Evening, and Im determined she wont be here.
Did she really say that? my wife, Mabel, asked, echoing the question back to me.
I gave a brief nod and took a sip from my mug. The tea was scalding, and I winced.
Exactly that. My sister demanded that Mum transfer the twobed flat to her and move out. Shes got a proposal from Harry, and they need a place of their own, you understand? I said in a high, irritated tone, almost mimicking my sisters way of talking.
Mabel stared at me as if she couldnt believe her ears. It was beyond anything reasonable. Demand the family home from your own parents? Just like that?
What did Mum say? Mabel asked cautiously.
I shook my head.
Nothing definitive. But I know Mum she dotes on Gwen. So anythings possible.
Could a daughter really drive her own mother out of the only home shes ever owned? Mabel would never have even considered asking her parents for something like that. Shed refused to take a deposit from them, saved every penny herself, bought a flat and cleared the mortgage before we were married. She took tremendous pride in that it was her house, her property.
Listen, I continued, glancing off to the side, Mum sold the country cottage a while back to fund Gwens studies. And guess what? She dropped out in her second year. Turns out university does actually require attendance, can you imagine?
Mabel snorted.
Your sister has never been one for staying power.
I fell silent. Mabel could see the tension in my shoulders, the way my fingers gripped the mug. But what could she say? What advice could she offer? Family is always messy.
Days turned into weeks. I phoned Mum several times, but each call was brief and strained. Mabel stayed out of it, knowing this was my battle, my pain.
Then, one Saturday we decided to pay a visit to my mother.
I unlocked the front door with my key, and Mabel froze on the threshold. The flat was a sea of boxes, suitcases, folded blankets. Belongings were stacked against the walls, on the sofa, on the kitchen table. The whole place was a movingday disaster.
Mum? I called as we stepped inside.
Dorothy came out of the bedroom, her face drawn, shadows under her eyes. Mabel had never seen my mother looking so exhausted.
James, Mabel, come in, Dorothy whispered.
I scanned the room and asked straight away, Are you giving the flat to Gwen?
Dorothy sighed, lowered herself onto the edge of the sofa, and shifted a box of dishes aside.
Itll be better this way, love. A young couple needs their own space. Harrys a good lad, he works. Theyll need a place, and I can manage without it.
Mabel stood there, listening, her stomach churning with indignation. How could anyone give away the only flat they owned? Where would my mother go?
Where will you live? I asked hoarsely.
Ill rent a small room. My pension isnt much, but itll cover me. Dont worry about me.
I saw Mabels eyes widen as I turned pale, my hands trembling. She said nothing this wasnt her fight.
Two months later Dorothy was living in a rented flat in a different borough. I visited her frequently, bringing groceries, medication, helping with chores. Mabel didnt object; she understood I was still dealing with the aftermath.
One evening I came home looking hollow, sitting at the kitchen table staring at the wall.
Whats wrong? Mabel asked, pulling up a chair opposite me.
I lifted my eyes slowly.
Mum cant make ends meet. The pension barely covers the rent, and shes scraping by.
Mabels brow furrowed.
Then let her move back into her flat.
The flats already in Gwens name. She refuses to let Mum back in, saying theyre planning renovations and Mum would get in the way.
I knew where the conversation was heading. As if reading my thoughts, I blurted out, We should take Mum in. Weve got the twobed flat anyway; theres room.
The flat is hers, Mabel whispered, the words echoing in my head. Its her property. She stayed silent, letting me persuade myself while her gut screamed the opposite. What could she say? That she didnt want to let my mother, who had been driven out by her own daughter, back in? That would have been heartless.
Four days later Dorothy moved in with us. The first day she was like a gentle dandelion, sweet, apologetic, promising not to be a burden.
Mabel tried to convince herself everything would be fine. Wed never had a serious row with Dorothy before. What could possibly go wrong?
But after a week things started to shift.
First, my favourite mug vanished.
Dorothy, have you seen my blue mug with the flowers? Mabel asked.
Dorothy hesitated. Oh, dear, Im sorry. I knocked it over while washing up. Ill buy you a new one, I promise.
Mabel nodded, thinking it was no big deal.
The next day the expensive face cream I kept in the bathroom was gone.
Dorothy, have you used my cream? Mabel inquired.
Dorothy held up an empty tube. Yes, love. My skin was cracking from the dry air. That cream does wonders.
Mabel clenched her teeth. It was just a setback; she could replace it.
The final straw was the meat. Id bought a pricey fillet, planning to grill steaks for dinner. When I got home from work I found a pan on the stove filled with greasy meatballs. The mince was mostly breadcrumbs.
Dorothy, Mabel said calmly, thats an expensive cut of meat. Its not for meatballs, especially not this cheap.
Dorothy turned from the stove. I always do it this way. The meatballs turn out lovely, try one. Whats wrong with it?
James, sitting in the living room, pretended not to hear.
Over the following weeks Dorothy imposed her own routines. Breakfast became porridge and a boiled egg. She scheduled a deep clean every Saturday at eight a.m. Lights out was nine, even on weekends.
Mabel wandered the flat, barely containing her fury. I tried to soothe her, asking her to be patient, promising to talk to my mother. Nothing changed.
At dinner Mabel spread cottage cheese on toast, topped with a slice of tomato. She was exhausted from work and didnt want to cook. Dorothy grimaced.
You have no taste, Mabel. Thats rubbish youre eating.
Mabel lifted her head slowly.
Im fine with it.
Youre ruining my sons habits with your laziness, Dorothy snapped. James sees you lounging, not washing dishes, not ironing. I raised him to be orderly, but youre undoing all my effort.
Mabels patience snapped.
Ive had enough, she said coldly. I tried to respect your age, kept quiet when you broke my things, used my cosmetics, ruined my food. Thats it. If its this terrible, go back to the flat you gave to your daughter. Dont live in my house, which I bought with my own money.
James! I leapt up. What are you saying?
What I think! Mabel turned to me. I have my own rules, too. First your mother will not be in my house!
Dorothys face went as white as a sheet.
James! Do you hear what your wife is saying? Stop her!
Mum, Mabel, lets calm down, I tried to mediate.
No! Mabel stared at Dorothy. She can pack up and leave. I dont care where.
We cant throw my mother out! I shouted, voice rising. Do you understand what youre saying?
Mabel laughed hoarsely, a bitter sound. You cant. But I can. By evening she wont be here.
I straightened, my face hard as stone.
If she leaves, Im gone too.
Mabel fixed me with a long stare.
Oh, weve sunk to ultimatums now? You quickly forgot you promised to keep your mother in check. You asked for a bit of patience, and now youre setting conditions? Well done, James.
Dorothy burst into tears and fled down the hallway. I stood in the kitchen, stunned.
We started packing in silence. Mabel didnt help; she sat at the kitchen window, staring into the empty street. Inside was a hollow, cold peace.
An hour later Dorothy and I emerged into the hallway, suitcases and bags in hand. I opened the front door, letting her pass first, then turned to Mabel.
Mabel, lets
She cut me off.
If you still dont get that a mother loves only her daughter and uses you, were better off parting now, before she completely gets under our skin.
She shut the door in my face.
Inviting my mother in had been a mistake. Yet now I see the truth: I cannot stand up to my mother, and without that strength there is no future for our marriage.
The divorce was quiet. No children, no shared assets. I looked at Mabel with sorrowful eyes, pleading for forgiveness, promising never to involve my mother again. She refused to give anyone a second chance.
