Margaret Winthrop was a mother-in-law through and through. Not the quiet, reserved type, mind youno, she was the full-blooded, meddlesome, opinionated variety. Her own mother, Lydia, had taken one look at her scowling newborn daughtertiny fists clenched, eyebrows furrowedand whispered to her friends, “Goodness, shes born to be a mother-in-law. Just look at that frown!”
Luckily, Lydias own mother-in-law, Victoria, lived clear up in Yorkshire and seldom visited. But when she did, the entire bakery where Lydia worked knew about it. The dough wouldnt rise, the custards curdled, and Lydia jumped at every sound.
“Take some time off, love,” snapped the manager one day. “Come back when shes gone.”
“Mrs. Whitmore, have mercy!” Lydia clutched her apron to her chest. “Works my only escape! If Im home, Ill spend the whole day grovelling and apologising.”
“Apologising? For what?”
“Everything! The way I cook, the way I clean, the way I speak to her sonhonestly, Mrs. Whitmore, I dont even draw the curtains right!”
“How *should* you draw them?”
“No idea. But apparently, not like *this*!”
When Margaret was born, Victoria swooped in like a storm, insisted the baby be named after her late mother, had her christened (much to Lydias socialist dismay), terrified the midwife into submission, and left convinced her dim-witted daughter would ruin the child.
Lydia cried for a week. Her husband, Geoffrey, dipped into his secret fishing boat fund and bought her a gold locket just to stop the tears.
Against all grandmotherly predictions, little Maggie thrived. She walked early, potty-trained quickly, and spoke in full sentences before most toddlers could manage “please.” By four, she was asking questions like, “What is happiness?” and “Why do we smile?”leaving the bakery girls and factory lads utterly baffled.
And she handled her grandmother with terrifying efficiency.
One day, Victoria arrived in her usual whirlwind of criticism, this time targeting the couples new sofatoo light, impractical, *disgraceful*. Five-year-old Maggie listened, then grabbed Victorias suitcase and dragged it toward the door.
“Oi! Where dyou think youre taking that?”
“You came without love. You shouted at Mummy. Go home.”
“Youve turned her against me!” Victoria shrieked.
Maggie shoved the doll her grandmother had just given her back into her hands. “Take it. I dont want presents from you. Learn to be nice.”
“Got you there, Mother!” Geoffrey roared with laughter. “Our Maggie doesnt take nonsense. Last time I came home tipsy from celebrating my bonus, she lectured me for a week.”
After that, Lydia kept Maggie home whenever Victoria visiteddelaying bedtime just so her mother-in-law would leave with half her scolding unsaid.
At school, Maggie was a force. Head girl, debate champion, and top of her class (except in English Lit”Rabbits dont talk, and goblins arent real. And dont get me started on Dickens dreary moralising.”).
Teachers urged her toward Oxford, but she chose distance learning insteadLydias health was flagging, and Victoria, now seventy, needed checking on. Then Daniel Ashworth, the factory foremans son, returned from his military service, gaped at Maggie in her turquoise graduation dress, and blurted, “Blimey, you look like a bride!”
“Pfft. If I ever marry, Ill look like a *queen*,” she retorted, smoothing the fabric.
“Right then!” Daniel grinned. “Ill tell Mum to fetch some proper velvet for my suit.”
“Fine. But make it navy. Or grey. Looks smarter.”
Without so much as a kiss, they spent their courtship planning guest lists, honeymoon destinations, and baby names. They moved to Manchester for her studies and his apprenticeship, returned engagedwell, obviously, theyd *planned* itand soon had three boys in quick succession.
Margaret climbed the ranks at work, outshining Daniel, who was perfectly content fishing with his father-in-law while she juggled promotions, night classes, and the occasional office skirmish.
She ran a tight ship, sniffing out genuine grievances from workers idle whingeing. Nowadays, theyd call her a “dynamic leader.” Back then, she was “that battle-axe” orif youd crossed her”a right mother-in-law.”
Her sons were a mixed bunch:
Alex, the eldesteasygoing, bright but lazy, a carbon copy of Daniel.
Vincenther mirror image, all fire and ambition, asking at five, “How do I become *important*?”
And Stanleysomewhere in between, either conquering the world or weeping over poetry.
By the time she became deputy director, Margaret barely noticed her boys were grown. Then Alex brought home *her*.
“Mum, Dadthis is Katie.”
The girl was all curves and confidence. Daniel whistled. Margarets eyes narrowed.
Katie hated gardening, turned her nose up at roast dinners, moaned about the lack of sushi bars in their town, and used enough water in the shower to fill a pool.
“Hows the daughter-in-law?” her friends Vera and Tanya teased.
“Sharp,” Margaret admitted. “Got Alex studying English. They want to work abroad.”
“Youre *letting* them?”
“Why not? We never travelled. Let them.”
“And leave you alone?”
“Hardly alone. Two more still at home.”
Vincents turn came next.
“Mum, Dadmeet Alice.”
*Alice* was a wisp of a thing, trembling behind her fiancé.
“This one, Margaretll *destroy*,” Vera muttered.
She didnt.
Alice cooked like a Michelin chef (“Ive gained *three stone*!” Margaret groaned) and, after gifting twins, was promptly renamed “our darling girl.”
Stanley took his time. At thirty, he finally introduced Julia.
“Mum, Dadthis is Jules.”
The girl took one look at Margarets initialsM.W.and exploded into giggles.
“*Double-U!* Hows she lived with that her whole life?!”
At the wedding, Julia laughed through the vows, the photos, the speeches. They bought a flat in LeedsStanley coded, Jules animated. Their daughter, Cassie, inherited her mothers giggles.
As for Margaret?
“Whod have thought,” Vera mused, “our tough-as-nails Margaret would turn into such a *soft* mother-in-law?”
“Either shes lucky,” Tanya said, “or we never really knew her at all.”
