30 June 2024
Tonight we gathered around the birthday table for Mabel Carter, my motherinlaw. As the candles were being set, Felicity, her sisterinlaw, slipped a modest gift packet into my mothers lap and said, You should be grateful we even tolerate you.
My mother, Helen, stared at the corner of the small parcel with a clenched jaw. Is that it? she sniffed, pinching the cheap kitchen towel set with two fingers. Really? A set of kitchen towels? Mother, look at the generosity.
Mabel, the birthday girl, pursed her lips tightly, her eyes flashing a cold approval. Helen, stop, she warned, her voice sharp. Felicity tried.
Tried? Felicity laughed louder, tossing the packet onto a chair. Three pounds from the discount aisle? She could have been a bit more generous; she lives off the family, pays nothing toward the mortgage.
Helens cheeks flushed as if painted. She stood at the table she had set up from dawn, feeling like a misbehaving schoolgirl. Her tenyearold son James sat beside her, his eyes dropping onto his plate. He understood everything.
I thought it was practical, Helen murmured, not looking up. The old ones were worn out
Practical? Felicity reclined, confident as ever. She had been the younger sister of Helens late husband Edward, always certain of herself. What would be practical? If you found a proper job and moved out. There would be more room in this house.
The only sound breaking the tension was the clatter of a fork as James dropped it. He jumped up without a word and fled the room. Helen wanted to follow, but a firm command from Mabel stopped her.
Where are you going? Sit down. You scolded my boy and now youll have him crying. A man should not behave like a girl.
Helen sank into her chair, feeling the cold spread through her. She glanced at the empty seat where Edward had sat five years ago. He would never have spoken to her that way; a single look from him would have silenced Felicity. But Edward was gone, and she was alone in this big, unfamiliar house, where every slice of bread seemed to be earned through humiliation.
The celebration was ruined. Distant relatives and neighbours pretended nothing had happened, but conversations grew hushed and glances at Helen were filled with awkward sympathy. She forced a smile, refilled glasses with orange juice, cleared empty plates, wishing the day would end quickly.
When the last guests left, Felicity, already gathering her things with her husband, paused at the doorway.
I hope you understand Im not being cruel, she said, tone leaving no room for argument. Im just saying what I think. You should be grateful we even tolerate you after everything, for Edwards memory and for Mothers sake.
The door slammed. Helen was left alone in the kitchen, surrounded by dirty dishes. Mabel slipped back to her room in silence. Exhaustion settled on Helen like lead. She slumped onto a stool and wept quietly, not from angershe was almost used to thatbut from helplessness.
Late that night, after washing up, Helen tiptoed into Jamess bedroom. He lay on his back, facing the wall.
James, love, are you awake? she whispered, sitting on the edge of the bed.
Mum, why does Aunt Felicity hate us? he asked without turning.
Helen ran her fingers through his hair, searching for words to untangle the web of family tension.
Shes not cruel, just difficult. She misses your father a lot, as do we.
Father would have scolded her, James said confidently. Hed never let her hurt you.
Yes, he would, Helen agreed, feeling a knot rise in her throat. Sleep now, tomorrow is school.
She kissed his forehead and left. Their bedroom was the former childrens room, small and cramped. The spacious master bedroom now stood empty, turned by Mabel into a memory room that only she could enter.
The house, once a comforting manor, had become Helens gilded cage. It belonged to Edwards parents. After Edward died, Mabel became the sole owner. Helen and James had lived there since Edwards death; Edward had never wanted to leave his ageing mother alone. He worked hard, earned well, and supported everyone. When he was gone, their modest savings ran out quickly. Helen, a qualified accountant, could only find parttime work as a callcentre operator to fetch James from school. The wage barely covered Jamess clothes, school fees and small expenses. They survived on Mabels allowance, which Felicity used as her leverage.
The next morning Mabel acted as if the previous nights argument never happened. She sipped tea at the kitchen table, newspaper in hand.
Good morning, Helen said softly, setting a pot of porridge for James on the stove.
Mabel nodded without looking up.
Im heading to my sisters cottage for a couple of days. The kitchen is stocked; just look after the house and water the flowers in the sitting room.
Will do, Mabel.
When the door closed behind Mabel, Helen finally breathed freely. Two days of silence, free from cutting remarks and poisonous comments. She escorted James to school, returned to the empty house, grabbed a watering can, and tended the many plants Mabel loved. Photographs lined the old dresser: a smiling Edward, a younger Mabel, a baby James, and a wedding picture of Helen and Edward that always made her heart ache.
Her gaze fell on the closed door of the former master bedroom the memory room. Although forbidden, curiosity overcame her. The door was unlocked. She slipped inside, the air stale with dust and a faint smell of mothballs. Everything was as it had been: the kingsize bed with its silk coverlet, the dressing table with untouched perfume bottles, Edwards bookshelves.
She ran her fingers over familiar spines, paused at a thick folder wedged between Tolstoy volumes. She didnt recall it. Carefully, she pulled it out and set it on the desk. The cover simply read Documents.
Her pulse quickened. Inside were old receipts, Edwards birth certificate, and, among them, a will drafted by Edwards father, Igor Carter, six months before his death. She read the cramped script: the house was bequeathed not to Helen, but to Edwards son, James, with the sole condition that his mother, Mabel, could live there for life. No mention of Felicity.
Helen sat on the bed, hands trembling. It meant that after Edwards death, the rightful owner of the house was James, and she, as his legal guardian, was de facto in charge. Mabel had known this and concealed it all these years.
She slipped the folder back, closed the door gently, and stood in the hallway, mind a fog. What now? Confront Mabel? Bring the will to light? Start a battle? She didnt want a war; she only wanted peace for herself and James.
For two days she drifted, weighing options. She could hire a solicitor, expose the hidden will, but then she would have to live under the same roof with people who despised her even more, or evict the old lady who had cared for Edward all her life. Edward would never have wanted that.
When Mabel returned, Helen met her with a calm smile, helped with the bags, poured tea, and listened as Mabel talked about her friends garden. Helen watched the actresslike performance with a growing resolve.
That evening, when only they remained in the kitchen, Helen finally spoke.
Mabel, we need to talk.
Mabel raised an eyebrow.
About the house, Helen said, voice steady. I know about the will.
Silence stretched, then Mabel set her teacup down, her face hardening.
You rummaged through my things? she asked coldly.
I found a folder in Edwards old room the memory room.
You have no right to be here! Mabel snapped. Thats my sons room!
Our sons, Helen corrected. My sons things are still there. It was our bedroom.
They stared at each other, neither blinking.
What do you want? Mabel asked finally, voice like steel. To throw me out? Sell the house and leave?
No, Helen replied. Im not selling anything. This is Jamess house, his fathers, his grandfathers. I just want the insults to stop, for Felicity to treat us like we belong here, not like trespassers. By law the house is ours.
Mabel swallowed, breathing heavily.
I did this for the family, she whispered. I didnt want Felicity left with nothing after Im gone. I thought we could all live together as one family.
We never became a family, Mabel, Helen said softly. It turned into a boarding house where my son and I are guests with no rights. Edward would never have allowed this.
Mabel turned to the window, shoulders slumping.
What will you do? she asked.
Nothing, Helen answered. The will will stay where it is. I wont start a legal battle. But I need you to speak to Felicity, to change her attitude. James is your only grandchild; he shouldnt grow up feeling unwanted.
The following Saturday, as usual, Felicity arrived with her husband and their little girl. Helen set the table, tension palpable. Mabel sat pale and silent.
Mom, why so sour today? Felicity chirped, plopping into a chair. Did the tenant again ruin the mood?
Felicity, shut up, Mabel snapped, sharper than ever before.
Felicity stared, shocked.
What? she demanded.
I want you to apologise to Helen for yesterday and everything thats happened.
Felicitys face twisted.
Apologise? To her? Youre kidding, arent you? For speaking the truth?
Its not the truth, Mabels voice trembled. Helen and James are not guests. This house belongs to them.
Felicity turned slowly to Helen, then back to her mother. Her eyes flickered between confusion and fury.
You knew all this? You kept it hidden? Let us believe shes nothing?
I was trying to do what was best for the family, Mabel muttered.
For the family?! Felicity shouted, standing. All these years of lies! And you, Helen, you knew and kept quiet?
I only learned it yesterday, Helen said calmly.
Youre lying! You two are conspiring against me! Felicity snapped, grabbing her bag. Im done with this house!
She stormed out, husband following, the front door slamming behind them. Mabel covered her face with her hands, shoulders shaking with silent sobs. James, who had been watching quietly, walked over and squeezed Helens hand.
Helen placed her hand on Mabels shoulder.
Dont cry, Mabel. It will get better.
Mabel lifted tearstained eyes to Helen.
Shell never forgive me.
She will, Helen said firmly. Shes your daughter; she just needs time. We all need time.
I do not know what tomorrow will bring, but as I held Jamess clenched fist and looked at the woman who had built this house, I felt, for the first time in five years, not a victim but the master of my own home and destiny. The road ahead will be rough, yet I now understand that asserting ones rightful place is the only way to live in the sunlight.
Lesson: silence may preserve peace, but speaking the truth restores dignity.
