In those days, the tension between Eleanor and her mother-in-law, Margaret, had reached its breaking point. “If Im such a villain in your mothers eyes, then let her live as she pleases. I wont lift a finger for her again!” Eleanor had always tried to keep her composure when it came to Margarets visits. The older woman would drop by their London flat two or three times a week, turning each occasion into an ordeal. As the September days grew shorter, Eleanors patience wore thinner.
Margaret adored hosting grand suppers. Shed arrive with bags full of groceries, take over the kitchen, and cook enough to feed a small armyinviting neighbors, acquaintances, and sometimes even strangers to the table. “Now this is what I call hospitality!” shed declare, setting out the dishes. “Not like some people who cant even brew a proper cup of tea.” Eleanor would clench her jaw and keep slicing the bread. Margaret never named names, but everyone knew whom she meant.
At the table, Margaret transformed into a storyteller, her eyes alight, her voice full of pomp. “My nephews wife, Elizabethnow theres a gem! Such a seamstress! You should see her embroiderylike paintings! And her knitting, her gardening! Their home is spotless. Jams, picklesa proper English pantry!” The guests would nod approvingly while Eleanors cheeks burned. Her husband, Thomas, sat beside her, eyes glued to his phone as if none of it concerned him.
“And my cousins wife, Rebeccasuch a gentle soul! Never a cross word. Her mother-in-law feels like shes behind a stone wall. Always helping, always seeking advice. Now thats proper upbringing!” One of the neighbors turned to Eleanor. “And what do you do, dear?” Before Eleanor could answer, Margaret cut in. “Oh, theres no need to ask! Our Eleanor here is a modern woman. She works in an office, staring at a screen all day. No time for needlework or homemaking. Quite used to having things done for her.”
“Im a manager at a retail firm,” Eleanor tried to explain.
“Oh yes, a manager,” Margaret nodded knowingly. “But who keeps the home running? My poor Thomas comes back from work and still has to cook, cleanour spoiled daughter-in-law!” Eleanors jaw ached from clenching it. Thomas might as well have been deaf.
After one such supper, as the guests left and the dishes were cleared, Margaret approached with a saccharine smile. “Eleanor, darling, could you accompany me to the clinic tomorrow? Just to fetch some test resultsits rather daunting alone.”
“Of course, Margaret,” Eleanor replied, though she had an important client meeting the next day.
“Oh, you angel! Thomas is so busy at work, and your schedule is flexible, isnt it?” Eleanor bit back the truthher schedule was anything but flexible. Better to avoid a scene.
The following week, it was another errand. “Eleanor, dear, would you pop to the chemists? The doctors prescribed new pills, and I cant make head nor tail of the names.”
“Of course,” Eleanor said, though it took her half a day traipsing between three pharmacies before hauling groceries home, exhausted.
“How was your day?” Thomas asked, eyes on the telly.
“Fine,” she said flatly.
Days later, Margaret arrived with relatives in tow. “This is Eleanor, my daughter-in-law,” she announced. “And this is my sister-in-law, Doris, and her daughter, Charlotte.” Charlotte, though Eleanors age, carried herself like a matron. “I hear you work in an office?” she said, eyeing the flat.
“Yes, in retail.”
“How fascinating! I stay home with the childrenthree little angels. The eldest already plays the violin!” Margaret beamed. “Now thats a proper woman! A homemaker, a mothernot gallivanting about offices.”
Later, when the guests had gone, Eleanor snapped. “Thomas, did you hear what your mother said?”
“What of it? Just womens chatter.”
“Chatter? She humiliated me in front of everyone!”
“Dont be dramatic. She was just making comparisons.”
“So you agree Im a terrible wife?”
“I didnt say that. But you could put more effort into the home.”
“Who cooks? Who cleans? The brownies?”
“Well, we take turns”
“Turns? When did you last cook? Heating pies doesnt count!”
The next day, Margaret called againthis time for a special cream sold across town. “Eleanor, darling, you driveits such a hassle for me!” Eleanor, running late for a meeting, gave inonly to be reprimanded by her boss. That evening, Thomas dismissed it. “One tardy day wont kill you. Mum needed help.”
“And if Im sacked for it?”
“Youll find another job.”
The final straw came at another supper, where Margaret sighed, “My nephews wifesuch a doting daughter-in-law! They holiday together, exchange gifts. Always seeks advice. A true daughter!” Then, eyeing Eleanor: “Some think marriage means ignoring their husbands family. Living selfishly.”
“If you have issue with me, say it plainly,” Eleanor snapped.
“My, my! I was merely reflecting on respect for elders.”
Later, as Eleanor washed up, Margaret mused, “Tell me, Eleanorare you good for anything?” A plate slipped from Eleanors grip, shattering.
“What did you say?”
“Oh, nothing dire. Just wondering if youve skills beyond typing.”
Eleanor straightened. “If Im such a villain in your eyes, then live as you please. I wont serve you another day.” The room fell silent. Margaret blinked, stunned; Thomas finally looked up from his phone.
“Eleanor, whats got into you? Mum meant no harm”
“No harm? She just asked what Im good for!”
A week later, Margaret called again. “Eleanor, darling, the shops”
“No.”
“Butwho else can I ask?”
“Ask Elizabeth. Ask Rebecca. Not my problem.”
Thomas rang, furious. “Mums in tears! How could you?”
“Respect goes both ways. Shes had none for me.”
“She treats you like a daughter!”
“A daughter she calls useless to my face?”
The next day, Margaret stormed in, red-eyed. “Thomas, control your wife! Shes rude, unhelpfulhow do you bear it?” Eleanor, listening from the kitchen, finally snapped. She fetched Thomass suitcase.
“Youll leave. With your mother.”
“This is my home too!”
“No. Its mine. Inherited from Gran. Youre registered hereI own it.”
When police arrived, the sergeant checked the deed. “The owner has final say on guests.” Margaret wailed. “Im family!”
“A family that disrespects me is no family of mine.”
Silence settled in the flatblissful, at last. Weeks passed. Eleanor redecorated, reclaimed her life. Then, one day, Margarets sister Doris called. “Margarets unwell. Lonely. Perhaps you could”
“Wheres perfect Charlotte? Or you?”
“Were busy”
“Exactly. Not my responsibility.”
When Thomas finally reappeared, gaunt and weary, he pleaded. “Mums ill. She regrets things.”
“And?”
“Could you visit? Even briefly?”
Eleanor shook her head. “That doors closed. Hire a carer. Thats your dutynot mine.”
She walked away, the autumn leaves crunching underfoot. Some bridges, once burned, were better left in ashes.
