My mum will stay with us. Your mum can go up to the cottage, decided Ian.
Hey, what do you say to a Saturday night at the theatre? Emma asked, stirring the soup on the stove. Theyre showing a new production, and Lucy raved about it.
Ian flicked the telly off the football match and looked at his wife.
Theatre? Im not sure Im up for that now. Ive been knackered all week.
Youre always knackered, Emma sighed. We havent been out together for six months.
Fine, well see, Ian muttered, eyes glued back to the screen.
Emma pursed her lips. Always the same well see, later, maybe. Fifteen years of marriage have taught me to expect those dodgeanswers, but expecting isnt the same as accepting.
Ian, she called, switching off the stove, we really need to talk.
What about? he asked without turning from the match.
My mum called today. Her cottage roof leaks whenever it rains, and she needs it fixed. I thought maybe she could stay with us for a couple of weeks while the tradesmen sort it out?
Ian frowned.
My mum rang too. Shes about to start a renovation and wanted to move in as well.
Emma sat down at the table.
So let both of them stay. Weve got enough space.
No, Ian shook his head. Two mums in one flat is too much. Theyll end up stepping on each other’s toes.
They wont, Emma retorted. They get along fine.
Ian got up, padded into the kitchen, poured himself a glass of water, and turned back to Emma.
My mum will live with us. Your mum, off to the cottage, he announced, firm as a judge.
Emma felt the temperature drop inside her.
So what, my mum stays in a leaky cottage while yours cosy up here?
Exactly, Ian shrugged. My mums almost sixtyfive, she cant be out on a building site. Yours is younger, shell manage.
My mum is sixtytwo! Emma protested. Whats three years difference?
There is a difference, Ian persisted. Besides, my mum is ill and needs peace.
And mine? She has spiking blood pressure and a sore back!
Everyone aches, Ian waved it off. Bottom line my mum arrives the day after tomorrow, and your mum can stay at the cottage.
He turned back to the telly. Emma stood in the kitchen, stunned that he could decide everything without a word.
Ian, were not finished, she said.
Nothing else to say, he replied, channelsurfing. Its settled.
Its not settled! Emmas anger rose like a wave. This is my flat too! I live here, I have a say!
The lease is in my name, Ian said coldly. I call the shots.
Emmas mouth formed a thin smile. Perfect, she whispered through clenched teeth. Just perfect.
She slipped into the bedroom, shut the door, and collapsed onto the bed, face pressed into her palms. Hurt and fury roiled inside her; she wanted to scream, weep, smash plates, but she just sat there in silence.
That evening no one spoke. Emma set the table in mute resignation, Ian ate in mute oblivion and drifted back to the telly. When they finally went to bed, each turned to their own wall.
The next morning Ian left for work without a goodbye. Emma called her mother.
Mum, Im sorry, but you cant come over. Ian his mum also needs a place, there isnt enough room.
Its fine, love, her mum replied cheerfully. Ill just stay at the cottage, see what happens.
But the roof is leaking! Emmas voice trembled.
Then Ill stretch a sheet, set out buckets, get through it, her mum said. Dont worry.
Emma hung up and burst into tears. Her mum would be stuck under a dripping roof while Ians mother warmed herself in a cosy flat and Ian didnt seem to mind a bit.
An hour later Ian called.
Mums arriving this evening. Get the guest room ready.
Will do, Emma replied curtly and hung up.
She straightened the room, laid fresh linen, put out flowers, all mechanically, without a thought.
That evening Ians mother, Dorothy Clarke, a plump woman with a perpetually sour expression, arrived.
Hello, dear Emma, she planted a kiss on Emmas cheek. What a trek! The driver was a right lout.
Good evening, Mrs Clarke, Emma helped her out of her coat. The room is ready.
Son! Dorothy shouted, hugging Ian. Ive missed you so much!
Ian smiled, embraced his mum, peppered her with questions about the journey. Emma watched the tableau and felt the room close in around her.
Over dinner Dorothy launched into a tirade about the repair bill.
Can you imagine? The workers want a hundred quid for everything! Its daylight robbery! I told them, Youve got to be joking! They said theyd find someone else.
Mum, those are normal rates these days, Ian remarked.
Normal! Dorothy sniffed. Back in my day you could buy a flat for that money! Now you pay three times as much for a cup of tea!
Emma ate her soup in silence while Dorothy continued to whinge about prices, the government, the neighbours, the weather. Ian nodded, sympathised, and smiled.
Why so glum, Emma? Dorothy asked suddenly. You look like youve seen a ghost.
Just tired, Emma replied.
Just tired, eh? Dorothy mimicked. You sit at home all day and youre tired? In my youth I held down three jobs and never complained!
Emma kept quiet. Arguing with Dorothy was pointless she would always win the debate.
After dinner Dorothy retreated to her room, and Emma began washing dishes. Ian leaned against the counter.
Whats wrong, love? he asked.
Im not angry, Emma said without turning. Im upset.
Why?
Because you never asked my opinion, she finally faced him. You just decided, and thats that. My mum will be drenched in rain, yours will be cosy here.
Dont exaggerate, Ian grimaced. Your mum will manage.
What if it were the other way round? Emma wiped her hands on a towel. What if I said my mum should come, and yours stay with the repairs?
Thats different, Ian growled.
How so?
My mums older and sicker!
Its only three years, love! Emma snapped. Three years is nothing!
Ian waved his hand and stalked back to the telly. Emma stayed in the kitchen, stunned that he could make such a decision without a word of discussion.
She went to the living room.
Ian, were not done talking.
Ive got nothing more to say, he replied, flipping channels. Its final.
Its not final! Emmas fury rose like a tide. This is my flat too! I have a right to be heard!
The lease is in my name, Ian said icecold. I decide.
Emma froze. So, because the lease was in his name, he was the boss, and her opinion didnt count.
Brilliant, she muttered through clenched teeth. Just brilliant.
She retreated to the bedroom, shut the door, and sat on the bed, face buried in her palms. Anger and hurt swirled like a storm; she wanted to scream, to cry, to hurl a plate, but she just sat, silent.
That night they ate in silence, then went to bed, each turning to their own wall.
The next morning Ian left for work without a goodbye. Emma dialled her mother again.
Mum, Im sorry, but you cant stay with us. Ians mum also needs a place, there isnt enough room.
Its all right, love, her mum said brightly. Ill just stay at the cottage and see what happens.
But the roof is leaking! Emmas voice cracked.
Ill patch it with a sheet, set out buckets, manage, her mum replied. Dont fret.
Emma hung up and wept. Her mum would be stuck under a dripping roof while Ians mother melted in a warm flat and Ian didnt seem to mind a bit.
An hour later Ian called.
Mums arriving this evening. Get the guest room ready.
Will do, Emma replied curtly and hung up.
She straightened the room, laid fresh linen, put out flowers, all mechanically, without a thought.
That evening Ians mother, Dorothy Clarke, a plump woman with a perpetually sour expression, arrived.
Hello, dear Emma, she planted a kiss on Emmas cheek. What a trek! The driver was a right lout.
Good evening, Mrs Clarke, Emma helped her out of her coat. The room is ready.
Son! Dorothy shouted, hugging Ian. Ive missed you so much!
Ian smiled, embraced his mum, peppered her with questions about the journey. Emma watched the tableau and felt the room close in around her.
Over dinner Dorothy launched into a tirade about the repair bill.
Can you imagine? The workers want a hundred quid for everything! Its daylight robbery! I told them, Youve got to be joking! They said theyd find someone else.
Mum, those are normal rates these days, Ian remarked.
Normal! Dorothy sniffed. Back in my day you could buy a flat for that money! Now you pay three times as much for a cup of tea!
Emma ate her soup in silence while Dorothy continued to whinge about prices, the government, the neighbours, the weather. Ian nodded, sympathised, and smiled.
Why so glum, Emma? Dorothy asked suddenly. You look like youve seen a ghost.
Just tired, Emma replied.
Just tired, eh? Dorothy mimicked. You sit at home all day and youre tired? In my youth I held down three jobs and never complained!
Emma kept quiet. Arguing with Dorothy was pointless she would always win the debate.
After dinner Dorothy retreated to her room, and Emma began washing dishes. Ian leaned against the counter.
Whats wrong, love? he asked.
Im not angry, Emma said without turning. Im upset.
Why?
Because you never asked my opinion, she finally faced him. You just decided, and thats that. My mum will be drenched in rain, yours will be cosy here.
Dont exaggerate, Ian grimaced. Your mum will manage.
What if it were the other way round? Emma wiped her hands on a towel. What if I said my mum should come, and yours stay with the repairs?
Thats different, Ian growled.
How so?
My mums older and sicker!
Its only three years, love! Emma snapped. Three years is nothing!
Ian waved his hand and stalked back to the telly. Emma stayed in the kitchen, stunned that he could make such a decision without a word of discussion.
She went to the living room.
Ian, were not done talking.
Ive got nothing more to say, he replied, flipping channels. Its final.
Its not final! Emmas fury rose like a tide. This is my flat too! I have a right to be heard!
The lease is in my name, Ian said icecold. I decide.
Emma froze. So, because the lease was in his name, he was the boss, and her opinion didnt count.
Brilliant, she muttered through clenched teeth. Just brilliant.
She retreated to the bedroom, shut the door, and sat on the bed, face buried in her palms. Anger and hurt swirled like a storm; she wanted to scream, to cry, to hurl a plate, but she just sat, silent.
That night they ate in silence, then went to bed, each turning to their own wall.
The next morning Ian left for work without a goodbye. Emma dialled her mother again.
Mum, Im sorry, but you cant stay with us. Ians mum also needs a place, there isnt enough room.
Its all right, love, her mum said brightly. Ill just stay at the cottage and see what happens.
But the roof is leaking! Emmas voice cracked.
Ill patch it with a sheet, set out buckets, manage, her mum replied. Dont fret.
Emma hung up and wept. Her mum would be stuck under a dripping roof while Ians mother melted in a warm flat and Ian didnt seem to mind a bit.
An hour later Ian called.
Mums arriving this evening. Get the guest room ready.
Will do, Emma replied curtly and hung up.
She straightened the room, laid fresh linen, put out flowers, all mechanically, without a thought.
That evening Ians mother, Dorothy Clarke, a plump woman with a perpetually sour expression, arrived.
Hello, dear Emma, she planted a kiss on Emmas cheek. What a trek! The driver was a right lout.
Good evening, Mrs Clarke, Emma helped her out of her coat. The room is ready.
Son! Dorothy shouted, hugging Ian. Ive missed you so much!
Ian smiled, embraced his mum, peppered her with questions about the journey. Emma watched the tableau and felt the room close in around her.
Over dinner Dorothy launched into a tirade about the repair bill.
Can you imagine? The workers want a hundred quid for everything! Its daylight robbery! I told them, Youve got to be joking! They said theyd find someone else.
Mum, those are normal rates these days, Ian remarked.
Normal! Dorothy sniffed. Back in my day you could buy a flat for that money! Now you pay three times as much for a cup of tea!
Emma ate her soup in silence while Dorothy continued to whinge about prices, the government, the neighbours, the weather. Ian nodded, sympathised, and smiled.
Why so glum, Emma? Dorothy asked suddenly. You look like youve seen a ghost.
Just tired, Emma replied.
Just tired, eh? Dorothy mimicked. You sit at home all day and youre tired? In my youth I held down three jobs and never complained!
Emma kept quiet. Arguing with Dorothy was pointless she would always win the debate.
After dinner Dorothy retreated to her room, and Emma began washing dishes. Ian leaned against the counter.
Whats wrong, love? he asked.
Im not angry, Emma said without turning. Im upset.
Why?
Because you never asked my opinion, she finally faced him. You just decided, and thats that. My mum will be drenched in rain, yours will be cosy here.
Dont exaggerate, Ian grimaced. Your mum will manage.
What if it were the other way round? Emma wiped her hands on a towel. What if I said my mum should come, and yours stay with the repairs?
Thats different, Ian growled.
How so?
My mums older and sicker!
Its only three years, love! Emma snapped. Three years is nothing!
Ian waved his hand and stalked back to the telly. Emma stayed in the kitchen, stunned that he could make such a decision without a word of discussion.
She went to the living room.
Ian, were not done talking.
Ive got nothing more to say, he replied, flipping channels. Its final.
Its not final! Emmas fury rose like a tide. This is my flat too! I have a right to be heard!
The lease is in my name, Ian said icecold. I decide.
Emma froze. So, because the lease was in his name, he was the boss, and her opinion didnt count.
Brilliant, she muttered through clenched teeth. Just brilliant.
She retreated to the bedroom, shut the door, and sat on the bed, face buried in her palms. Anger and hurt swirled like a storm; she wanted to scream, to cry, to hurl a plate, but she just sat, silent.
The next morning Ian left for work without a goodbye. Emma called her mother again.
Mum, Im sorry, but you cant stay with us. Ians mum also needs a place, there isnt enough room.
Its all right, love, her mum said brightly. Ill just stay at the cottage and see what happens.
But the roof is leaking! Emmas voice cracked.
Ill patch it with a sheet, set out buckets, manage, her mum replied. Dont fret.
Emma hung up, tears streaming, as she imagined her mother shivering under a leaky roof while Ians mother lounged in a warm flat.
Later that day Ian rang.
My mums landing this evening. Get the spare bedroom ready.
WillEmma sighed, set the bed, and finally felt a sliver of hope that they might at last reach a fair compromise.
