accused.
I told her youre beautiful! Andrew protested weakly.
Thats after she made a comment, Emma retorted. I dont need you to teach me how to live in my own flat!
Andrew tried to smooth things over.
Shes just used to running the house, he said.
Then let her run her own house! Emma snapped. I cant live with this.
Andrews face went ashen. I love you, but shes my mother. I cant kick her out.
Im not asking you to choose, Emma said, voice trembling. Either she moves out, or I do.
Andrew stared at the floor. I cant force you to pick.
Then Ill leave, Emma whispered.
The next morning the flat was filled with the whir of a vacuum. Margaret, in an apron, shouted over the noise.
Good morning! Im up early, cant waste a minute!
Its only half past seven on a Saturday, Emma replied, trying to stay calm. Could you have started later?
Early bird gets the worm, Margaret chirped. And you lot love to laze about, dont you? In my day
Emma ignored the lecture and went back to the bedroom, where Andrew was still halfasleep.
Your mother is vacuuming at seven on a Saturday, Emma muttered.
Andrew winced. Ill talk to her.
But Margaret finished cleaning before they could have breakfast. She strutted into the kitchen, a tray of golden pancakes in hand.
Here we are, homemade pancakes. Emma, tea?
Emma nodded weakly. The pancakes smelled delicious, but she could barely eat.
Not hungry, she said.
Margaret scoffed. Youre a working woman; you should eat. Maybe a bit of a trim would do you good.
Emmas jaw tightened.
The next day, after a brief police visit to report Margarets suspicious property sale, the family met a solicitor. The lawyer explained that if they could prove Margaret had been misled into a bad investment, the sale might be rescinded.
Well have to chase the scammers, the solicitor warned. It wont be easy, but its worth trying.
That evening Emma showed Andrew a listing for a modest onebedroom flat a short bus ride away.
We could help with the deposit, Mum, Andrew offered. You wont be left out on the street.
Margaret, eyes glistening, thanked them. I was scared, felt useless after my husband died. I thought if I could be useful here, youd keep me.
Emma reached across the table, squeezing her hand. We all need support, Margaret. But we also need boundaries.
Later, Margaret moved into the new flat, which Emma helped furnish with potted plants and pretty curtains.
Cozy, Margaret sighed, looking around. Thank you, Emma.
Come visit us, but give a headsup, Emma replied with a smile.
Margaret kept her promise, popping in a couple of times a week, always announcing her arrival. She sometimes brought baked goods, sometimes just a cup of tea and gossip.
Gradually the tension eased. Margaret stopped criticizing Emmas cooking, and Emma stopped feeling like a hostage in her own home.
One afternoon, while they were baking a Victoria sponge together, Margaret confessed, I used to think my son owed me everything, that I was the centre of his life. Now I see Im just his mother, and youre his partner.
And youre both important, just in different ways, Emma replied.
Margaret hugged Emma tightly. Thank you for giving me a second chance.
Andrew joined them, grinning. Family works, doesnt it?
Emma rested her head on Andrews shoulder later, on their nowquiet lounge. I thought I wouldnt survive this, she admitted.
Why not? Andrew asked.
Because we finally learned to talk, not ignore or command, she said. That made us stronger.
He kissed her forehead. Youre brilliant, love. Im lucky to have you.
Outside, the spring dusk settled over the neighbourhood, a soft lamp glowed in the living room, and life felt simple again not without its bumps, but manageable with a husband, a motherinlaw turned ally, and a good laugh at the end of the day.
