Ethel Hughes had tossed my passport into the wash together with my jeans.
Mrs. Hughes, I told you not to touch my things! Natalie shouted, standing in the doorway of the bathroom, clutching a pink sweater. Its wool! You cant wash it in hot water!
Ethel, a plump woman in her midsixties, turned away from the hob where she was frying sausages.
Whats the shouting for? I was trying to help. I saw the dirty laundry, so I washed it.
But I never asked! I have my own system; I know exactly when and what to launder!
System, huh? Ethel snorted. You let the dirty clothes sit for three days and then hide behind your system. When I was your age I kept the house spotless.
Natalie squeezed the sweater tighter. Just a month earlier they and I were living quietly in our twobedroom flat on a council estate. Then Ethel broke her leg, and I insisted she move in while she recovered.
I dont have time to do laundry every day! Natalies voice cracked. I work from nine to seven, then I cook, I clean!
And what about me? Ethel flipped a sausage. Im making lunch, Im washing the floor.
I never asked for help!
Andrew! Ethel called toward the bedroom. Can you hear how your wife is speaking to me?
Andrew popped out in his boxers and a Tshirt, looking exhausted and annoyed.
Whats the problem?
Your mother is washing my things without permission! Natalie held up the sweater. Look, its ruined! The wool has shrunk!
Andrew stared at the sweater, then at his mother, then at his wife.
Whats the big deal? She was just trying to help.
I didnt ask for help!
Nat, calm down. She just washed it. You can buy a new one.
With what money?! It cost fifty pounds!
Ethel threw her hands up.
Fifty pounds for a piece of cloth! Thats extravagance! And now youre complaining theres no money!
Natalie turned and stormed back to the bedroom, slamming the door. She collapsed onto the bed, face pressed into the pillow. Tears threatened, but she held them back.
It wasnt the first row in the three weeks Ethel had been staying with us. Every day brought a new grievance. She rearranged the kitchen cupboards, making it impossible for Natalie to find anything. She cooked enough food to feed a regiment, then whined that there was too much left. She turned the telly up to full volume at the crack of dawn.
Natalie worked as an accountant for a construction firm. The schedule was tight, the paperwork endless. She came home exhausted, only to be met with Ethels complaints. Andrew always sided with his mother, saying we had to be patient, that she was ill and would soon go back.
But the leg was healing slowly, and Ethel had no intention of moving out. She kept saying it was frightening to be alone, that she might fall again.
The next morning Natalie overslept. The alarm never rang; she had spent the night replaying yesterdays argument. She jumped up, glanced at the clock half past eight.
Damn it! she muttered, bolting out of the bedroom and into the bathroom.
Ethel was loading the washing machine.
Good morning, she said dryly.
Morning, Natalie replied, grabbing her toothbrush.
She dressed in five minutes, snatched her bag, and was out the door when Ethel called after her.
Natalie, wait!
What? Im late!
Where did you leave the jeans yesterday? The blue ones?
On the chair in the bedroom, why?
I washed them. They were dirty.
And? Natalie snapped, shifting from foot to foot.
Nothing. Just letting you know.
She waved and hurried off. On the bus to work she remembered the pockets of the jeans a napkin, maybe a few coins.
At work there was a crisis. The quarterly report was due by lunch, and the director was breathing down our necks. Natalie was poring over numbers when her colleague Sophie brought her a coffee.
You look pale. Again the motherinlaw?
Again, Natalie sighed. I dont know how to live with her. Every day its something new.
Talk to Andrew, maybe hell have a word.
I have. He always takes her side.
Men, Sophie shook her head. Their mums are saints, their wives must endure.
At lunch Natalie grabbed a soup and a salad, stirring her spoon absentmindedly. Her phone buzzed a message from Andrew.
My mum called. She needs a lift to the doctor on Wednesday. Can you take her?
Natalie grimaced. She had a supplier meeting that day, but refusing would spark another row.
She typed a quick reply, apologising.
She got home at eight oclock. Ethel was in the kitchen, sipping tea with a scone.
Having dinner? Ive made beef stew.
Thanks, later, Natalie said, heading to the bedroom to change.
The jeans lay on the radiator, still damp. She felt the pockets empty. At least she hadnt lost any cash.
Then she remembered the passport. Shed been to the bank the day before and slipped it into the back pocket of those jeans.
Her heart dropped. She raced to the washing machine, flung the drum open empty. She scanned the drying rack, the towels, the sheets, but no passport.
Ethel! she shouted, barreling into the kitchen.
Ethel startled.
Whats the yelling for?
My passport! It was in the jeans! Where is it?
Ethel frowned.
What passport?
Mine! I left it in the pocket!
You didnt tell me! How was I supposed to know?
You should have checked the pockets before washing!
I did! There were only some wet papers, I tossed them out!
Natalie rushed to the waste bin, tipped its contents onto the floor. Among the soggy receipts she found the damp, blotted pages of her passport.
She lifted them with trembling hands. The ink ran, the photo was a smudge.
That was my passport, Ethel whispered, looking over Natalies shoulder.
It was, Natalie said, feeling the world collapse. Now its rubbish.
Im sorry. I didnt mean to. Its your fault for putting it there.
My fault?! You wash other peoples clothes without asking, you dont check pockets, and you blame me?!
Stop shouting at me! Im old, I cant be nervous all the time!
And I cant! Ive got no passport now!
Andrew came home an hour later. Natalie was still staring at the ruined document. Ethel slipped back into her room, slamming the door.
What happened? Andrew asked, hanging his coat.
Natalie held out the soggy pages.
My passport. Your mother washed it with the jeans.
Andrew turned the pages over.
Blimey. How did it end up in the jeans?
I put it there after a bank visit and forgot to take it out.
So its your own fault then.
Natalie stood, eyes blazing.
What? Andrew said. You should have taken it out. My mother isnt at fault.
Your mother washes my things without asking! I never asked for her help!
She was trying to help!
Help? She ruined my passport! Now I have to replace it!
Andrew placed the ruined pages on the table.
Youll get a new one. Its not the first time people need a replacement.
Its not about the replacement! Its that your mother meddles in everything!
Shes ill, has nothing else to do. She cooks, she cleans, she tries to be useful.
I never asked for that!
They argued. Andrew went off to calm his mother. Natalie stayed in the kitchen, tears finally spilling.
The next day she rang her friend Claire.
Claire, can I crash at yours?
Of course. Whats up?
Natalie arrived that evening. Claire opened the door, gave her a hug.
You look exhausted. Whats happening?
They sat with tea, and Natalie poured out the saga of the motherinlaw, the passport, the endless fights.
She does it on purpose, Claire said firmly.
What?
Shes trying to keep you under her thumb, to have you all to herself.
Why?
She wants her son back. Some mothers cant share.
Natalie thought.
Maybe it wasnt on purpose? Maybe shes just active.
Natalie, think about it. Anyone would check pockets before washing. Its basic common sense.
Maybe she forgot.
Or she didnt want to. Maybe she wanted to cause trouble.
Natalie shook her head.
I dont know. I think she just doesnt think.
The next morning Ethel rearranged the kitchen cabinets, moving every pot and pan.
Ive tidied up, she announced. It was hard to reach things before.
Natalie opened the cupboard. Her favourite mugs were now on the top shelf, out of reach. The pans were all shuffled.
Ethel, put everything back as it was.
Why? Its more sensible now.
Its not convenient for me!
Youll get used to it.
Natalie closed the cupboard, not saying more. She went to the bedroom. Andrew was on the bed, scrolling on his phone.
Your mother moved everything again.
So what? Shell move it back if you dont like it.
She wont!
Natalie, are you starting again? Shes old, she needs something to do.
Let her read, watch TV, do whatever she likes!
Shes spent her whole life keeping a house in order. Shell keep doing that.
Not in my house!
Andrew sat up.
This is our home, and my mothers while shes staying.
When will she finally leave?
When the doctor says she can. Youre being heartless, Natalie.
He stormed out, slamming the door. Natalie lay on the bed, face pressed into the pillow, wanting to scream but staying silent.
The next day she took a day off to sort a new passport. She went to the local registry office, got a ticket, and waited in a long queue for four hours. When her number finally came, the clerk looked at the soggy remains and sighed.
Was it washed?
Yes.
That happens a lot. Youll need to fill out a loss report.
But it wasnt lost, its damaged!
Fill it out anyway; its easier.
Natalie completed the form, handed over photos, paid the fee. They told her the new passport would be ready in ten days.
How am I supposed to manage without it? I have a bonus due at work!
You can get a temporary ID, but therell be another queue.
She left the office angry and exhausted, sat on a bench outside, pulled out her phone, and called Andrew.
Hows it going? he asked.
The passport will be ready in ten days. Ive wasted half a day.
Youll get through it.
Andrew, your mother needs to go.
Silence.
What?
I cant take this any longer. She should move back to her own place.
Her leg still hasnt healed!
Its healed! Shes been walking without crutches for a week!
The doctor hasnt cleared her yet!
Then let her stay with someone else! With your sister, for example.
Lucys flat is tiny, three kids in it!
And ours? Were in a twobed flat! Its cramped enough for us!
Natalie, just hold on a bit longer.
I cant. Do you understand? I cant!
She hung up, sat on the bench watching people pass, feeling empty. No tears left, just a hollow ache.
That evening she arrived home late, taking a roundabout route to avoid meeting Ethel. But Ethel wasnt there.
Wheres your mother? she asked Andrew.
Shes gone to her sisters. Said she didnt want to be a bother.
Natalie felt relief mixed with guilt.
For long?
I dont know. Maybe forever.
They ate dinner in silence. Andrews jaw was tight, his shoulders tense. Natalie also sat mute, unsure what to say.
That night she lay awake, replaying everything. On one hand, Ethel really had meant to help. On the other, why didnt she ask? Why did she involve herself in everything?
The next morning Ethel called.
Natalie, can we talk?
Sure.
Im sorry for the passport, the sweater, everything. I realise I overstepped.
Natalie was surprised.
Thank you.
Im used to controlling everything. Ive been on my own all my life, responsible for everything. When I came to stay I wanted to be useful, but I went too far.
I was sharp too.
No, you were right. This is your home, your rules. I should have asked.
They paused.
Will you come back? Natalie asked.
Do you want me to?
Natalie thought. Suddenly she realised she did.
Yes. But lets set some ground rules. No touching my things without asking. No moving furniture unless I say so. If you want to help, just ask first.
Deal. And you speak up if something bothers you instead of keeping it in.
Agreed.
Ethel returned that evening with a cake as an apology. The three of them sat at the kitchen table, tea in hand.
My doctor says I can go home soon, Andrew said. Shell be cleared.
Dont rush, Natalie replied. Stay a bit longer, but on the new terms.
Ethel smiled.
Thank you, Natalie.
The new passport arrived after ten days, crisp and clean. Natalie slipped it into a special pocket in her handbag, swearing never to hide it in jean pockets again.
Ethel stayed another month, then truly moved back to her own flat. At the door she gave Natalie a hug.
Thanks for putting up with me.
Come back for a visit.
Absolutely, but Ill give you a headsup first.
When Ethel left, Natalie felt both relief and a touch of sadness. Shed grown accustomed to her motherinlaws stews, the constant TV chirp, the kitchen hustle.
Andrew embraced her.
Thanks for holding it together. I know it was hard.
It was, Natalie admitted. But were a family. We have to look after each other.
Youre a good wife, and Im a decent soninlaw.
Your mum is a good motherinlaw, just we needed time to click.
Every now and then Ethel dropped by, bringing pies and offering a hand, always asking first. Natalie always accepted, because help offered with respect felt different from interference.
The passport incident became a running joke. Whenever anyone forgot something in a pocket, theyd say, What if its a second passport? and laugh.
Sometimes a little shake is needed to see what truly matters not the garments or the rightness of a rule, but the relationships and the willingness to negotiate.
If this story struck a chord, Id love to hear your thoughts. Do give it a like and subscribe for more tales.
