I honestly feel terribly awkward around everyone these daysespecially my husband, confides Emily, an exasperated newlywed.
Emily, age twenty-five, tied the knot just last month to Tom, whom shed dated for a year. Toms family isn’t exactly rolling in itthey share a modest two-bedroom flat in Croydon.
I always thought my family was solid, you know? My parents never once raised their voices in an argument. Mum set her sights on marrying me off first, then she was going to drop her own bombshell on the family, Emily laments, still in shock.
Emilys mum, Sandra, is forty-nine. Shes been married to Emily’s father, Phillip, for a good twenty years. Now, with her daughter neatly hitched and her son finishing up sixth form, and her husbandthe epitome of sensible, a non-smoker and teetotaller, always handing over his pay packetSandra suddenly decided that her days of living solely for her family are over.
I suppose Mums only ever lived for my brother and me, sighs Emily, but now shes decided she fancies living for herself for a change. And shes just upped and left. No fanfare, just packed a bag and gone.
Everybody had their own roles at home, of course, with the bulk of the chores falling, as tradition would have it, to Sandra.
I worked just as many hours and earned just as much as Phil, Sandra complains in hindsight, but do you think hed even look at the hoover? Not a chance. The kids acted like the Queen was coming round if I asked them to help. Theyd only appear in the kitchen to ask whats for dinner or if Id washed any clean shirts. The eldest, Emily, is now grown, but my mother-in-law would scold me for not making her lift a finger. And as for my son, he thinks putting his jeans in the wash is some kind of black magic. His trainers are so filthy Im amazed the dog hasnt buried them. All he ever says is, Is there any food? Are my trousers clean? Why are my shoes still mucky? Sandra grumbles.
A few years back, Sandras mother passed away, leaving her a cosy little flat in Brighton. Sandra had hoped Emily might strike out on her own, perhaps sprout some domestic wings. But alas, Emily found life much breezier at home, away from mops and frying pans.
Emily made use of the Brighton flat, mind youmainly as a secret spot to have Tom over without the scrutiny of nosy relatives. When Sandra finally had enough of her hectic hospitality, she promptly reclaimed the keys and started refurbishing the place.
I genuinely thought Mum was redecorating for us, since Tom and I were planning the wedding andsurpriseI found myself up the duff, Emily says, rolling her eyes. I dropped hints about curtain colours and whatnot, but she just zipped her lip.
Phillip was equally stunnedhed assumed Sandra was masterminding a little matrimonial gift for Emily, so he wisely kept his nose out of it. Sandra for her part, enjoyed the blissful lack of interference. Then, a mere few days before the wedding, workmen packed up their tools, Sandra packed up her bags, and she announced she was off. No apology, no greeting card, just gone.
But what about us? Emily cried, expecting that happily-ever-after in Brighton. Rent somewhere or stay with your father. Im quite finished being everyones unpaid, unappreciated servant, Sandra retorted.
Emily was so furious, she nearly decorated the wedding dress with her breakfast. She felt it was a moral crime for her mother to walk outthat Sandra ought to stay and look after the house, her brother, and her dad. Naturally, Phillip took umbrage as well, leaving the family mood about as buoyant as the weather in Manchester. Not exactly the dream wedding Emily had in mind.
What really pushed everyones buttons was that Sandra had paid for the entire Brighton renovation with the familys savings. Nobody murmured a wordthey thought she was making the place nice for the lovebirds. Sandra, meanwhile, saw it as just recompense after decades as Domestic Martyr. No tears thereshe worked for every penny, and as she put it, its a paltry sum for years of unpaid servitude.
To be honest, says Sandra, cheerfully oblivious to the drama, Emily never even bothered to ask if I planned to bequeath her the flat. I inherited it, Ill do what I like! They all made plans with my generosity, but Im quite at the end of my tether. They can make their own livesI refuse to be a human sacrifice any longer!
Phillip, in his infinite pragmatism, demanded that Sandra sign over her share of their modest flat to their daughter. Sandra, to her credit, declinedshes not one for reckless gambles these days. The marriage might be on the rocks, but for once, Sandra is utterly content. A lifetime spent tending to the brood? Enough, she reckons. Time, at last, to have a go at living for herself.
