I still remember that day when my motherinlaw, after hearing what she thought she heard through the thin plaster wall, barred me from entering the flat.
Dont touch those boxes! I shouted, snatching an old photo album from my husbands hands. Ill sort it myself!
James raised an eyebrow in surprise.
Emily, whats gotten into you? I was only trying to help with the move.
Help? I clutched the album to my chest. You threw away my postcard collection yesterday, calling it junk!
But theyve been gathering dust on the high shelves for twenty years!
Theyre memories, James! Memories of my grandmother!
He sighed, sank onto the sofa amid the sea of cartons and bags. We were shifting into a new twobedroom flat in a council block on the edge of town. After five years of renting cramped rooms, we finally secured a mortgage. The flat was modest, but it was ours.
Sorry, he said quietly. I didnt realise those cards meant so much to you.
I softened, sitting beside him.
Im just exhausted. Ive been packing all day and tomorrow Im back at work.
Maybe take a day off?
I cant. Its the endofquarter rush.
James pulled me into an embrace, and I rested my head on his shoulder. Five years of marriage had taught us to extinguish disputes quickly, yet lately arguments flared more often. The cause was my motherinlaw, Eleanor Smith, Jamess mother.
Eleanor lived in the flat next door in the same block. When James suggested buying a flat here, I was initially pleased the area was familiar and the commute easy. But when I learned she lived next door, doubts crept in.
James, maybe we should look elsewhere?
Why? This is perfect. And Mum will be close, right on our doorstep.
Thats exactly what worries me.
Emily, dont be dainty. My mums a good woman, you know that.
I knew she was. Eleanor was a respectable primaryschool teacher who had raised James alone after his parents split. Yet she treated her son as the centre of the universe and jealously guarded him from anyone, including his wife.
In the early years she kept her distance, living in another neighbourhood and visiting once a week. A year ago she sold her house and bought a onebedroom flat in our block, insisting she wanted to be nearer to James.
From then on her visits multiplied. She could appear at breakfast with a pie, at lunchtime with advice, and at dusk with complaints. I endured it, aware that she was lonely.
Right, Ill put the kettle on, I said, rising from the sofa.
A knock at the door announced Eleanors arrival, a pot of soup in her hands.
Hello, love! I brought you some stew. I know youve been too busy to cook with the move.
Thank you, Mrs Smith, I said, taking the pot. Come in.
She stepped inside, surveying the chaos of boxes.
Good heavens, what a mess! Why do you need so many things?
Its not junk, I snapped. These are our belongings.
No offense, dear. Its just that young people today hoard everything. In my day we made do with the bare minimum.
James emerged, gave his mother a hug.
Mum, thanks for the stew! Just what we needed.
My pleasure, darling. James, youve put on a few pounds! Is Emily feeding you properly?
Im feeding him, mum, I replied dryly. Hes always late from work, barely gets a bite.
Works work, but a proper lunch is a must! You must eat well, James!
Dont worry, Mum, alls well.
We settled at the kitchen table; I reheated the stew, sliced some bread. Eleanor eyed the bread.
Emily, why isnt the loaf fresh?
It was bought yesterday. I havent had time to go again today.
Yesterdays bread isnt good for you. You should buy fresh each day.
Were adults, well decide for ourselves what to eat.
Sorry for meddling, love. I just want James to be healthy.
James intervened. Emily looks after me wonderfully.
Eleanors smile faltered, but she persisted. After dinner she announced shed be back tomorrow to help unpack.
Thanks, but well manage, I said briskly.
What do you mean manage? I want to help!
Really, well manage, Mum. You have school tomorrow.
Ill be there after school, around three.
She left, and I sank into a chair, exhausted.
James, is she really going to be here every day?
Not every day, just now that were moving. She wants to help.
Your mother always wants to help, even when it isnt needed.
Emily, dont start. Shes trying.
I know. Im just tired of the constant scrutiny.
The next day I took a halfday off to keep packing. At three oclock, as promised, Eleanor arrived.
Oh dear, youve got the dishes all wrong! she exclaimed, seeing the kitchen layout. The plates belong on the upper cabinet, the pots on the lower! Its elementary!
Its more convenient for me this way, I replied, teeth clenched.
Convenient? You simply dont know how to organise a kitchen!
She began rearranging the crockery. I counted to ten in my head.
Please, MrsSmith, leave it as it is. This is my kitchen.
My kitchen? And where will James cook?
He doesnt cook.
Because you never taught him! Ive been trying to get him to help, and you spoil it!
My? Spoil? Youve spoiled him! He couldnt even fry an egg before we married!
Youre out of line! she shouted, flinging her hands. Im not your friend!
Excuse me, I said, trying to keep my voice level. Just please stop.
She huffed, stopped moving the dishes, and drifted into the living room to criticise the furniture.
The sofa should be against the other wall! Move the wardrobe! And why keep that old chest?
That chest belonged to my grandmother, I said firmly. It stays.
Grandmother! Always with your grandmothers! Throw the old stuff out!
I left the room without a word, locked myself in the bathroom, and stared at my reflection. My face was pale, dark circles under my eyes. The move and Eleanors intrusions were wearing me down.
That evening James came home, tired but smiling.
Hows it going? Managed much?
Some. Your mother dropped by.
And?
Exactly as before. She criticised everything and rearranged the cupboards.
He sighed. Bear with it. Shell settle down eventually.
Ive been living with her for a year. When will she settle?
I dont know. Shes my mother; I cant just send her away.
Im not asking you to send her away, just to speak to her, explain were adults.
Ill try.
It didnt help. Eleanor kept turning up almost daily, bearing soup, offering to wash laundry, or simply stopping by for a chat, always with a comment about dust, food, or Jamess attire. I endured it, knowing she was lonely and that James meant the world to her, but my patience waned.
The climax came on a Saturday. I awoke with a pounding headache after a rough day at the office and another evening of cleaning. James was away on a threeday business trip. I lay in bed, the pain throbbing, an analgesic doing little. A knock at the door startled me. I dragged myself up and opened it to find Eleanor again, a fresh pot of cabbage soup in hand.
Emily, Ive made cabbage soup. James isnt home?
Hes on a trip.
Right, Ill leave it for you then.
She set the pot on the stove. I leaned against the wall, dizzy.
Whats wrong with you? You look ghastly.
My head hurts. Im going to lie down.
Headache? From lying about! You sit at home all day!
I work, MrsSmith. Five days a week.
Work? Sitting all day isnt work! I stand all day at school!
I said nothing and slipped into the bedroom, pulling the duvet over me. Eleanor roamed the flat, tidying as she went, then entered the bedroom.
Ill tidy up while youre lying down.
No, Ill do it later.
Dont be stubborn! Look at the dust on the nightstand!
She started dusting, moving things about as I shut my eyes, trying to block out the noise.
Soon the thin wall between my flat and Eleanors let through a conversation. I could hear her on the telephone.
Agnes? Its me, Gally. Yes, Im at the house. James and his wife just came in.
I listened, the words cutting deeper.
Can you believe it? Shes lying there with a headache on a Saturday! Young, healthy, and now shes ill! And the foodshes eating boiled potatoes, nothing fancy!
The voice on the other end laughed. She cant even cook properly! If I didnt bring them meals, James would be starving!
My anger boiled over. I pounded on the wall.
MrsSmith! I hear everything!
Silence fell, then a muffled reply: Ill call you back later.
I sat on the bed, trembling with rage. I dialed James.
Hi love, how are you?
Fine, I managed, my voice wavering.
Whats wrong? You sound upset.
Its your mother she called me a useless brute and said I couldnt cook.
What? She said that?
She said it calmly, not even raised her voice. She called me that.
Emily, shes elderly. You must be more tolerant.
Shes fiftyseven! Shes younger than my own mother!
Its still my mother, James said, sighing. Lets find a compromise. Shell stop criticising, and youll let her visit.
No.
Why?
Because shell never change. Shell smile to my face and whisper poison behind my back.
Youre exaggerating.
Im not. Ive opened my eyes. Your mother hates me. She thinks you deserve better and will keep harassing us until we split.
Dont be ridiculous!
Its not nonsense. Its the truth you refuse to see.
We went to bed that night without agreement. I turned to the wall, James stared at the ceiling.
The next morning over breakfast James tried again.
This cant go on. Were living next to each other.
So what? Let her live in her flat, we live in ours.
But she wants to be involved!
Let her be involved with you, not with me. Pay her a visit.
What about holidays? New Years is coming.
Celebrate just the two of us.
Youre giving an ultimatumher or me?
I met his gaze. No. Im drawing a line. Your mother will not step over the threshold of my home again. If thats unacceptable, you can decide what to do.
He stood, slammed the door as he left for work.
That night he didnt return. He called, saying he was staying with his mother. I didnt argue.
A week passed. He lived with his mother, only coming to retrieve things. I continued my life, unbothered by unsolicited visits.
At work colleagues noticed a change. You look happier, Emily. Did something happen? asked Olivia.
Just got enough sleep. No ones knocking at seven now.
What about James?
Hes with his mum.
Seriously? What broke you two?
I gave a brief account. Olivia shook her head.
Good for you. I fought with my motherinlaw for ten years before I divorced.
I dont want a divorce. I love James.
Does he love you? He chose his mum over you?
I had no answer.
One Saturday a knock came. James stood there, alone, no mother in sight.
Hey, can I come in?
Of course. Youre still on the lease.
He sat heavily at the table, unshaven and weary.
Emily, lets talk plainly, no fireworks.
Alright.
I spent a week at my mums. I realised a few things.
And?
That she meddles far too much. Shes constantly sniping at you, saying nasty things behind my back.
Finally you see it.
But shes my mother. I cant just dump her.
Im not asking you to. I just want us to live separately.
She doesnt get it. She thinks a family should be together.
Your mother lives in another century. Its no longer common to share a flat with a motherinlaw.
I know, but I cant convince her.
Silence settled. I poured us tea.
What do you want, James? Be honest.
I want to live with you, but I dont want to hurt my mum.
Can she hurt me?
No, of course not.
But youve let her do that for a year.
James lowered his head. Im sorry. I was blind. I thought youd sort it yourselves.
Weve sorted it. I wont let her in.
Never?
Until she apologises sincerely, and promises to change.
She wont apologise. She thinks shes right.
Then she stays out.
James rose, hugged me. Im sorry, love. I should have defended you instead of hiding behind Mum.
Better late than never.
Ill come back. If youll have me.
Come back, but remember the rules are mine now. She may only enter with my permission.
He agreed. He moved his things back, set up his flat again. Eleanor burst into a tirade, but James stood his ground.
This is my family. If you want to see me, respect my wife.
She protested, She wont let me in!
I told you, you insulted her. Apologise, and well be alright.
She muttered a reluctant apology and left.
A month passed without Eleanors visits or calls. James saw her once a week, but never invited her over.
I relished the peace: no earlymorning knocks, no unsolicited critiques of my cooking, no rearranged crockery.
Just before the New Year, Eleanor called.
Emily, may I speak?
Yes?
I want to apologise for my words and my behaviour.
Go on.
I was wrong. I overstepped, criticised, and caused hurt. Please forgive me.
There was a pause. Very well. I accept your apology.
May I come over for tea?
Yes, but no criticism, no unsolicited advice.
Agreed.
She arrived with a cake, sat quietly, sipped tea, chatted politely, and left after an hour, thanking me for the hospitality.
James asked later, How was it?
Fine. Well see how long this lasts.
It lasted. Eleanor changed; she only came when invited, kept her opinions to herself, and no longer issued unwanted advice.
I knew it would be hard for her to adjust, but she tried, and that was enough of a victory.
Sometimes you must draw firm boundaries for people to finally respect you. I set those boundaries and never regretted it. My home became a sanctuary again, and my former adversary turned into at most a distant neighbour.
That, I think, is the best outcome one could hope for.
