Emma was dusting the old photographs on the dresser when the thud of Jamess shoes echoed down the hallway. March in Manchester was clammy, and even the radiators could not chase the chill out of their cramped twobedroom flat.
On the windowsill the begonias drooped, the only reminder of that warm May when they had first said I do.
James appeared in the kitchen in faded jeans and a stretchedout tshirt, his hair a wild halo and a pillowmark still smudged on his cheek.
What, already up? he said, reaching for the kettle. I thought we could sleep in on a Saturday.
Sleep, Emma hung a dishcloth on the peg by the sink. Your mother called twice already. She wants to know when well pitch in at the cottage.
James coughed. A flock of sparrows skittered past the window, and somewhere in the back garden a dog barked.
And what did you tell her?
I said wed think about it. Emma pulled a block of cheddar from the fridge and started slicing it onto plates. But I dont get why we have to go every weekend. Isnt Victor, Margarets son, supposed to be helping?
Victor works two shifts, James sat down and dusted the cheese with a sprinkle of pepper. He never
Never, right? Emma perched beside him. And Im supposed to be the carefree one? I work too, you know.
James fell silent, sipped his tea, and stared out the window. Across the courtyard a neighbour was fiddling with his bicycle, flipping the wheels and pulling the chain taut.
Remember how we met your family? Emma said, biting into a slice of bread. I thought they were so welcoming
***
September turned unusually warm. Emma was selling fabrics in a market stall, and James was a fitter at the local factory. Theyd been together half a year, and the night had finally come to meet the parents.
My mothers been looking forward to this all week, James said, smoothing his shirt collar. Shes been planning for days.
Margarets flat was on the fifth floor of a crumbling block of council houses. Emma winced as soon as she entered the stairwell; the air reeked of bleach and cat litter, and graffiti marred the walls.
Come in, lovebirds! Margaret greeted them on the landing, dressed in a floral dress with her hair neatly pinned.
The flat was a shrine to a life welllived: vases of wilting flowers, jars of sweets, faded rugs, and an ancient television draped in lace.
Oh, what a beauty! Margaret cooed, eyeing Emma. Ive just made borscht. Emma, darling, could you set the table?
She thrust a stack of plates into Emmas hands before she could even blink.
In the living room, Jamess brother, a hulking twentyfiveyearold with a lazy grin, lounged on the sofa.
Hey, he muttered.
All evening Margaret kept ordering Emma to pass the sauce, slice the bread, clear the dishes. Victor slumped on the sofa, nodding occasionally at his mothers endless chatter.
My dear Victor is such a good helper, Margaret gushed, when he slipped out onto the balcony to smoke. Hes exhausted from work, so I hardly ask him to do anything else.
A month later the wedding took place. The guest list was modest, but the atmosphere was warm. When it came time for gifts, Margaret solemnly handed the newlyweds two modest parcels.
Emma received a cheap sequintrimmed blouse from a market stall; James a leather belt in a polished box.
Oh, forgive us for being so modest, Margaret chirped. Pensions tight, barely enough for a cup of tea
Victor snorted and stared out the window. Emma bit her tongue, longing to ask how an unemployed son could afford such pricey trainers.
***
Six months slipped by. Emma fell into a routine of cooking, cleaning, and laundry. James sometimes pulled double shifts, stumbling home exhausted, and she tried not to add to his burden.
Margaret turned up every other day, usually at eight in the morning, just as Emma was about to leave for work.
My carpets soaked through. Could you take it out onto the balcony and give it a good shake? My backs killing me, cant lift anything heavy.
Or:
Pop down to the store, love. I need milk and a loaf. The walks getting too far, my legs are swelling.
Emma obeyed in silence, lugging groceries and the heavy carpet that looked as if it had been passed down from Margarets own mother.
Next door lived Victor, a stout fellow who spent his days gaming. Margaret never once asked him to lift a thing.
You mustnt bother Victor, shed say. Hes tired from work, even if he rests between shifts
Then came a Thursday. Emma returned from the shop with bags full of groceries when she saw Margaret on the stairwell.
Perfect timing! Potatoes are on sale. Grab a sack, will you? Im struggling with my rheumatoid arthritis
Emma inhaled deeply, exhaled slowly, and met Margarets eyes.
No.
What do you mean no? Margaret blurted, bewildered.
It means exactly that. Your son sits at home let him stay there. Im not your maid.
What followed could have been a symphony of outrage. Margarets face twisted, every line on her neck deepening.
Ungrateful! Lazy! How dare you! she shrieked, snatching Emmas coat from the hook and flinging it to the floor. Take this! For your cheekiness! she snapped, before retreating to her flat.
Emma stood in the hallway, staring at the crumpled coat, wondering what she was actually supposed to be grateful for a market blouse? Endless errands? Being treated like unpaid help?
***
Three days of silence followed. No knocks, no calls. Emma savoured the unexpected peace, sipping a leisurely breakfast, reading a book in the evening. James noticed the change too.
Moms been quiet for ages, he said over dinner, twirling spaghetti onto his fork.
I dont miss it, Emma admitted honestly.
On the fourth day, while Emma was frying minced meat, Jamess phone shrieked like an alarm.
Put it on loud, she said, stirring onions.
Sweetheart, Ive lived to this age the voice on the other end wailed.
Again the same old story, Emma thought, rolling her eyes. and the daughterinlaw gets blamed for everything cant help an old lady or fetch groceries. Im sitting here alone, useless
James scratched his head, scowling.
Mom, cut the drama. I know you well enough.
She insulted me! Margaret snapped.
When did I insult you? Emma fired back. I only mentioned Victor
Dont touch Victor! Margaret exploded. If he stays home, thats how it should be!
Thats what drives me mad! James finally burst. Youve been treating him like a delicate vase all his life!
A heavy silence settled over the phone. The only sound was oil sizzling in the pan.
Alright, love, Margarets voice turned icy. If you dont want to ruin my birthday, lets end this once and for all.
James hung up, staring out the window.
You know, sometimes I think Mom lives in her own world. Victors a perpetual child she must shield, and the rest of us are just extras in her play.
Emma leaned her cheek against his back, the air thick with the smell of burnt oil. She muttered a curse under her breath.
***
Later that night James stood in the living room, his face a mask of silent eloquence, as if the whole world owed him something.
Why are you standing there like a statue of Shakespeare? Emma snapped. Fine, fine! Ill make peace with your mother.
James turned, a small smile tugging at his lips, satisfied that he had finally gotten his point across.
The next morning Emma measured a few drops of valerian into a glass, downed it, fumbled with her phone, and finally dialed Margaret.
One ring. Two. On the third, a voice answered.
Hello?
Good afternoon, Margaret Emma began, her throat dry. I wanted to apologise for the incident. I was in the wrong.
A pause stretched, heavy enough that Emma feared the line had dropped.
I expected that, Margaret finally said. Well then, could you help me with my birthday?
Of course! With pleasure.
Excellent. Ill send you the menu. Goodbye.
Emma raised the receiver to end the call when a muffled conversation drifted from the other side. Margaret had apparently forgotten to hang up and was now speaking to someone else.
Emma froze, phone pressed to her ear.
Alright, Victor, you see how it turned out? Margarets voice whispered. Weve finally got our little princess under control
A chill ran down Emmas spine.
now shell be silksmooth.
Exactly, Victors voice replied. She was getting too full of herself, thinking shes the smartest one here.
Emma clenched the phone so hard the plastic creaked.
Shell know her place, Margaret hissed.
Dont worry, Victor muttered. If needed, Ill give her another whack.
The revelation hit like a punch. Emma later discovered her cars wheels were flat, forcing her to hail a cab to avoid being late for work.
Alright, lets have tea, Margaret said sweetly. Or else itll get cold
Silence settled over the flat. Emma slipped the phone into her pocket and pressed her back against the wall.
Well then, dear relatives, she whispered to herself, shall we play a game?
A crow swooped past the window, perching on a branch, as if to remind her who truly owned the sky.
***
Margarets birthday fell on a Saturday. From dawn Emma bustled in the kitchen, chopping salads, frying meat. By two oclock the flat was brimming with neighbours, a distant cousin from Yorkshire, and former colleagues about ten men in total.
Its all us, Victor and I, who prepared everything! the birthday woman chirped, flitting between tables. Three days nonstop!
Emma silently arranged plates, listening to Margaret brag to the guests:
Can you believe my daughterinlaw, Clara, refused even to peel a potato. She says never. What a lazy creature
After the customary toasts and a mountain of gifts, the guests began to eat. The neighbour coughed, the distant cousin clutched a glass of water, and one by one the diners started grimacing, gulping water between bites.
Lord, why is it so salty? a colleague lamented. I cant eat this!
My tongues gone numb! another added. It tastes like sea water!
All eyes turned to Margaret, who flushed, her eyes wide, and stared at Emma.
This this is the daughterinlaws fault! She
What daughterinlaw? a neighbour interjected. You just praised her for cooking with your son! You even said she didnt lift a finger!
An uneasy hush fell. Emma rose slowly from behind the table.
If you wanted to turn me into a docile servant, your show has failed.
She headed for the door, but stopped at Victors side.
Youll pay me back every penny for those wheels!
James sat there, mouth agape. The guests froze like statues of salt. Emma, head held high, slipped out of the flat, quietly closing the door behind her. Somewhere behind her a glass clinked, and the birthday woman let out a sigh.
***
The sun dipped toward the horizon. Emma settled into her favourite armchair by the window, sipping tea, relishing the aftertaste of Margarets birthday chaos.
The front door opened, and James stepped in.
What on earth was that? he asked, pausing in the doorway of the lounge.
Emma placed her cup on the windowsill and gave a faint smile. Outside, street lamps flickered on, Marchs chill giving way to a fresh spring scent. Pigeons cooed on the telephone wires, and in the distance church bells tolled, their solemn chime echoing like a final curtain call.
