My mother will stay with us; your parents can remain in the village, Oliver declared.
How could you spend£500 on a kitchen set? Eleanor snapped.
Oliver flung the receipt onto the table so hard the mugs jumped. Eleanor winced but forced herself to stay calm.
It was for the set. The old one fell apartdoors came off, the countertop was stained.
Five hundred pounds! We agreed wed discuss any big purchase first!
We did talk! I told you a month ago. You said, Look for yourself.
I never said you could spend that much!
How much do you think a decent set should cost? Ten pounds? That was the cheapest you could find!
Oliver paced the kitchen, fingers twisting his hair.
Every penny counts now. Weve been saving for a car!
We were saving, and well save again. But I need a place to cook today, not when we finally buy the car.
You could have waited.
Wait? Would we have to cook on two burners for another six months because the rest are broken?
Oliver turned to her.
You know what? If youd been better at saving, wed have a car and a bigger house by now.
A lump rose in Eleanors throat.
I dont know how to save? I count every penny to make it last till payday, I buy the cheapest food, Ive been wearing the same coat for three years.
And thats it? Youre the victim again!
Im not a victimIm stating facts.
They faced each other, breathing heavily. Eleanor felt tears welling up but held them back. No crying, no showing weakness.
Olivers phone rang. He glanced at the screen, tossed a quick Mum and disappeared down the hallway.
Eleanor stayed at the kitchen table, her head resting on her hands. What had become of them? They never argued about money before; arguments were rare.
She recalled how theyd met. Eleanor worked as a receptionist at a dental practice; Oliver came in for a filling. They chatted in the waiting room, he invited her for tea, six months later he proposed. She was twentysix, he twentyeight. They rented a flat together, then took out a mortgage and bought a modest terraced house on the edge of Leeds. Simple, but theirs.
Life was ordinaryneither rich nor poor. Arguments were few and petty. Eleanor thought everything was fine.
Then something cracked. Oliver grew irritable, nitpicking, constantly bringing up money and frugality, even though he earned well as a manager at a large firm. Eleanor earned less, tried to help at home, cooked, saved where she could. Yet Oliver never seemed satisfied.
One evening Oliver returned to the kitchen, his face solemn.
Eleanor, we need to talk.
Im listening.
My mother called. Her health is failingblood pressure spikes, her hearts weak. She cant live alone.
And?
Ive decided shell move in with us until she gets better.
Eleanor stared at him.
Oliver, we only have a onebedroom flat. Where will she stay?
On the sofa in the living room. Well shift the bed to the kitchen and use a folding cot.
Youre serious?
Absolutely. Shes my motherI cant leave her on her own.
Im not saying we must keep her, but what about a livein carer?
A carer costs money we dont have, thanks to your spending.
Eleanor clenched her fists under the table.
Fine. And my parents? Theyre seventy, my father struggles with chores, my mother cant walk after her stroke.
Your parents live in the village. They have their own house and garden. Theyre fine there.
Theyre not fine! I travel there every week to chop wood, fetch water, tidy up!
Keep doing that, but my mother will be here.
Why does your mother get priority while my parents have to endure village life?
Olivers eyes turned cold.
Because my mother is alone. Your parents are together; its easier for them. And in the city shell have doctors; in the village your parents are used to the old ways.
Used to the old ways? Oliver, do you hear yourself?
I hear. My mother will stay with us; your parents can remain in the village. Thats my decision.
Eleanor rose.
You decided, not us. No discussion.
Im the head of the household.
The head of the household who spends money on fishing gear but balks at buying a kitchen set for his wife!
Dont twist my words!
Im not twistingIm stating! You think you have the right to decide for both of us, but when it comes to my parents, its a different story.
Your parents live comfortably!
No! Its hard, and you never offer help. You never accompany me, never ask what they need!
Oliver snatched the car keys.
Im tired of this. Mum arrives on Saturday. Prepare a room.
What if I dont want to?
This is my flat. I pay the mortgage. My mother will live here, whether you like it or not.
He left. Eleanor collapsed onto the kitchen floor and wept, quietly, hopelessly.
This is my flat. My decision. My mother.
And I? A servant? A shadow that must accept every whim?
She dried her tears, fetched the phone, and dialed her parents.
Hello, love! her mothers voice was weak but bright.
Mum, how are you?
Fine, dear. Dads chopping wood, were firing the stove. Its a cold year.
Mum, could you move to the city? I could find a flat
Oh, Ellie! Why would we leave? Weve lived here all our lives. Besides, where will the money come from for a rented place?
Ill manage.
No need. We manage. You already do so much for us.
Eleanor swallowed another tear.
Ill be home Sunday, bring food.
Come, love, well be glad.
Her parents never complained; they always said theyd manage. Yet Eleanor saw their struggleold house, coal heating, water from a pump, her father, seventythree, barely walking after heart surgery, her mother, after a stroke, barely using her left hand. Still they persisted, refusing to be a burden.
Her motherinlaw, Margaret, lived in a twobedroom flat in Manchester. She was sixtyfive, health not perfect but she managed. Oliver was her only son, and she called him ten times a day, offering advice on everything.
At first Eleanor endured, then she protested. But Oliver always sided with his mother, telling Eleanor she didnt understand his mothers goodwill.
Now Margaret was moving into their cramped flat, and Eleanor was expected to look after her, cook, clean, while her own parents stayed in the village.
Oliver came home late one night, went straight to the bedroom without a word. Eleanor lay on the sofa, pretending to sleep.
In the morning he left a note on the kitchen table: Prepare a room for Mum on Saturday. Clean the floors, change the linens.
She crumpled the note and threw it away.
Friday evening she drove to the village, delivered groceries, medicines, helped her father split firewood, tidied the house. Over tea her mother looked at her seriously.
You look pale, love. Everything alright?
Its fine, Mum.
Dont lie. I can see when youre upset.
Eleanor sighed.
Margaret is moving in with us. Oliver decided that.
Right then, her father shrugged. Old folk can stay where they please.
But we have a onebedroom flat. Shell take the room, you and I will sleep on the kitchen cot.
Shell be here only for a while, I suppose?
Oliver says until she gets better. He cant say when that will be.
Her mother nodded.
I understand, dear. Its hard having a motherinlaw under the same roof. But a son must look after his own mother.
Doesnt a daughter have to look after her parents? Eleanor burst out.
Her parents exchanged a glance.
What are you talking about? her father asked.
I suggested we bring you to the city, a bigger flat, maybe help more. He refused, saying the village is better for you.
Its better here, her mother said, patting Eleanors hand. Were used to it. The city would be cramped for us.
Its hard, Mum! Dad can barely walk, you cant use your left hand!
We manage. The important thing is youre healthy, and Olivers fine. Dont worry about us.
Eleanor pressed her face to her mothers shoulder and wept.
Im tired, she whispered. Tired of his attitude, tired of being second, tired of my parents being worthless to him.
Calm down, love, her mother soothed. Itll pass. Margaret will stay a short while, then return home.
Eleanor didnt believe it.
Saturday morning Margaret arrived with three huge suitcases.
Ellie, help me with these! she shouted from the doorway.
Eleanor silently carried the bags inside. Margaret surveyed the flat.
Isnt this a bit cramped? You should get a bigger place!
We cant afford a bigger flat yet, Eleanor replied curtly.
You need to earn more! Oliver, ask for a bonus!
Mother, thats not how it works, Oliver interjected, helping with the luggage.
You see? We used to work for conscience, not for fear!
Eleanor slipped into the kitchen, began cooking a stew, while Margaret barked orders from the living room.
What are you making? Margaret asked.
Stew and meatloaf.
Oliver cant have fatty foodhis livers weak!
Its chicken, steamed.
Still not right. Better fish. Ive brought a pike, Ill show you how to cook it.
I can cook fish myself.
Can you? Not the way I do.
Margaret shoved Eleanor away from the stove, taking over. Eleanor clenched her teeth, watching the tension rise.
After lunch, Margaret retired to a chair, Eleanor washed dishes. Oliver approached from behind.
Thanks for taking my mother in.
Did I have a choice?
Eleanor, dont start.
Im not starting. Im stating. You decided, I complied.
You could be kinder to her.
I am kind.
Youre cold. She feels it.
Eleanor turned.
Your mother has taken our room, driven me from the stove, criticised my cooking, and you expect me to be pleasant?
Shes ill!
Shes used to ordering people around! And you let her!
Enough! Oliver shouted, his voice rising. Shes my mother! I wont let you insult her!
Im not insultingIm telling the truth!
Margarets voice floated from the bedroom.
Oliver, whats happening? Are you arguing?
No, Mum, everythings fine, Oliver replied, stepping into the room.
Eleanor stayed in the kitchen, wiping tears, finishing the dishes.
A week later Margaret had claimed half the wardrobe, spread her belongings across the flat. Eleanor and Oliver slept on a folding cot in the kitchen, backs aching from the cramped position. Margaret rose early, rattling pots, preparing a heavy breakfast that Eleanor refused to eat, then blared the telly at full volume, dispensing unsolicited advice.
Ellie, you wash the floor wrong. Do it like this.
You wash at the wrong temperature.
You dress poorly.
Eleanor endured, doing as she always had, while Margaret complained to Oliver, who rebuked his wife.
Why cant you listen to my mother? She wants to help!
I dont need her help!
Youre rude and ungrateful!
Arguments became daily; Eleanor felt her strength draining. Work, house, motherinlaw, husbandall pressed on her.
Her own parents suffered too. She could no longer visit them as often; Margaret demanded her attention. She had to ask a neighbour to help her parents, paying her for the errands.
One evening Eleanor sat at the kitchen table, tallying expenses. Money wouldnt stretch to the end of the month. She needed medicine for her father, payment for the neighbour, and the council tax.
Margaret entered.
I need new slippers, these are too tight. Can you spare some money?
I have nothing extra.
How can that be? Oliver got his pay!
Olivers salary goes to the mortgage and food.
What about yours?
My money goes to my parents medicine, the council tax, the household.
Your parents! Always you, never me!
Margaret pursed her lips. Your pension is small.
My pension is tiny too! But Im not asking you for money.
Margaret turned and left the kitchen. A minute later Oliver stormed in, face flushed.
You actually refused my mother money for slippers?
I have no spare cash!
And you have money for your own parents?
My parents are ill! They need medication!
My mother is ill too! She needs slippers!
Give her the money yourself!
I cant!
We both cant!
They shouted, Margaret watching gleefully from the doorway.
Eleanor saw the whole scene with new clarity: the motherinlaw manipulating her son, the husband blind to it, herself cornered.
Enough, she said quietly. No more.
Whats enough? Oliver asked, confused.
Everything. Im tired of your treatment, tired of being a servant, tired that my parents mean nothing to you.
Eleanor, stop this hysteria!
Its not hysteria. Its a decision. Im leaving.
Oliver froze.
Where?
To my parents. Ill live with them. If you dont need my help here, Ill go.
Youve lost your mind!
No. Ive simply chosen.
He stared at her, speechless.
Go on then, he muttered. Youll manage.
Eleanor walked to the bedroom, began packing. Oliver followed, pleading.
Stop! You cant just leave!
I can. Im leaving.
What about me?
Youll cope. Your mother will cook, wash, iron for you.
But I love you!
Eleanor halted, met his eyes.
If you loved me, you wouldnt have let your mother push me aside, wouldnt have put her wishes above my needs, wouldnt have forgotten my fathers birthday, wouldnt have offered any help.
I didnt forget!
Did you? You never asked if he needed anything, never suggested a visit.
Oliver was silent.
Im weary of being alone in this marriage, of carrying everything. I want to care for those who value my care.
She closed her suitcase, grabbed her bag.
Oliver, wait! Lets talk!
Its too late. It should have been earlier.
She stepped out of the flat. Margaret stood in the hallway.
Youre leaving? Fine. Oliver will be better off without you.
Eleanor paused.
Youve got what you wanted, Margaret. My husband in a cramped flat with his motherwhat a happy ending.
She opened the door.
Outside, snow fell, the wind biting. She hailed a cab, rode to the train station, bought a ticket to the village.
She arrived late, the house quiet. Parents slept. She slipped in, stripped off her coat, collapsed onto the old sofa in the sitting room.
Morning greeted her with the smell of pancakes. Her mother was at the stove.
Ellie! Youre here! she exclaimed. How long?
Here to stay, forever.
What about Oliver?
He stayed with my mother. Itll be easier for them.
Her mother embraced her, tears in her eyes.
Youre my poor girl. How did it come to this?
It came, Mum. It just did.
They sat with tea, Eleanor recounting the motherinlaw, the fights, her decision to leave.
You did right, her father said. You cant endure that.
But I love him, she whispered.
Love isnt putting up with humiliation. Love is respect. He didnt respect you.
Eleanor nodded. She found work at the village librarymodest pay, enough for the household.Years later, Eleanor watched her parents smile over a quiet dinner, grateful that the choice she made had finally brought peace to both families.
