My mother will stay with us. Let yours go to the cottage, decided James, his voice firm.
Listen, how about we go to the theatre on Saturday? Eleanor asked, stirring the soup over the stove. Theres a new production Lily praised it.
James tore his eyes from the television and looked at his wife.
Theatre? Im not sure; Im exhausted after the weeks work.
Youre always exhausted, Eleanor sighed. We havent been out together in six months.
Fine, well see, James muttered, turning his gaze back to the screen.
Eleanor tightened her lips. It was always the same well see, later, maybe. After fifteen years of marriage she had grown used to those excuses, though habit did not mean acceptance.
James, she called, turning off the stove, we really need to talk.
What about? he asked, eyes still glued to the football match.
About my mother. She called today the cottage roof leaks after rain, needs fixing. I thought maybe she could stay with us for a couple of weeks while the tradesmen finish the work?
James frowned.
My mother called as well. Her house is about to be renovated, and she wanted to move in with us too.
Eleanor sat down at the table.
So let both of them stay. Theres enough room.
No, James shook his head. Two mothers in one flat is too much. Theyll argue.
They wont argue, Eleanor countered. They get along fine.
James rose, padded to the kitchen, poured himself a glass of water, drank, then turned back to Eleanor.
My mother will live with us. Let yours go to the cottage, he declared, his decision set.
A chill washed over Eleanor.
So what does that mean? My mother at the leaking cottage, and yours here?
Yes, James shrugged. My mother is almost sixtyfive; the construction site work is hard for her. Yours is younger, shell manage.
My mother is sixtytwo! Eleanor protested. What difference does three years make?
There is a difference, James said obstinately. Besides, my mother is ill and needs peace.
My mothers health isnt any better, Eleanor retorted. Her blood pressure spikes, her back aches!
Everyone aches, James waved off. Bottom line, Ive decided. My mother arrives the day after tomorrow, and yours stays at the cottage.
He turned back to the television. Eleanor stood in the kitchen, stunned at his unilateral decision.
James, we havent finished talking, she said.
I have nothing more to say, he replied, flicking channels. Its settled.
It isnt settled! This is my flat too! I live here and I have a say! she snapped.
The lease is in my name, James said coldly. I decide.
Eleanor fell silent, the realization sinking in if the lease is his, he is the master, her opinion irrelevant.
Wonderful, she muttered through clenched teeth. Just wonderful.
She retreated to the bedroom, closed the door, and sank onto the bed, face pressed into her hands. Anger and hurt roiled inside her; she wanted to scream, to weep, to smash the dishes, yet she sat in mute fury.
That evening they ate in silence Eleanor set the table without a word, James ate without a glance, and returned to the telly. When they turned in, each faced the opposite wall.
The next morning James left for work without a goodbye. Eleanor phoned her mother.
Mum, Im sorry, but you cant come up to us. James his mother also needs a place, theres no room.
Its all right, love, her mother, Dorothy, replied calmly. Ill stay at the cottage, whatever happens.
But the roof is leaking! Eleanors voice trembled.
Ill patch it with a sheet and some buckets. Ill manage, dont worry, Dorothy said. Ill get through it.
Eleanor hung up and wept. Her mother would sit under a dripping roof, while Jamess mother would settle into the warm flat. To James, only his mother mattered.
An hour later James called.
My mother will be here this evening. Prepare the spare room.
Okay, Eleanor answered briefly, then hung up.
She tidied the spare room, laid fresh linens, placed a vase of flowers all mechanically, without thought.
That evening Jamess mother, Margaret Whitfield, arrived a stout woman with a sharp expression.
Hello, Ellie, she said, planting a kiss on Eleanors cheek. What a journey! The taxi driver was a ruffian all the way.
Good evening, Mrs. Whitfield, Eleanor replied, helping her out of the coat. Please, come in. The room is ready.
Sweetheart! Margaret flung herself around Jamess neck. Ive missed you!
James smiled, embraced his mother, peppered her with questions about the trip. Eleanor watched the scene and felt a tightening in her chest.
At dinner Margaret bragged about the repair bills.
Can you imagine? The builders want a hundred pounds for everything! Its robbery in broad daylight! I told them they were out of line, and they should find someone else.
Mate, those are normal rates now, James observed.
Normal! In my day you could buy a whole house for that! Margaret scoffed. Now they charge you three fortunes for a nail.
Eleanor ate her soup in silence while Margaret continued her tirade about prices, government, neighbours, weather. James nodded, feigned sympathy.
Why so glum, Ellie? Margaret asked suddenly. You look downhearted.
Im just tired, Eleanor replied.
Tired? Sitting at home all day and youre tired? In my youth I juggled three jobs and never complained! Margaret chided.
Eleanor stayed silent; arguing with Margaret was futile she would always have the last word.
After dinner Margaret retired to her room, and Eleanor washed the dishes. James approached.
Whats wrong with you?
Im not angry, Eleanor said without turning. Im upset.
Why?
Because you never asked my opinion, she finally faced him. You just decided, and thats it. My mother will be drenched in rain, yours will be warm here.
Dont exaggerate, James grunted. Your mother will manage.
What if it were the other way round? Eleanor wiped her hands on a towel. What if I said my mother should move in and yours stay with the repairs?
Thats different, James muttered.
Whats different?
That my mother is older and sicker.
Three years older! Eleanor snapped. Three years! Thats no difference!
James waved his hand and left. Eleanor stayed alone in the kitchen, the tea growing cold, and thought what if she simply left? Pack a bag and go to her mothers cottage, leaving James with his precious mum.
But she caught herself. Where would she go? This was her home too.
The next morning Margaret rose early, set about organising the kitchen. Eleanor woke to the clatter of pots.
Good morning, Margaret said, entering the kitchen.
Morning, Eleanor mumbled, digging through cupboards. Ellie, wheres the sieve? I want to make porridge.
In the right cupboard, top shelf, Margaret answered.
Margaret rummaged, pulling out plates.
Good heavens, what a mess! How do you even find anything here?
I do, Eleanor replied evenly.
We need to rearrange everything, put it in order, Margaret declared, already planning.
No need, Eleanor said, taking Margarets hand. Im comfortable as it is.
Comfortable? Living in chaos! No wonder James is always grouchy! Margaret snapped.
Eleanor clenched her fists, feeling a surge of anger she would later regret. She took a deep breath, exhaled slowly, and spoke calmly.
This is my kitchen. Ive cooked here for fifteen years. It works for me when everything has its place.
Alright, alright, dont get worked up, Margaret waved off. I just want whats best.
Eleanor left the kitchen, went to the bathroom, and stared at her reflection tired eyes, dark circles, a strained expression. She felt how drained she was by everything.
James left for work, and Eleanor stayed home with Margaret. The older woman spent the morning roaming the flat, commenting on everything.
These curtains are threadbare, they need replacing. The sofa is sagging, its time for a new one. The wallpaper in the hallway is peeling why not readhere it? The carpet is dusty when was the last time it was vacuumed?
Eleanor listened in silence, thinking of her own mother, who never intruded or criticized when she visited.
By lunch Margaret announced, Ill make my famous beef stew! James loves it!
She monopolised the kitchen pots, pans, bowls crowded the table. Eleanor offered to help.
Do you want me to chop something?
No need, Ill do it myself! Margaret retorted. You never chop properly anyway!
Eleanor stepped onto the balcony, dialled her mother.
Mum, how are you?
Im fine, love, Dorothys voice sounded bright. Ive got buckets and a tarpaulin up. The rain seems to have stopped, at least for now.
Mum, Eleanor felt a lump rise, could you maybe come up? We could sort out a place for you
No, dear, I can manage. I hear your voice, and I know youll cope without me. Dont worry.
Eleanor hung up and wept. Her mother would sit under a leaky roof, while Margaret enjoyed a cosy flat. Was this fair?
An hour later James called.
Your mother will arrive this evening. Set up the guest room.
Right, Eleanor replied curtly, then turned back to the task.
She changed the sheets, placed fresh towels, set a vase of wildflowers all without enthusiasm.
When Margaret arrived, she greeted James with a boisterous shout.
Sweetheart! Ive made your favourite stew!
At dinner James raved, Delicious! This is the best stew Ive ever had!
Eleanor ate in silence. Her own stew seemed lesser now. She had prepared it week after week for fifteen years, and James never complained. Yet his mothers stew was now the gold standard.
What? My cooking isnt good enough? she snapped.
No, its fine, James said, missing the point. Your mothers stew is just special; Ive loved it since I was a lad.
Fine then, Eleanor set her spoon down. Im full.
She rose, went to the bedroom, lay on the bed and stared at the ceiling. So it goes I cook, I clean, I try, and Im still unappreciated. Mothers stew wins. Mothers needs come first. My mother must suffer the rain. I must be the servant for both.
A week passed. Margaret settled in, rearranged the kitchen to her taste, hung her own towels in the bathroom, claimed a shelf in the fridge. She rose early, rattled pots, prepared breakfasts for her son, and criticised Eleanor at every turn.
Ellie, why is Jamess shirt rumpled? Cant you iron?
Ellie, theres hair on the bathroom floor! When did you last clean?
Ellie, youve put too much salt in the soup! How can anyone eat that?
Eleanor endured, clenched her teeth, and suffered in silence.
Then her mother called, voice weary.
Love, Ive a fever. The draft must have gotten me. Ill just lie down and rest.
What temperature? Eleanor asked, alarmed.
Not high, thirtyeight degrees, Dorothy whispered. Dont worry.
Eleanor hung up, went to James, who was at his computer.
James, my mothers ill. Shes struggling at the cottage; we need to bring her in.
Where to bring her? he asked without looking up. We already have a mother here.
Let your mother move out! Eleanor snapped. My mother is ill!
My mother isnt moving anywhere, James said coldly. Her renovation isnt finished.
My mother cant be sick at the cottage! Eleanors anger flared. Do you hear yourself, James?
I hear, he finally looked up. Your mother is exaggerating, as always. Thirtyeight isnt even a fever.
Shes sixtytwo! Her blood pressure, her heart! She cant be out in the cold!
Dont shout at me, James rose. I said no. End of story.
Eleanor stared at him and suddenly realised she barely knew the man she had shared fifteen years with. He felt like a stranger.
Fine, she said quietly. Then Ill go to my mothers cottage and stay until she recovers.
Go, James replied indifferently. Just leave dinner for us.
She packed a bag, prepared food for three days, listed where everything lay in the kitchen. Margaret watched her pack.
Going for long? she asked.
Dont know, Eleanor answered. My mothers ill, she needs me.
What about James? Margaret demanded.
You, Eleanor said, snapping the bag shut. Youre his mother.
She left for the cottage. Her mother lay with a fever, coughing, complaining of weakness. Eleanor lit the wood stove, boiled broth, offered tea with honey.
Why did you come, love? Dorothy asked weakly. James is alone there.
Not alone, with his mother, Eleanor replied, pulling the blanket tighter. You need me more.
For three days she tended to her mother cooking, cleaning, managing medicine. James called once, asking when shed return, then said nothing more.
When her mother improved, Eleanor returned home to a scene of chaos piles of dishes, dirty pots in the sink, Margaret lounging on the sofa watching telly.
Ah, youre back, Margaret grumbled. We were starving.
Wheres James? Eleanor asked.
At work, of course. Im here alone, nothing to cook, nothing to clean.
Eleanor went to the kitchen, began washing dishes. Anger boiled inside while she cared for her sick mother, they had just been waiting.
That evening James arrived.
Well, finally! My mother was getting lonely without you.
Hello to you too, Eleanor said coldly. My mothers fine now, thank you for asking.
Good then, James said, dropping his shoes. Whats for dinner?
Eleanor gave him a long look.
Nothing. I didnt cook.
What do you mean I didnt cook? You were home all day! James protested.
I was home for half an hour, Eleanor replied, standing. I came back, tidied up after you both. If you want to eat, make something yourself.
What?! James stammered. Ellie, whats happening?
Im tired, she said simply. Tired of being a servant. Cook yourself or let my mother do it the very mother you value above all else.
She retreated to the bedroom and shut the door. James knocked, demanding answers, but she would not open.
The next morning she dressed and announced.
Im leaving to stay with my mother. For good. Ill live with her until I decide what to do next.
Youve gone mad! James shouted, eyes wild. Why this drama?
Because you chose your mother, Eleanor replied calmly. Your mother is priority, mine isnt. I will not stay where Im not valued.
Ellie, stop the nonsense!
Its not nonsense, she said, grabbing her suitcase. Its truth. Im done. If you want to live with your mother, do it. Im going.
Margaret burst from her room.
Ellie, where are you off to? Whats happened?
Nothing, Eleanor said, pulling on her coat. I just realised Im not appreciated here. I have no reason to stay.
She left the flat, closed the door, and felt a strange lightness in the lift. For the first time in years she did what she wanted, not what was expected.
Her mother greeted her, surprised.
Love, whats happened?
Eleanor told her everything. Dorothy listened, shook her head, sighed.
Maybe Im being harsh? Dorothy asked gently. He is your husband, after all.
Mum, Eleanor said, taking her hands, I spent fifteen years for him cooking, washing, tolerating his moods. When I had to choose between your health and his mothers comfort, he chose his mother. Im not important to him. Only his mother matters.
Dorothy sighed. Perhaps youre right. Stay, rest, think it through.
A week later James called daily, begging her to return. She ignored the phone until he showed up at the cottage gate.
Ellie, enough of this! Come home! he shouted.
She stepped out.
James, I wont come back until you understand something simple, she said.
What?
That in a family no one is more important than another. No mother should be placed above another. A wife is not a servant. I am a person with feelings and dignity, she said firmly.
James was silent, then whispered, Will you really not return?
No, not until you apologise to me and to my mother. And until your mother finds somewhere else to live.
My mother still has renovationJames finally knelt, begged for forgiveness, and promised to secure a new flat for his mother so that Eleanor and her own mother could live together in peace.
