Poppy, youve taken the wrong lane again! Evelyn Harpers voice pierced the car like a shrill kettle, drowning out even the hum of the airconditioner.
Poppy gripped the steering wheel tighter, her knuckles whitening. She wanted to slam the brakes, toss the keys aside and walk home through the amber dusk, leaving behind the cramped interior, the bags of seedling mix that smelled of damp earth and spring, and the queenlike figure of Evelyn perched on the passenger seat. Instead she drew a long, steady breath.
Evelyn, the satnav says theres an accident up ahead. Wed be stuck for ages.
The satnav knows best, love! Evelyn snapped, patting the brim of her hat. Ive been driving this road for thirty years, back when my late husband took the old Morris Traveller down here. We always knew the shortcuts. Your gadgets have you lost. And dont forget the stop at the Red Light supermarket theyve got a washday bargain on detergent, three packets for the price of two, Lusia told me.
Well stop, Poppy replied, voice flat. Weve already been circling for three hours. My back is killing me and James is waiting for lunch. Hes starving.
James will manage! Or he can cook his own dumplings. And I need help. Who else will drive me? My blood pressures high, my legs ache, and the bus is a nightmare with my bags. Taxis are daylight robberies these days. Youre young, fit its a pleasure for you, and a chance to keep me company.
Pleasure, Poppy thought, bitterly mimicking the word. Every Saturday this pleasure erased the one day she actually had off. She worked as the frontdesk manager at a private health clinic, on a rotating twodayon, twodayoff schedule, often covering for colleagues and rarely getting a true weekend. Ironically, those rare free days were precisely when Evelyns sudden, urgent need to scour half the city for cheap sugar, the right flour for crumpets, or today, a batch of specialist fertiliser only sold at the garden centre on the far side of town would erupt.
James never got involved in these errands. Poppy, you drive better than I do, you dont get queasy, and youre better at talking to my mum, hed say, planting a kiss on her cheek before retreating to his video games or a football match. It suited him mum occupied, wife occupied, house quiet. He turned a blind eye to the way Poppy returned home drained, eyes burning, with a simmering urge to scream.
They pulled up to a dingy, yellowpainted warehouse that doubled as a discount store. The car park was a sea of other pennypinchers hunting a fiftypenny saving on pasta. Poppy squeezed between a massive Land Rover and a rusted old Mini.
Sit tight, Ill take the trolley, Evelyn ordered, then winced as she clutched her lower back. Oh dear, its happening. Love, get in there for me, will you? Ill sort the list here.
Poppy stepped out into the sweltering heat that made the tarmac melt. Inside the store, the air reeked of cheap chemicals and dust. She pushed a squeaking trolley through aisles of canned goods, thinking how life was passing her by. At thirtyfive she could be soaking in a bubble bath, strolling through a park with a novel, simply sleeping. Instead she hefted bag after bag of sugar because Evelyns season of preserving was looming and the strawberries werent even ripe yet.
When she returned, trolley full, Evelyn was chatting animatedly on the phone, laughing and gesturing wildly. Spotting her daughterinlaw, she abruptly ended the call and assumed a plaintive tone.
Bless you, love. The car is stifling, the aircons barely breathing youre saving on the refrigerant, arent you?
Its on full blast, Evelyn. Its just thirty degrees outside.
Loading the bags took another ten minutes. Poppy shifted the heavy packs into the boot, careful not to smudge her light trousers. Evelyn hovered, directing: Mind the eggs, dont stack the detergent on top, keep the powder in the corner.
As they finally pulled away from the shop, Evelyn leaned in, her voice conspiratorial. I promised my friend Dorothy Whitmore that wed pick her up. She lives just two streets over. She needs a lift to her cottage; her tomato seedlings cant survive a bus ride.
Evelyn! We agreed just the shop and home! James is starving, I have laundry to do!
Dont be selfish, Evelyn snapped, pursing her lips. Dorothys a lonely, respectable lady. Well be quick drop her off, then head home. Its practically on the way.
On the way is thirty miles from here! Poppy nearly missed a turn.
Cant abandon a lady in need, Evelyn retorted. Ive already promised. Dont make me look terrible in front of the neighbours. Theyll say Im a cruel motherinlaw.
Poppy clenched her teeth. Refusing now meant a week of lectures and the pitiful sighs of James: Mum was crying, saying you drove her friend away. It was easier to comply and forget.
They turned into the narrow courtyard of a 1960s council block where Dorothy waited, surrounded by cardboard boxes as if planning an expedition to the Arctic.
Oh, Evelyn! Thank you ever so much! the frail old woman with violet curls chirped, rushing to the car. And this must be your dear Poppy?
The loading took longer than expected; the boot refused to close, forcing some boxes onto the rear seat. The scent of earth grew stronger, mixed now with a faint whiff of valerian, Dorothys favourite soothing herb.
The two women chattered nonstop about grain prices, joint pains, and nosy neighbours. Poppy turned the radio down, trying to focus on the road while their voices floated behind her.
and Veras son has taken to drinking, Dorothy mused.
Unsurprising, given his wife, Evelyn added.
Poppy barely heard until the conversation turned to her.
Youve got it good, Evelyn, Dorothy said, a note of envy in her tone. Every weekend you drive in comfort, to the market, to the cottage. My husband shows up once a month, and even then he looks cross. And you, you just sit there, never objecting.
Poppy felt a flash of anger. She expected Evelyn to smile politely, perhaps say, Thanks for not leaving me alone, but instead the older womans voice slipped into a condescending sneer.
Its not she driving me, love, its me training her, Evelyn replied, her tone dripping with false kindness. A little conditioning, dear. First she resists Im busy, I have my own plans. Then I remind James that his mother is ill, that Im the one who needs help. Guilt, a little pressure on the heart, a measure of blood pressure it works every time.
Dorothy let out a approving chuckle.
Strategist, Evelyn! And the petrol? She doesnt ask for money?
What petrol! The car was bought with my own bonus and a loan Im still paying off. Jamess salary goes to his gadgets anyway. Its all on the family budget, dear.
A heavy silence fell, ringing in Poppys ears like a slap. Grey mouse, training, guilt each word cut deeper. She recalled all the times shed given up outings, cancelled dentist appointments, hauled bags of sugar for a motherinlaw who claimed a backache that had vanished the moment she set the load down. It was all a manipulation, a cruel training regimen that reduced her to a freeservice taxi and a parttime porter.
Clever, Evelyn, Dorothy said, halfrespectful. My daughterinlaw would have sent me packing long ago.
Smart daughterinlaw, but shes just convenient, Evelyn muttered. She endured, as they say.
Poppy exhaled slowly, the tension in her limbs easing. A cold, crystalline fury replaced the hurt. She glanced at the rearview mirror; Evelyn sat smugly, smoothing her blouse collar, while Dorothy nodded politely.
So, convenient, Poppy whispered, her voice a thin razor.
She didnt stop the car to dump them in the woods that would be hysteria, and hysteria was for the weak. She drove them the short distance to Dorothys modest cottage and pulled up at the gate.
Poppy, unload first the Whitmore boxes, then mine. Then get everything inside the little house before the rain starts, Evelyn ordered.
Poppy turned off the engine, slipped the key from the ignition and stepped out. She walked around the car, opened the boot, and helped the women out, stretching stiff legs.
Come on, love, times ticking, we still have beds to water, Evelyn urged.
Poppy slammed the drivers door, pressed the lock button. The car chirped, headlights flickered, but the boot remained ajar.
Im not putting any of this down, Evelyn, she announced, her voice firm, metallic, as if the birds in the nearby orchard had fallen silent.
What? You cant be serious. Just take it in bits.
I said I wont unload anything. I wont carry a thing for you again. Never again.
Are you out of your mind? Evelyn snapped, her face flushing. Dorothy, can you hear this? Whats this rebellion? Poppy, are you ill?
No, Evelyn. Im perfectly healthy. I heard every word in the car the training, the grey mouse, the work youre doing for free. I know you expect me to earn my place in this family by shouldering your burdens while your back magically heals when you need me to lift bags.
Evelyns mouth opened, closed, opened again. Dorothy clutched her hand to her mouth, eyes wide.
You you were eavesdropping? Evelyn sputtered. How disgraceful!
Im not eavesdropping. You were sitting in my car, a car I bought with my own bonus and a loan Im still paying. You shouted so loudly the only one who could hear was a deaf person. The training is over. Endurance quit. Your things are in the boot. Take them yourself. Your back is fine. Im going home.
You wont! Evelyn shrieked, grasping the gate. Ill call James! Ill tell him youve youve
Call all you like, Poppy shrugged. Just remember to mention how you smeared me with dirt in front of Dorothy. I have the dash cam footage it records sound from the front, not the back, but you were so loud itll be clear enough. Ill show James.
Evelyns face turned ashen, she clutched her chest as if the words struck her heart.
Dorothy, collect your things, Poppy said, turning to the other woman.
Dorothy muttered apologies and hurried to the boot, loading her boxes onto the grass. Evelyn stood like a statue, her eyes burning with hatred.
Ill never forgive you, she hissed.
And I dont need your forgiveness, Poppy replied. I need my time and my dignity. Good luck with your harvest.
Poppy slipped back into the car, slammed the door, and floored the accelerator. The tires screamed over the gravel as she tore away.
The drive home blurred into a fog of adrenaline. She cranked the music to full, belting out the lyrics, drowning out the thoughts of the impending argument at home. Freedom surged through her, as if shed finally shaken off those heavy bags of sugar that had weighted her for years.
At home, James lounged on the sofa, a halfwatched drama playing on the TV.
Hey, youre back early, he drawled, not looking up. Mum called, the line cut out. She was screaming about you ditching her. What happened?
Poppy walked in, switched off the TV, and faced him, arms crossed.
James, we need to talk.
He rolled his eyes, but sat up. Let me guess Mum lectured you again, you got upset, and now I have to be the peacemaker?
Im done being your mums freeservice taxi, Poppy said, voice steady. She told me, in my car, that Im a trained dog, that Im a grey mouse she can use whenever she likes. She even called me a handmaid to her ill back. And you, James, youre the eagle who got a mouse for a wife. Im not grateful for being tolerated.
James frowned. Who told you that?
Your mother. Her friend. In the car. Every detail.
He stared at her, the colour draining from his face. Are you sure?
Im not a fool. I wont drive her again. Not to the shop, not to the cottage, not to the doctors. If she needs a ride, you drive or you hire a driver. Im done.
What am I supposed to do? I work, Im exhausted
Im not on holiday, James. I work too. My weekends have been spent loading your mothers groceries while you sit on the couch. Im tired of being trampled.
He opened his mouth, then closed it, searching for something.
Poppy, I Ill sort something out. Ill get a car for her, maybe a driver.
Fine. But Im leaving this house for a while.
That night the phone rang incessantly. Evelyn, an aunt from Surrey, even Dorothy called, all wanting updates. James paced, sweating, pleading, trying to calm his mother.
Poppy poured herself a glass of wine, slipped into a bubble bath, and let the water wash away the days tension. She could hear James shouting into the receiver, Mum, youre to blame! Youre the one who said it!
It felt like a small victory. The eagle finally tried to defend his wife.
A week later the familys group chat on WhatsApp expelled Poppy. Evelyn sent messages through James, citing a hypertensive crisis and blaming Poppy for blood on her hands. Poppy simply replied, Call an ambulance, James, or take a taxi.
Saturday morning she awoke not to a blaring alarm or Evelyns shrieks, but to soft sunlight spilling onto her pillow at ten oclock. The house was quiet; James was away, delivering groceries to his mother with his own car, the one Poppy refused to lend. She stretched, feeling every muscle finally relaxed. She brewed coffee, stepped onto the balcony, watched the street bustle below, and realised she had a whole day to herself.
She drove to the park, ate an icecream, read a novel on a bench. The weight of trying to be good had lifted. She understood that when you stop trying to please those who never value you, the world doesnt crumble it brightens.
That evening James trudged in, shoes soaked from rain.
Did you see Mum? Poppy asked, setting the dinner plate down.
Yeah, he grunted, shovelling mash onto his plate. Shes shes a nightmare. And you called me a witch, said I was bewitched, thats why I didnt protect her.
Poppy laughed, a genuine, loud laugh.
At least Im not a grey mouse. A witch is better people fear you, so they respect you.
James looked at her, chewing thoughtfully. He finally saw not the weary, compliant wife, but a woman with fire in her eyes.
You know, love you were right. He said quietly. Its hard, being the good daughterinlaw, but a conscience matters.
Conscience is either there or it isnt, Poppy replied.
Three months later Evelyn now takes a taxi to her cottage, splitting the cost with Dorothy. Their requests are polite, distant, and she never asks Poppy for a lift. Poppy finally has real weekends shes enrolled in an Italian class shes always wanted, finally free to enjoy herself. The grey mouse has become a woman who knows her worth and will never let anyone train her again.
