The air hung thick with tension, like the oppressive humidity before a storm. «Mum isnt going anywhere! Its you wholl end up on the pavement!» bellowed her husband, his face reddening as he forgot whose name was on the lease.
Eleanor stood by the bay window, the August heat pressing against the glass like an unwelcome visitor. Below, children darted between the oak trees in the garden, their laughter floating up like distant birdsong.
«Ellie, wheres my shirt?» came the voice from the bedroom. «The patterned one!»
«Its in the wardrobe,» she replied without turning. «Top shelf.»
Jonathan appeared in the doorway, fastening the buttons. Tall, broad-shouldered, his hands roughened from years as a mechanichands she once thought were strong enough to hold her world together.
«Listen,» he said, adjusting his collar. «Mums coming round today. Make sure the place is spotless, yeah? Last time she spent half the evening moaning about the dust.»
Eleanor turned slowly, a familiar knot tightening in her chest.
«Your mum always finds fault,» she murmured. «Last time, the roast was too dry. Before that, the mash was lumpy.»
«Then do better,» Jonathan shrugged, as if discussing the weather. «Shes only trying to help. Youre too sensitive.»
Her fingers clenched. This flat was hersbought before theyd even met, decorated with her savings, her choices. Now Margaret waltzed in every visit, rearranged the furniture, and lectured her on how a home should be.
«Jon, this is my flat,» Eleanor reminded him. «Maybe you could remember that?»
He froze, his hand hovering over the doorknob.
«Whats that supposed to mean?» Jonathans voice darkened. «That I dont belong here?»
«I mean your mother acts like she owns the place,» Eleanor stepped closer. «And you let her.»
«Mum cares about us!» Jonathan turned sharply. «About family! Christ, she even gave up her own place for my brother!»
Eleanor smiled bitterly. That tired old story»helping the young ones»had worn thin.
«Your mum gave Simon a one-bed two years ago,» she said flatly. «So what? Now she gets to dictate how I live in my own home?»
«Our home!» Jonathan snapped. «Were married!»
«On your thirty-grand salary, wed be renting a shoebox in Croydon,» the words tumbled out before she could stop them.
His face darkened. He loomed over her, his bulk casting a shadow.
«So now its about money?» His voice trembled with anger. «Because I dont earn enough?»
«Im not saying that,» Eleanor lifted her chin. «Im just stating facts. Your mum rents because she gave Simon her flat. Yet she lectures us on how to live.»
«Simon needed help!» Jonathan turned away. «Young family, planning kids!»
«Kids,» Eleanor repeated. «Always about kids.»
He whipped around, eyes blazing.
«And why not? Five years married, and you keep putting it off. A proper wife wants children!»
«On what, Jon?» She spread her hands. «Your wages? Do you know how much nappies cost? Baby clothes? Medicine?»
«Well manage,» he waved dismissively. «Everyone else does!»
«Everyone else,» Eleanor shook her head. «And Ill be stuck on maternity pay while you break your back at the garage for peanuts?»
Outside, a blackbird sang from the oak. Jonathan stared at the wall, jaw tight.
«Right,» he finally said. «Enough of this. Mums got problems.»
«What now?» Eleanor stepped away from the window.
«She cant afford rent anymore,» Jonathan rubbed his neck. «Landlady doubled it. Her pension doesnt cover it.»
Eleanor nodded. Margaret had been complaining for months. Naturally, shed move in with Simoninto the very flat shed handed him.
«I see,» Eleanor said. «So Simons lot will have to squeeze in.»
Jonathan stiffened. His eyes turned hard.
«Mums staying here,» he declared. «Temporarily, till she sorts something.»
Eleanor went still. The words echoed, distant and unreal.
«Here?» she repeated. «In our flat?»
«Yeah, here!» Jonathan raised his voice. «Whats the issue? Theres room.»
«Jon, wheres she sleeping? The sofa?»
«Whats wrong with that?» he crossed his arms. «Mum sacrificed everything for us, and youre being selfish!»
Eleanor stepped back, her spine pressing against the wall. Inside, indignation churned.
«Why not with Simon?» she asked quietly. «Hes got the flat she gave him.»
«Theyve got a kid!» Jonathan roared. «They need the space! Arent we family too?»
«We are. But this flats mine,» Eleanor reminded him.
His face twisted. He stepped closer.
«Selfish cow! Always thinking of yourself! A decent wife would stand by her husband in hard times!»
Eleanor pressed against the wall. He was too close, suffocating.
«You wont give me kids, least you can do is help family!» he spat. «Mums given everything for us!»
«Jon, listen» Eleanor began, but he cut her off.
«Maybe you dont want a family at all? Just say it!»
Her head dropped. Jonathan knew how to twist the knife, where to press. Guilt washed over her.
«Fine,» she murmured. «She can stay a while.»
A week later, Margaret moved into the lounge. Three suitcases, and instantly, everything shiftedthe telly by the window, the sofa against the wall, Eleanors pot plants exiled to the balcony.
«Needs more light in here,» her mother-in-law explained, shoving furniture aside. «And those plants just gather mites.»
Eleanor watched silently as her lounge became a strangers domain. Jonathan heaved boxes, doting.
«Mum, you alright there?» he asked gently.
«Ill manage,» Margaret sighed. «Though its a bit cramped.»
Three months passed. Eleanor became a ghost in her own hometiptoeing, apologising for every creak, every breath.
Margaret took over. She binned Eleanors washing powder, replaced it with her own. Banned her favourite biscuits.
«Too pricey, get the own-brand,» she ordered in Tesco. «No sense wasting money.»
Each morning, Eleanor cleaned under Margarets watchful eye. Then, one day, taking out the rubbish, something caught her eye. She bent down and froze.
A childhood photo album. The one with school plays, birthday partiesher only memories.
Trembling, she pulled it free, stained with tea leaves.
«Margaret,» she called, stepping into the lounge. «Why was this in the bin?»
Her mother-in-law didnt glance up from the telly. «It was cluttering the cupboard,» Margaret said flatly. «Old things no one needs.»
Eleanor sank onto the arm of the sofa, the damp album heavy in her lap. She traced a finger over the faded cover, the corners swollen and peeling.
Jonathan walked in, wiping grease from his hands. «Whats all this?» he asked, eyeing the book.
«Your mother threw out my photos,» Eleanor said quietly.
He sighed, running a hand through his hair. «Mum, you cant just bin peoples things.»
«Shes got more where that came from,» Margaret replied, finally turning. «Sentimental nonsense. Its time to let go, Ellie. Youll be better off.»
Eleanor looked from one to the other, her voice barely a whisper. «I dont live here anymore, do I?»
The room fell silent. The blackbird sang on. And she stood, placed the ruined album on the coffee table, and walked to the bedroom to pack.
