EveningI have to make sure she isnt here by nightfall.
Did she really say it just like that? I asked my husband, James, as if I needed confirmation.
James gave a short nod, took a sip from his mug and winced; the tea was scalding.
Exactly that. My sister demanded that Mum transfer the twobed flat to her and move out, because Harry has proposed to her. A young couple need somewhere to live, you understand? James said in a high, irritating tone, clearly mimicking his sister.
I stared at him, unable to believe my ears. It was absurdasking parents to hand over a property just like that?
What did Mum say? I asked cautiously.
James shook his head.
Theres no clear answer yet. But I know Mum. She dotes on Gwen, so anythings possible.
Could a daughter truly evict her own mother? I would never have dared to suggest such a thing to my parents. When I first bought my flat, I refused to take a loan from them; I saved, paid the deposit, secured the mortgage and repaid it before I even married. It was my own home, my own asset, and I was proud of it.
James continued, eyes drifting to the side, A while back Mum sold the holiday cottage to fund Gwens tuition. And what happened? She dropped out in her second year. Turns out you actually have to study at university, can you imagine?
I snorted. Your sister never was the diligent type.
James fell silent. I could see the tension in his shoulders, his fingers clenched around the mug. What could I say? What advice could I offer? Family is always messy.
Days turned into weeks. James phoned Mum a few times, each call short and strained. I kept my distance, knowing this was his battle, his pain.
Then, one weekend we decided to pay a visit to my motherinlaw.
James unlocked the front door with his key. I stopped in the doorway. The flat was buried under boxes, bags, folded blanketsstuff piled up against the walls, on the sofa, on the table. Chaos reigned, the aftermath of a move.
Mum? James called as we stepped inside.
Margaret emerged from a bedroom, her face drawn, shadows under her eyes. Id never seen my motherinlaw look so exhausted.
James, Ethel, come in, Margaret whispered.
James scanned the room and asked directly, Are you giving the flat to Gwen?
Margaret sighed, perched on the edge of the sofa and nudged a stack of dishes aside. Itll be better, love. A young couple need their own place. Harrys a good lad, he has a job. They need somewhere to stay and Ill manage.
I stood to the side, my stomach twisting. How could anyone give away the only flat they owned? Where would Margaret go?
Where will you live then? James asked, his voice low.
Ill rent a room. My pension isnt much, but itll be enough. Dont worry about me.
I watched Jamess face turn pale, his hands shake slightly, but I kept quiet. This wasnt my fight.
Two months later Margaret was living in a rented flat in another part of town. James visited often, bringing groceries, medicines, helping with chores. I never objected; I understood his worry.
One evening James came home looking dejected, sitting at the kitchen table, staring at nothing.
Whats wrong? I asked, sitting opposite him.
He lifted his eyes slowly. Mum cant make ends meet. Her pension doesnt cover rent and daily expenses. Shes barely scraping by.
I frowned. Then she should move back into her flat.
The flats already in Gwens name. And Gwen refuses to let Mum back in. She says theyre planning a renovation and Mum would be in the way.
I sensed where this was heading, but James seemed to have read my thoughts. He said, We should bring Mum in with us. We have a twobed flat ourselves; theres enough space.
Our flatmy flatwas hers. The words echoed in my mind, but I stayed silent, letting him persuade me, though every fibre of me rebelled. How could I refuse? It would feel cruel to turn away the mother my sister had just driven out.
Four days later Margaret moved in with us. The first day she was sweet as a dandelionquiet, grateful, constantly apologising, promising not to be a burden.
I tried to convince myself everything would be fine. Wed never fought with Margaret before; why would this be any different?
A week passed and things began to shift.
First my favourite mug vanished. Margaret, have you seen my blue mug with the flowers? I asked.
She looked startled. Oh, Ethel, Im sorry. I accidentally dropped it while washing up. Ill buy you a new one, I promise.
I nodded. Little things happen.
The next day the expensive hand cream I kept in the bathroom was gone. Margaret, have you seen my cream? I asked.
She held up an empty jar. I used it on my feet. The air here is so dry, my skin was cracking. Its a good cream, by the way.
I clenched my jaw. I could replace it.
The final straw was the meat. Id bought a pricey cut for steaks, but when I got home from work the pan on the stove held greasy burgers. The mince was mostly bread crumbs.
Margaret, I tried to stay calm, this is expensive meat. Its not meant for burgers.
She turned from the stove. I always do it like this. The burgers turned out lovely, why not?
James, sitting in the lounge, pretended not to hear.
In the weeks that followed Margaret set her own rules. Breakfast became only porridge and boiled eggs. Once a week she performed a thorough house cleaning, always on Saturday, starting at eight in the morning. Lights out was nine at night, even on weekends.
I walked around the flat, barely containing my anger. James kept trying to soothe me, asking for patience, promising to talk to his mother. Nothing changed.
At dinner I spread cottage cheese on toast, added a slice of tomato. I was exhausted from work and didnt feel like cooking. Margaret grimaced. You have no taste, Ethel. Thats rubbish youre eating.
I lifted my head slowly. Its enough for me.
Youre ruining my son with your habits, she snapped. James sees you lounging, not washing dishes, not ironing. I raised him differently, taught him order and neatness. Youre erasing all that.
My patience snapped. Ive endured enough, I said coldly. I tried to respect your age, stayed silent while you broke my things, used my cosmetics, spoiled my food. Thats the last time. If its this terrible, go back to the flat you gave to your daughter and stop living in my house, which I bought with my own money.
Ethel! James leapt up. What are you saying?
What I think! I turned to him. I have my own rules too, and number oneyour mother will not stay in my house!
Margarets face went ashen. James! Do you hear what your wife is saying? Stop her!
Mother, Ethel, lets calm down, James tried to mediate.
No! I stared at Margaret. She can pack up and leave. I dont care where.
We cant throw my mother out! James shouted, raising his voice. Do you understand what youre saying?
I laughed, a hoarse, bitter sound. You cant, but I can. By tonight she must be gone.
James straightened, his expression turning to stone. If she leaves, Ill go too.
I held his gaze for a long moment. Oh, have we really come to ultimatums? You promised to keep your mother in check, asked me to be patient, and now you set conditions? Well played, James.
Margaret burst into tears and fled down the hallway. James stood in the kitchen, stunned.
We began to gather our things slowly, in silence. I didnt help; I stayed in the kitchen, staring out the window. Inside there was an emptinessstrange, cold, but somehow soothing.
An hour later James and Margaret emerged in the hallway, suitcases and bags in hand. James opened the front door, letting his mother step out first, then turned to me.
Ethel, lets
I stopped him. If you still dont get that a mother loves her daughter and uses you, its better we part now, before she completely burrows into our lives.
I walked to the door and slammed it shut in front of my husbands face.
Taking Margaret in had been a mistake. Now I saw clearly that James could not stand up to his mother, and that meant there was no future for us. The divorce was quiet; there were no children, no joint assets. James looked at me with sorrowful eyes, begging forgiveness, promising never to drag his mother into our marriage again. I wasnt the sort to give second chances.
