When my motherinlaw, Marge, called to say shed be staying a few days at our place, I instantly saw Emily tense up.
I had no idea why she was so uneasy. After all, Marge lived alone in Manchester and rarely visited our quiet cottage near the Lake District. I figured it would be a nice chance for a family catchup.
But as the day drew nearer, Emily grew more on edge.
Why are you getting so worked up? I laughed. Shell stay a few days, help us out, see the kids it cant be that bad.
Emily gave me a weary look, almost resigned.
You dont know her like I do, she murmured.
I thought she was exaggerating.
I was far from imagining what lay ahead.
The takeover
Marge arrived with two enormous suitcases, as if she planned to move in for good. She didnt even pause to kiss us before marching through the door, inspecting the house with a critical eye like an inspector checking everything met her standards.
At first things seemed normal. She hugged us, handed presents to the children, and offered a bag brimming with homemade jam, biscuits and readymade meals.
I told myself Emily was overreacting.
Then the next morning came.
And our home was no longer ours.
This is your coffee? How dreadful! How can you drink something so bitter? she exclaimed, watching me sip my mug.
I smiled, assuming she was teasing.
She was far from finished.
These curtains are ghastly! They make the room look gloomy. We need new ones.
Why have you placed the sofa there? It makes no sense! The whole layout needs rearranging.
You really dont know how to wash the dishes properly? First rinse with hot water, then scrub, then rinse again!
Within hours she had commandeered the house, upending our routines and imposing her own rules.
Emily stayed silent, but I could see how hard she was trying not to speak up.
Marge wasnt about to stop there.
Déjà vu
The situation reminded me oddly of a few months earlier when Emilys younger sister, Poppy, had a similar ordeal.
Marge had visited Poppy in Bristol, intending to stay two weeks, but she left after just four days. We wondered why; Poppy was always gentle and never complained.
We eventually figured it out.
Marge had behaved exactly the same way there: critiquing the childrens upbringing, rearranging the kitchen, dictating how Poppy should run her life.
Poppy couldnt stand it for long. She quietly packed a suitcase, bought a train ticket and escorted Marge to the station without a word.
And now the pattern was repeating.
Only this time we were caught in the snare.
The breaking point
After four days the tension became unbearable.
When I got home from work I found Emily sitting at the kitchen table, staring into space.
I sat opposite her.
I cant take any more of this, she whispered.
That morning Marge had crossed every line.
Dont you make a proper breakfast for your husband? Just cereal? Thats a childs meal!
You never call me! A daughter should look after her mother!
Ive thought about it what if I moved in with you? Im alone in Manchester, youre my family after all
It was too much.
We realised that if we did nothing, shed never leave.
The next morning we mustered our courage and told her it was time to go home.
She froze.
Oh, I see Im in the way. Youre kicking me out, just like they did to Sophie, right?
We tried to explain that we simply needed our own space and were exhausted.
She wouldnt listen.
Silently she packed her bags and slipped out of the house without even saying goodbye.
The calm after the storm
When she was gone the silence that settled over the cottage felt almost unreal.
Emily and I remained at the kitchen table, sipping tea in quiet, still stunned by the past few days.
Do you think shell ever forgive us? she asked softly.
I sighed. I have no idea.
But for the first time in a week I felt a genuine sense of relief.
The endless circle
A week later Poppy called.
I cant believe you did that to Mum! she shouted, sounding outraged.
Emily and I exchanged a look.
How ironic.
When Marge was staying with Poppy, shed lasted no more than four days before sending her packing.
Now she turned the same accusation at us.
We sat in stunned silence after the call, each lost in thought.
Do all parents become like this as they agemore intrusive, more demanding, more oppressive?
And the most frightening question of all
Will we, one day, end up just like her?
