Mum will stay with us, your parents can remain in the village Oliver decides.
You spent forty thousand on what? On a kitchen set?!
Oliver slams the receipt onto the table so hard the dishes jump. Ethel flinches but forces herself to stay calm.
On the set. The old one finally fell apart. The cabinet door fell off, the worktop is stained.
Forty thousand! We agreed that big purchases need a discussion!
Oliver, we did discuss! I told you a month ago! You saidlook for yourself!
I never said spend that much!
And how much do you think a decent set costs? Ten thousand? That was the cheapest option!
Oliver walks around the kitchen, nervously pulling at his hair.
Every penny counts now! Were saving for a car!
Saving. Well save. But I need somewhere to cook now, not when we finally buy the car.
You could have waited!
Wait? Spend the next six months cooking on two burners because the others dont work?
Oliver turns to her.
You know what? If you could stretch a pound, wed have both a car and a bigger flat by now!
Ethel feels a lump rise in her throat.
I cant stretch a pound? I count every pence to make it to payday, I buy the cheapest groceries and Ive been wearing the same coat for three years.
There you go again, playing the victim!
Im not a victim! Im just stating facts!
They stand opposite each other, breathing heavily. Tears gather in Ethels eyes, but she holds them back. No crying. No weakness.
Olivers phone rings. He glances at the screen.
Mum he says, and strides into the hallway.
Ethel stays in the kitchen, sits at the table and rests her head in her hands. Whats happening to them? They never argued about money before. They never fought this often.
She remembers how they met. Ethel worked as a receptionist at a dental practice, Oliver came in for a filling. They chatted in the waiting room, he invited her for coffee. Six months later he proposed.
Ethel is twentysix, Oliver twentyeight. Both work, share a flat. Then they take out a mortgage and buy a onebedroom house on the edge of town. Modest, but theirs.
They live comfortably. Not wealthy, but not struggling. Arguments are rare and usually petty. Ethel believes things are fine.
Then something breaks. Oliver becomes irritable, nitpicky, constantly talking about money and saving, even though he earns well as a middlemanager at a large firm.
Ethel also works, but earns less. She tries to help at home, cook, save wherever she can.
But Oliver never seems satisfied. You didnt cook right, you didnt clean properly, you spent too much.
Oliver returns to the kitchen, his face serious.
Ethel, we need to talk.
Im listening.
Mum called. Shes ill. Her blood pressure spikes, her heart is shaky. Living alone is hard for her.
And?
Ive decided shell move in with us until she gets better.
Ethel looks at Oliver.
Oliver, we have a onebedroom flat. Where will she sleep?
On the sofa in the lounge. Well shift the bed to the kitchen, set up a foldout.
Youre serious?
Absolutely. Shes my mother. I cant leave her on her own like that.
Im not saying we cant help, but maybe hire a carer? Or
A carer costs money. Money we dont have, thanks to your splurges.
Ethel clenches her fists under the table.
Fine. What about my parents? Theyre about seventy, my dad cant manage the house, my mum struggles after a stroke.
Your parents live in the village. They have a house and a garden. Theyre fine there.
Theyre not! I drive out every week to chop wood, fetch water, tidy up!
Keep doing that. But my mum will stay here.
Why does your mum get priority while my parents have to suffer in the village?
Oliver looks at her coldly.
Because my mum is alone. Your parents have each other, its easier for them. And in the city she needs doctors. Your parents are used to village life.
Used to it?! Oliver, do you hear yourself?!
I hear. Mum will live with us, your parents can stay in the village. Thats my decision.
Ethel stands.
You decided. Not us. No discussion. You just decided.
Im the head of the family.
Head of the family! she laughs bitterly. The head who spends on fishing gear but cant afford a kitchen set for his wife!
Dont twist my words!
Im not twisting! Im stating! You think you have the right to decide for both of us! But when it comes to my parents, its a different story!
Your parents are fine!
No! Its hard for them! Yet you never offer help! You never come with me! You never ask if they need anything!
Oliver grabs the car keys.
Im fed up with this argument. Mum arrives Saturday. Prepare a room.
What if I dont want to?
He stops at the door.
This is my flat. I pay the mortgage. My mother will live here, whether you like it or not.
He leaves. Ethel collapses onto the kitchen floor and cries, quietly, hopelessly.
This is my flat. My decision. My mother.
And who am I? A servant? A shadow that must agree with every decision?
Ethel wipes her tears, stands, picks up the phone and calls her parents.
Hello, love! her mum answers immediately, voice weak.
Mum, how are you?
Oh, you know, taking it slow. Dads chopping firewood, were heating the stove. Its chilly this year.
Mum, could you move to the city? Ill find a flat
Oh, Ethel! Why would we need to move? Weve lived here all our lives. And where will you get the money for a rented flat?
Ill figure something out.
No need. Well manage. You already do so much for us. Just dont wear yourself out.
Ethel swallows her sobs.
Mum, Ill be home on Sunday with groceries.
Come, love. Well be glad to see you.
She hangs up. Her parents have never complained; they always say theyll manage. Yet Ethel sees how hard it is: an old house with a coal stove, water drawn from a handpump, firewood to split. Her dad, seventythree, barely walks after a heart operation. Her mum, after a stroke, cant use her left hand well. They persevere, refusing to be a burden.
Her motherinlaw, Grace Harris, lives in a twobed flat in the city, younger than Ethels parentsshes sixtyfive. Health isnt perfect, but she manages on her own.
Oliver is the only son, the doting boy. Grace calls him ten times a day, telling him what to wear, where to go, what to eat. Oliver obeys without question.
Ethel first tolerates, then protests. But Oliver always sides with his mother, claiming Grace only wants whats best for him.
Now Grace is moving into their tiny flat. Ethel must look after her, cook, clean.
And her own parents stay out in the village.
Oliver returns late at night, heads straight to the bedroom without a word. Ethel lies on the sofa, pretending to sleep.
In the morning he leaves early for work, leaving a note on the table: Prepare a room for mum on Saturday. Clean the floors, change the sheets.
Ethel crumples the note and tosses it in the bin.
Friday evening she drives to her parents house, brings food and medicine, helps her dad split wood and tidies up with her mum.
They sit at the kitchen table, sipping tea. Her mum looks at her closely.
You look pale. Everything alright?
All good, Mum.
Dont lie. I can tell when youre upset.
Ethel sighs.
Grace is moving in with us. Oliver decided shell stay until she gets better.
Well, thats that, her dad shrugs. An old person can stay.
Dad, we have a onebed flat. Shell take the bedroom. Oliver and I will sleep on the sofa in the lounge.
Shell be here only a short while, right?
I dont know. Oliver said until she improves. No timeline.
Her mum sighs.
I understand, love. Its hard having a motherinlaw under the same roof. But a son must look after his own mother.
And a daughter isnt obliged to look after her parents? Ethel bursts out.
Her parents exchange glances.
What are you talking about? her dad asks.
I suggested to Oliver that we take you both into the city, get a bigger flat, help more. He refused, saying its better for you to stay in the village.
Well, the village is what we know, her mum says, patting Ethels hand. Were used to it.
Mum, youre struggling! Dad can barely walk, you cant use your left hand!
We manage. The important thing is youre healthy. And Oliver. Dont worry about us.
Ethel leans into her mum, crying.
Im exhausted. Tired of his attitude. Tired of being second. Tired that his mother matters more than my own parents.
Shh, love, her mum soothes. Itll pass. Grace will stay a while, then go back.
Ethel cant believe it.
Saturday morning Grace arrives with three huge suitcases.
Ethel, help me with these! she shouts from the doorway.
Ethel silently helps carry the bags. Grace strides into the bedroom, looks around.
Youre living so cramped! You need a bigger flat!
We cant afford one yet, Ethel replies bluntly.
You should earn more! Oliver, ask for a bonus at work!
Mum, thats not how it works, Oliver says, helping his mother arrange boxes.
In our day we worked for conscience, not fear! We earned well!
Ethel steps into the kitchen, starts cooking lunch. She hears Grace directing Oliver: Put that there, hang that there.
Grace then asks, What are you making?
Borscht and meatballs.
Oliver cant have greasy food! His livers weak!
Chicken meatballs, steamed.
Still not right. Give him fish. I brought a pike, Ill show you how to cook it.
I can cook fish.
You can, you can but not like this. Watch
Grace pushes Ethel away from the stove, starts bossing her around. Ethel bites her lip, staying silent.
Lunch passes in a tense atmosphere. Grace chatters nonstop about health, neighbours, shop prices. Oliver nods, Ethel remains quiet.
After lunch Grace lies down to rest. Ethel washes dishes. Oliver comes up behind her.
Thanks for taking my mum in.
Did I have a choice?
Ethel, dont start this.
Im not starting. Im stating. You decided, I obeyed.
You could have been kinder to her.
Im being kind.
Youre cold. Mum can feel it.
Ethel turns.
Oliver, your mother has taken our bedroom, chased me from the stove, criticised my cooking, and you expect me to be sweet?
Shes ill!
Shes used to ordering! And you let her!
Enough! Oliver raises his voice. Shes my mother! I wont let you insult her!
Im not insulting! Im telling the truth!
Graces voice drifts from the other room:
Oliver, whats happening? Are you two fighting?
No, Mum, everythings fine! Oliver replies, entering the room.
Ethel stays in the kitchen, wipes tears, finishes the dishes.
A week passes. Grace settles in, occupies half the wardrobe, spreads her things all over the flat. Ethel and Oliver sleep on a foldout in the kitchen, backs aching from the cramped setup.
Grace gets up early, clatters dishes, makes a breakfast Ethel refuses too greasy, too caloric. Then she blares the TV at full volume, then gives endless advice.
Ethel, you wash the floor wrong. Look, this is how.
Ethel, you wash the laundry wrong. Use a hotter temperature.
Ethel, you dress wrong. That doesnt suit you.
Ethel endures, doing as she always has. Grace complains to Oliver, who scolds his wife.
Why cant you listen to my mum? She wants to help!
I dont need her help!
Youre rude and ungrateful!
Arguments become daily. Ethel feels her strength draining. Work, home, motherinlaw, husband everything presses down.
And her own parents. She cant visit them as often; Grace demands attention. She has to ask a neighbour to help her parents, paying her for the service.
One evening Ethel sits at the kitchen table, adding up expenses. Money wont last until payday. She needs to buy medicine for her dad, pay the neighbour, set aside council tax.
Grace walks in.
Ethel, I need new slippers. These hurt. Can you lend me some money?
I have no spare cash.
How can that be? Oliver got his salary!
Olivers pay goes to the mortgage and groceries.
And yours?
Mine covers my parents medicine, the bills, household costs.
My parents! Grace snaps. You always fund them! Nothing left for me!
Grace, you have a pension.
Its tiny! I barely get by!
Mines small too! But I dont ask you.
Grace turns and leaves the kitchen. A minute later she complains to Oliver.
She refused! I asked for money for slippers and she said no!
Oliver storms into the kitchen, face flushed.
You really turned my mother down for money for slippers?!
I have no spare cash!
And you have money for your own parents?!
My parents are ill! They need medicine!
My mother is ill too! She needs slippers! Give her something!
You give it yourself! Shes your mother!
I have none!
I have none either!
They shout at each other. Grace stands in the doorway, watching, pleased.
Ethel suddenly sees the whole picture: a motherinlaw manipulating her son, a husband blind to it, herself backed into a corner.
Enough, she says quietly. Thats it.
Whats enough? Oliver looks puzzled.
Everything. Im tired of your attitude. Tired of being a servant. Tired that my parents mean nothing to you.
Ethel, stop being hysterical!
This isnt hysteria. Its a decision. Im leaving.
Oliver freezes.
Where?
To my parents. Ill live with them, care for them. If you dont need my help here, fine.
Have you lost your mind?!
No. Ive simply decided. Live together without me; itll be easier for you.
Ethel walks to the bedroom, starts packing. Oliver follows.
Stop! You cant just go!
I can, and I will.
And what about me?
Youll manage. You have your mum. Shell cook, clean, iron.
But I love you!
Ethel stops, looks him in the eye.
If you loved me, you wouldnt put your mothers wishes above my needs. Youd remember my dads birthday next week, ask if he needs help, suggest a visit. You never did.
Oliver is silent.
Im fed up being alone in this marriage, Ethel continues. Im tired of carrying everything. I want to care for those who value my care.
She closes her suitcase, grabs a bag.
Oliver, wait! Lets discuss!
Its too late. We should have talked earlier.
She walks out. Grace stands in the hallway.
Leaving? Fine. Oliver will be better off without you.
Ethel stops.
Youve won, Grace. Youve taken my husband. But I dont envy you. Living in a cramped flat with a motherson duo isnt happiness.
She steps out, closes the door.
Outside its cold, snow falling. She flags a taxi, heads to the station, buys a bus ticket to the village.
She arrives late night. Her parents are asleep. She slips inside, changes, collapses on the old sofa in the living room.
Morning she wakes to the smell of pancakes. Her mum is at the stove.
Ethel! she exclaims. How are you?
IShe smiles, realizing that at last she has found the peace she longed for, surrounded by the people who truly love her.
