Thats really how she is? She doesnt cook at all? Margaret shook her head in disbelief, her teacup poised mid-air. How do they manage, then? What do they even eat?
Sarah nodded gravely, lips pursed into a thin, resigned linea woman long acquainted with hardship but still holding on to hope for a sliver of pity.
This is the daughter-in-law Ive been given, Margaret. Eight years Ive suffered, and I cant see an end to it.
No! Surely not.
Believe it. She cant cook, Margaret. She wont even look after her own childrenjust glued to that infernal blog of hers. Forever posting odd pictures, making silly videos. And she believes shes terribly important! The reality? My son forever hungry, the children half forgotten. Its a misery, darling.
Margaret set her teacup down rather more firmly than necessary, as if news of someone elses daughter-in-law had thoroughly spoiled her appetite.
Its this generation, Sarah, just glued to their mobile phones all day, convinced the world cares about them. They film nonsense, pull faces at the cameraand thats what they call a job.
Golden words, Margaret. Truly, youve hit the nail on the head. Im quite at my wits end. I visit, you see, and theres dust everywhere, the fridge is bare. Emily, I say, youre a wife, a mother, and you must change this. Do you know her reply?
What did she say?
Said shed hire a cleaner. And order takeaway. Can you imagine? My son and grandchildren living like this, and she couldnt care less!
Margaret leaned nearer, lowering her voice for effect, though the house was entirely their own.
Listen, Sarah, have you thought of persuading them to stay with you a while? Perhaps pretend to be a bit unwelljust for a reason. Itd mean your son was nearby, at least.
Sarah sighed and sank back into her chair.
Ive tried all sorts, Margaret. But that one stands her ground, immediately. Said, Were not moving in with you. Neither me nor the boys. This is my flat, she says, and I wont be living under your eye.
She said that? Straight to your face?
Word for word.
And your son?
He backs her, Margaret. Wouldnt dream of defying her. Shes got him wrapped around her little finger, and he cant do enough for her.
Margaret shook her head and patted Sarahs hand sympathetically.
My poor dear. What a cross you bear.
Sarah suddenly sat up, her mouth set.
I shant give up. Ill have my way, sooner or later.
The next day, Sarah made her way up the narrow staircase of the old five-storey block. She was panting by the third floor, already indignant all over again. Her daughter-in-law could very well have bought a decent place, somewhere with a lift and in a respectable neighbourhood. But no, Emily had chosen this ramshackle flatif only, Sarah was certain, to keep well away from her mother-in-law.
She paused on the landing, caught her breath, fished a small mirror from her handbag to straighten her hair. She tugged her coat straight, squared her shoulders, and knocked smartly at the door.
A minute passed, then another. No voices, no footsteps on the other side.
She knocked again, more forcefully. Silence.
Irritated, Sarah pulled out her mobile and dialled her daughter-in-laws number, her annoyance building with every ring.
Hello?
Emily, its me. Where is everyone?
What is it, Sarah? Emily replied without a hint of urgency.
Im standing at your door. Ive been waiting for five minutes. Where are you?
The boys are at school, Emily said calmly. James is at work. Im at a manicure appointment.
Sarah gaped.
And what am I supposed to do now? What do you suggest?
You didnt mention youd be visiting, Sarah. You could come back after six, if you like. Well all be home then.
Before Sarah could reply, the call ended with a brisk click.
She stared at the blank screen, unable to grasp that her daughter-in-law had simply hung upmid-conversation, as though Sarah were some intrusive acquaintance to be dispatched without a second thought.
She slipped the phone into her bag and trudged down the steps, rehearsing every stinging retort she meant to deliver to that shameless girl.
That evening, Sarah once again stood at their door. This time, it swung open almost at once.
Oh, Mum, hello, do come in! James stepped aside, warm and unhurried.
Sarah took off her coat and hung it on the peg, then walked through to the kitchenwhere she stopped dead.
On the table were cardboard boxes bearing the logo of a high street restaurant. Emily was dividing the contents onto plates, the twins swung their legs under the table, and James fetched glasses from the cupboard.
Whats all this, then? Sarah pointed at the boxes. More of your blasted takeaway?
Good evening, Sarah, Emily replied levelly, not looking up from the plates.
I asked whats all this. Youre feeding the children from boxes again?
James put the glasses down and turned to his mother. Mum, its a proper meal. Soup, porridge, vegetablesall from a good restaurant.
Proper food is cooked at home, with care and love! Thisthis is a disgrace. You, Sarah jabbed a finger at Emily, are a dreadful wife and mother. I was at your door this morning! If you werent so stubborn, Id have a key to your flat by now. I could have gone in, had a rest, waited for you properly.
Emily, setting down the serving spoon, turned to Sarah and then looked at her sons.
Ben, Oliveroff you go for now. Go and play in your room.
But were hungry! protested one.
Ill call you in five minutes.
The boys slipped off their chairs, scowling, and disappeared. Emily stepped closer to Sarah.
This is my flat, Sarah. I wont give keys to anyone. I wont have people coming and managing my home in our absence. Not even you. After eight years, you should have grasped that.
Sarah, clutching at her chest, stepped back.
James! Do you hear how your wife addresses me? Will you stand by while she humiliates your own mother?
James studied the floor silently.
Its her influence, Sarah continued, her voice shaking. If not for her, everything would be marvellous. Why did you marry her? Shes no wife at all! Cant manage a home, doesnt care for the children, spends all the moneyalways on her phone!
Then why come here? Emily folded her arms. Youre the one imposing yourself, again and again. Why not stay home if you disapprove of me so much? But you turn up here at least three times a week! Im tired of it, if Im honest.
Emily James began tentatively, lets all calm down.
No, I wont. Im going to the boys, Emily said, and swept out. A moment later, the bedroom door banged somewhere in the depths of the flat.
Sarah looked to her son, who finally raised his eyes.
Mum, Ive been patient. For a long time. But youve gone too far. I love my wife. Emily is a good mother.
Feeding the boys takeaway! Sarah cried, appalled.
Yes, said James, soup, porridge, vegetablesreal food. She hasnt the time or the desire to spend hours over the hob. We can afford this. Whats wrong with that?
I only want to help, Sarah faltered, her face the picture of aggrieved martyrdom. I love you, love the boys
Your help, James cut her off, is ruining my marriage. Im asking you to leave now. And Id appreciate if you stayed away for a while. Ill visitwith the boys. But not Emily. So therell be no discomfort for anyone.
James
Mum, please. Just go.
Silently, she gathered her things, pulled on her coat. James stood in the kitchen doorway, watching as she dressed. No gesture to stop her. No apologies. Nothing.
Outside, the night was cold and dark. Sarah walked to the bus stop, tears streaming down her cheeks. No one appreciated her. Nobody needed her. Even her own son had let his wife drive her out.
At home, Sarah made herself a pot of mint tea for her nerves, sat at the table, and gazed long at the empty garden beyond the window. The tea cooled, forgotten, as she pondered how bitterly unfair life had turned out. Years spent raising her son, so much effort. And for what? Some girl with a blog had proved more important than his mother.
Sarah sipped the cold tea and grimaced. Bitter, she thought. Just like everything else these days.
