Mum, meet someone,” Oliver said, stepping aside to reveal a young woman. “This is Emily. My fiancée.”
Margaret nearly stumbled backwards, catching herself just in time on the armchairthankfully, it was right where it should be. Her boy, her Ollie, standing next to his bride-to-be, looked like a schoolboy beside a headmistress.
“Alright?” Emily said, hands shoved in her jeans pockets, gum snapping between her teeth, as if she owned the world.
“Hello there,” Margaret muttered, utterly gobsmacked. “So, how did you When?”
“Mum, its fine!” Oliver kicked off his shoes and nodded for Emily to do the same. “Were moving into Emilys place, yeah, love?”
“Mm-hmm,” Emily mumbled, chewing vigorously.
“Son, can I have a word?” Margaret stood and walked to the kitchen.
“You can say whatever in front of me,” Emily plopped onto the sofa, crossing her legs and snatching the telly remote, flipping channels. “Ollie and I dont keep secrets. Right, Dumbo?”
“Right, Mum,” Oliver nodded, his ears turning red.
“Well, alright then,” Margaret steadied herself. “Son, are you sure this girl is right for you? Shes at least ten years older!”
“Eight!” Emily corrected. “And it doesnt matter. Got a problem with that? Im independent, well-off, a grown woman”
“Exactly! A woman! My boys barely twenty!” Margaret clutched her head.
“Well, someones got to turn him into a man, since no one managed by now,” Emily snorted.
Margaret gaped like a fish on dry land, lost for words.
“Mum,” Oliver finally spoke up, “The thing iswe need money for the wedding.”
“And whats that got to do with me?” Margaret huffed, stunned by the cheek of her future daughter-in-law.
“How dyou mean?” Emily blinked. “Traditionally, the grooms family pays. Mine certainly thinks so.”
“Oh, brilliant!” Margaret threw her hands up. “Convenient, isnt it? Pushing off old stock and then asking for cash. If anything, you should be paying me for taking my boy off your hands. Not a penny!”
She crossed her arms, dead set.
“Alright, then,” Emily smirked, standing and stepping right into Margarets space. “Have it your way, you old bat. Come on, Dumbo, well manage.”
She strode to the door, already swinging it open. Oliver scrambled after her, casting one last hopeful glance at his mothermaybe shed change her mind. But she turned away. Just before they left, she called out:
“Why Dumbo, anyway?”
“Cause hes got big ears,” Emily shouted from the landing, shoving Oliver out.
“Bye, Mum!” was all he managed before the door slammed.
“Lord, what did I do to deserve this?” Margaret sobbed, collapsing at the kitchen table, drowning her sorrows in custard creams. She never imagined her sweet, gentle Ollie would fall into the clutches of such a harpy.
“His ears are perfectly normal,” she sniffed belatedly towards the door.
“What now?” Emily scratched her head outside, eyeing Oliver. “We cant afford a proper dovenue, caterers, the lot. Mine wont chip in either.”
“Maybe we could have it at the cottage, then go on holiday after?” Oliver suggested hopefully. He hadnt been working longbarely saved a thing.
“Why didnt you say earlier?” Emily clapped his shoulder. “Go back, get the keys and permission. Save us a fortune. Ill waitwouldnt want to traumatise the old dear with my modern ways.” She cackled.
Margaret had just settled when the doorbell rang again.
“Now what?” she grumbled, shuffling to answer.
Oliver stood alone. She peered past himno sign of Emily lurking.
“Changed her mind, has she?” Margaret brightened.
“Mum, dont!” Oliver scowled. “We love each other.”
“Then what?” she sighed, turning for the kettle. Too many biscuits left her parched.
“Could we borrow the cottage? For the wedding?”
“Over my dead body!” she spluttered. “Youll wreck the place!”
“Well clean up, promise!” Oliver pressed. “Loads of peopletheyll help. Dont you want me happy?”
He knew where to push. Margaret choked on her tea.
“I do! Just not like this!”
“Emilys wonderful, Mum.”
“Couldve fooled me.”
With a sigh, she shuffled to the hall, keys jangling.
“Here,” she thrust them at him. “But it better be spotless.”
“Youre a star!” He kissed her cheek and bolted before she reconsidered.
“Look, love!” He waved the keys triumphantly outside.
“See? Youve got it in you,” Emily praised, spitting her gum and planting a smacker on him.
Margaret got an invite, much to her surprise.
“How am I supposed to pretend Im happy?” she moaned to her neighbour. “Id rather drown her in trifle, but noIve got to smile and toast their happiness.”
“Dont fret,” the neighbour waved her off. “Kids these daysmarried today, divorced tomorrow. Mines on her third. Just pray no babies.”
“Whats the point, then?”
“Who knows? Some collect husbands like stamps.”
The wedding day was unseasonably warm.
“Lucky with the weather!” guests cheered. About thirty showed up, including Emilys parentsstiff as boards. Her mother flinched at every insect. “Theyre everywhere!” she whinged, while her husband, after a few whiskies, flirted shamelessly with bridesmaids.
“What does she see in him?” Emilys mother sniffed to Margaret. “She had athletes, businessmen!”
“Not thrilled with your daughter either,” Margaret snapped, moving away before she ruined the day.
“Oh,” the woman shrank, realising her mistake.
Margaret kept slipping outside, heart sinking at the wreckage.
BBQs nestled between flowerbeds. Half the veg patch was raidedspring onions, radishes, herbs trampled. Firewood, saved for the chiminea, fed the flames.
“Loos over there!” she barked at drunk guests relieving themselves by the apple trees.
“Cheers, Mum!” they laughed, stumbling back.
“What is wrong with people?” Margaret groaned, finding no joy in the chaos. She clung to hope theyd clean up tomorrow.
The party raged till dawn. The garden was fertilised with half-digested canapés and drenched in champagne, gin, and worse. By morning, the revelry died down, but Margaret couldnt sleep, surveying the damage.
Rubbish everywherebottles, wrappers, crumpled napkins. Guests snored on the lawn, two in the greenhouse. Silk scarves dangled from branches like strange fruit.
“Thank God no knickers,” she muttered, gathering accessories.
She muttered until the newlyweds emerged, stretching.
“Mum? Whatre you doing?” Oliver blinked.
“Oh, just admiring the mess! Whos cleaning this?”
“Theyll sort it when they wake,” he shrugged, splashing his face from the rain barrel before ducking inside for Emily.
Margaret gaped as they reappeared with suitcases.
“Where dyou think youre going?” She blocked the path. “What about this?”
“Were late,” Oliver nudged her aside. “Booked a holiday.”
“And the guests?”
“Theyve got legs,” Emily said. “Theyll clear out. Come on, Dumbo, unless you fancy honeymooning in this dump.” She grabbed Oliver and marched off.
“Dump? My cottagea dump?” Margaret sputtered.
One by one, guests slunk away without lifting a finger.
“Sorry, love,” Emilys father hiccuped, reeking of booze. “Feeling rough. Were off.” His wife, hair a birds nest, mumbled apologies before they wobbled out.
Alone, Margaret wandered the ruins. The bedroom was a tip. Under gift boxes, a white envelope peeked out.
“Scatterbrains!” She gasped, pulling out casha small fortune.
“Didnt look the type,” she mused, counting. Probably the in-laws doing.
Sitting with the money, an idea struck. She dialled a number.
“Hello? Sparkle Clean? Need a full property tidy. Yes, that budget works.” Hanging up, she smirked, tucking the rest away.
“Safe travels, kids,” she chuckled, reaching for the biscuits.
