Mom, Im not taking a job as a maid, Alex shouted into the phone. Weve got a bit of a mess. The landlady wants us out of the flat ASAP. Can you clear out as much space as you can in my room? The whole familys coming over later today.
Maggie blinked at the sudden call, her mug of tea still steaming. You cant be serious Ive read that you cant just be evicted in winter without a proper tenancy agreement. Shouldnt they give you some time to find a new place? she stammered, halfamused, halfhorrified.
They wont give us any time, Alex retorted. Poppy had a row with the landlady yesterday and thats why shes being so harsh.
Oh, I see, Maggie said, her tone dry. Poppy needs to learn to keep her mouth shut and show a bit of respect.
Dont even start, Mum! Alex snapped, his mood already sour. Just sort the room, well be there with the boxes in the evening. He hung up, leaving a faint buzzing in the receiver as Maggie slumped onto the kitchen floor.
Yesterday had been a nightmare at work: two new recruits arrived, and her boss demanded she show them everything, while also churning out two reports for senior management. By the time she trudged home, she felt more like shed crawled rather than walked.
The coming weekend was supposed to be Maggies. Saturday: a liein, a stroll through the park in the afternoon. Sunday: a catchup with a friend and a bit of shopping. And then the phone rang.
How on earth could a tiny twobedroom flat fit four people her, her son Alex, his wife Poppy, and her sevenyearold grandson Oliver? All her grand plans for the weekend dissolved like cheap biscuits in milk. She now had to sift through Alexs former room, shuffle a few things, then dash to the supermarket and cook dinner before nightfall.
The prospect didnt exactly tickle Maggies fancy. It wasnt that she disliked her son or Oliver; it was the strained relationship with Poppy that made everything feel like walking on eggshells. Shed always tried to be courteous to keep the peace, but the occasional flareups were inevitable.
Nevertheless, with a sigh, she tackled the cleaning, then marched to the shop and whipped up a simple supper.
By evening the house was buzzing with Alexs family. The flat sounded louder than a Sunday market, and Maggie slipped away to her bedroom early. Alex and Poppy lingered at the table while Oliver watched cartoons.
Good night, everyone. Youll clear the table yourselves, right, Nat? Maggie called as she left the kitchen.
Yeah, Poppy muttered, eyes glued to her phone.
Halfasleep, Maggie heard the faint chuckles and footsteps, but she pretended not to listen. She convinced herself the visitors would be shortlived, just a quick stopover. After all, Poppys drama had been selfinflicted. Maggie had repeatedly suggested that Poppy learn to negotiate and show some respect, but the latter either shrugged her off or turned the episode into a fullblown scene.
The next morning the alarm shrieked, and Maggie shuffled into the kitchen, only to be met by a mountain of halffilled tea cups, candy wrappers, and apple cores. The sink stared back at her, swollen with unwashed dishes.
Mom, whats for breakfast? Alex groggily asked, still stuck in traffic.
Make yourself a sandwich and a cuppa. Im just having coffee, Maggie replied.
Sandwiches wont keep me fed for long, he muttered.
Then the blame falls on the wife. She could spend a few minutes in the bathroom and fix you a proper breakfast. I didnt sign up to be a housekeeper, yet here I am, washing dishes you left after yesterdays dinner.
Before Maggie could finish, Poppy appeared, rubbing sleep from her eyes.
So I knew it. Maggie Thompson, its half past eight and youre already whining.
Im not whining, Poppy. Im speaking to Alex. Could you perhaps make him a breakfast? I cant be the one constantly scrubbing the dishes and cooking. Kindly look after yourselves.
Sure, Poppy replied, still glued to her screen.
The following five days passed in a haze of nervous tension. Maggie held on as best she could, hoping Alex would sort the housing mess within the week so she could enjoy a normal weekend again.
Friday night brought no news. Maggie guessed Alex simply didnt want to drag her into his problems. Saturday morning found Alex and Poppy sleeping like the dead. By lunchtime Alex finally emerged, and Maggie realised no move was afoot.
On Sunday she asked directly, Alex, have you found a new flat?
Been looking. Everythings either too pricey or too far. Well probably be crashing at your place for another week.
Fine, stay then she sighed, resigned. She couldnt throw them out onto the street, so she endured another week. Anything was better than a fullblown fight.
But, as fate would have it, the family didnt move out after a week or two. In fact, they seemed to be settling in for good, while Poppy continued to dump dirty dishes in the sink and retire to the sofa without a second thought. The laundry basket grew, and Maggie spent the weekends washing, ironing, cooking, and tidying.
Poppy, Im heading to the shop, could you please mop the floor?
Im the lady of the house, Maggie. Ill do something else later maybe tomorrow.
Youre the lady of the house, but you also live here, you know.
Whats your problem, youre giving me a headache! Poppy snapped.
This is absurd, Maggie retorted.
Exactly! And youve created it! Poppy shot back.
Maggie didnt press the argument further; she simply went to the shop, then finished the cleaning, poured herself a tea, and tried to relax.
A sudden rattle shook the flat Oliver was playing ball indoors.
Oliver, you should be playing outside, not in the flat. Its evening and the neighbours might hear, Maggie warned.
But Grandma, Mum and Dad wont take me out. I want to play now, he replied, bouncing the ball against the wall.
Stop that, Maggie ordered.
Alex popped his head out of the bedroom.
Alex, tell Oliver to stop.
Mom, he always plays inside Alex began, but Poppy cut in.
Thats exactly it! Youve been nagging me all morning, now youre picking on the child. What, you want us out?! she shouted.
If you cant respect my house rules, perhaps you should find somewhere else to live, Maggie said calmly.
A tense silence fell.
Great, youre kicking us out! By the way, Im pregnant, and I cant be stressed! Poppy wailed, storming off.
Son, I didnt know you were pregnant, Maggie said softly. Im not asking for miracles, just a roof of my own.
That evening Poppy packed a suitcase and announced theyd move to the neighbouring town to stay with her parents while Alex kept hunting for a flat.
Maggie felt a pang of worry, trying unsuccessfully to persuade Poppy to stay. Poppy theatrically wept, snorted, and refused any compromise.
Three days later Alex finally secured a new flat and moved out with his family. Maggie gave the house a deep clean, took a weeks holiday, and life slowly returned to its usual rhythm, though a sour aftertaste lingered.
Now her contact with Alex was so thin it might as well be a phone line. She learned about the birth of a granddaughter from a mutual friend. It was awkward, but what could she do?
Maggie now lives for herself. Twice a year she heads to a seaside resort, sends a few quid to her grandchildren for birthdays, and receives a birthday call from Alex each year. No spa or personal space can replace the warmth of family, but happiness first comes from within. Thats Maggies verdict, and she doesnt regret her choices. Shes ready to reconnect with the grandkids whenever she feels like it, but whether that happens is entirely Poppys call. All that remains is the quiet conscience of the daughterinlaw.
