Simon, are you serious or is this some halfbaked preChristmas joke? I said, frozen midscoop, the ladle still in my hand. Id just been about to pour the soup, but the steam curling up from the pot fogged my glasses, and I didnt even bother wiping them.
Simon was at the kitchen table, eyes glued to his phone, pretending to check the weather. His shoulders were pulled tight, like he was bracing for a punch.
Lena, Mum called she was crying, he muttered without looking up. Dads not doing well, his blood pressures gone off the rails. Theyre stuck in that tiny flat, it feels like a cellar. Its Christmas, a family thing. Can we just bend the rules once?
I set the ladle down carefully, took a deep breath, and let it out slowly.
Bend the rules? I asked, my voice calm but edged. Simon, remember the last time we bent the rules for International Womens Day? Your mum, in front of everybody, said I looked ten years older than you, even though were the same age. Then she accidentally knocked a glass of wine on my brandnew blouse. Is that what you call a principle?
Hes an old man, hes set in his ways, Simon tried.
Shes not just set in her ways, shes got a talent a talent for ruining my life, I snapped. She cant stand me. Why would we go to a place where Im hated? So I can sit in the corner, chew on stale salad, and listen to stories about your ex, Lucy?
Simon finally put his phone down and met my eyes. In them was that pleading look he always used, the one that made it hard for me to say no. After ten years of marriage Id learned it well its the look of a big kid who doesnt want to solve anything, just wants everyone to hug it out and eat sweets.
Lena, I swear Ill stay away from Lucy. If she says one word out of line, well leave straight away. Honest, he promised. I mean, theyre old folk, really. What if this Christmas is their last?
His sweet talk always worked. I felt the anger melt into a tired resignation. It wasnt about my motherinlaw; it was about that soft, decent bloke I loved, even if he couldnt draw firm boundaries with his mum.
If we go, I said slowly, looking straight at him, I have one condition. Well drive my car, and Ill keep the keys in my pocket. The first hint of rudeness, Im out. With or without you. Deal?
Simon lit up, jumped up and threw his arms around me.
Of course, Lena! Youre the best! Ill call Mum and tell her to get ready. Shell be thrilled, youll see!
I managed a crooked smile, pulling away from his embrace. The thought of Mums delight was about as exciting as a tax inspector spotting a fresh victim.
The three weeks leading up to Christmas were a blur of errands that kept the anxiety at bay. I buried myself in work, chose neutral yet pricey gifts: a cashmere throw for my fatherinlaw and a tin box of premium tea for Mum. Simon was sprinting from shop to shop, picking up items Mum dictated over the phone specific brands of mayo, peas from a particular farm, sausage from the factory that supposedly closed back in the 80s.
On 31December the city was under a thick blanket of snow. The flakes stuck to the windscreen, the wipers barely coping. I was driving, eyes on the red lights of the jam that stretched out of town. Simon sat beside me, a bag of mandarins clutched to his knee, tapping his fingers nervously.
Did you tell her were bringing the jelly? I asked without taking my eyes off the road. Id spent six hours the night before perfecting a clear, wobbly jelly that I was oddly proud of.
He said he did, Simon replied, coughs a bit. She said she already has her own, but I convinced her ours is better.
Great, I sighed. So if it doesnt make it, itll go to the dog if shes still alive.
Tuzik died two years ago, Lena.
Then the neighbours.
We pulled up at Mums place around eight. A typical fivestorey block on the outskirts greeted us with dark windows and the smell of fried onions in the hallway. The lift was, as usual, out of order, so we trudged up the stairs with the gifts and groceries.
Mum opened the door, dressed in the same glossy dress shes worn to every family event for the past fifteen years. Her silver hair was piled high, like a helmet.
Look who finally showed up, not a speck of dust on you two! she chided, stepping aside but blocking my path. Simon, youve lost weight! And you, Lena, you look well, youre driving, not walking. Come in, the hallway is draughty. The slippers are in the corner, old ones from Dad, no guests tonight, Verna the neighbour dropped by yesterday and broke the last pair.
I swallowed the jab about my looks, slipped on the battered mens slippers, and followed her inside. Her husband, Edward, emerged from the living room, a quiet man who always hid behind the newspaper or the telly.
Hello, kids, he said, shaking Simons hand and nodding at me. Glad you could make it. Lets head to the table, Mums got a feast.
The flat was a museum of postwar British life floral curtains, a dusty crystal cabinet, a heavy air scented with old medicine and wood polish. The dining table was covered with a crisp tablecloth, laden with food, but my seat was squeezed between the couch and a small TV stand, barely reachable without bumping into anyone.
Sit, Simon, at the head, close to Dad, Mum commanded. And you, Lena, take the edge, youll be needed to help in the kitchen.
I sat down, planning to stay quiet rather than start a scene. The spread was classic: Yorkshire pud, smoked salmon, sausage rolls, buttered carrots, and a big bowl of my jelly, looking lonely beside a massive bowl of Mums storebought version.
The first hour passed relatively peacefully. The telly droned on a Christmas special, Edward poured sparkling wine, Simon chatted about work. Mum cooed over him, but the moment I tried to speak, her face hardened.
and then we got that bonus, Simon said.
Good on you, love! Even a penny in the house. And you, Lena, whats that dress? It must have cost half your salary!
I placed my fork down carefully.
I bought it with my own bonus, Mum. My project won first prize in the architects competition.
She pretended not to hear.
Oh, girls these days, all about looking pretty. Remember, Simon, Lucy? What a perfect housewife! She sewed, knitted, saved money, baked pies that melted in your mouth. Not like these modern takeaways.
Simon choked on his salad and glanced at me. I chewed slowly, eyes on the telly, promising myself to endure. It was just a test.
Mum, why bring up Lucy? Simon tried to smooth things over. Lena cooks well too. Try my jelly.
He reached for my dish. Mum snapped her hand away.
Dont touch that! Let it sit. I spent all night making it, simmered from five in the morning. That store version probably just gelatin.
Its homemade, I said quietly, firmly. No gelatin.
Who makes jelly without gelatin these days? Mum waved her hand. Everyones busy, building careers. Kids should be born earlier, before youre old enough to call your own mother Grandma.
That hit a sore spot. Wed talked about kids, doctors said to wait, and Mum knew all about it.
Enough! Simon snapped. Were done with this topic.
What? Im just trying to help the family continue, you know, grandchildren before Im gone, she whined, hands to her chest.
Edward poured himself another measure of whisky, staying out of the fray.
The tension thickened. The food tasted bland, the champagne sour. I glanced at the clock two hours till midnight.
By the way, gifts, Mum suddenly brightened. Simon, fetch that box from the cupboard.
He brought a bag, and she triumphantly pulled out a crisp white shirt.
For you, son. Cotton, proper quality. Stop wearing that cheap synthetic. Lena, you should iron his shirts now and then, you know, its embarrassing to see a bloke in crumpled gear.
She handed me a small plastic bag. Inside were pigprinted kitchen towels and a tube of foot cream for cracked heels.
Thank you, I muttered, forcing a smile. Very useful.
Of course! Your heels were dry at the cottage last summer, right? Men love a wellkept lady. Lucy always had velvet skin.
I snapped my fork against the plate, the sound sharp as a gunshot.
Whats that supposed to mean? Mum asked, eyes wide.
Im done, I said, pushing my plate away. Ive had enough.
Mums face flushed. Im only saying the truth. A mother wont give bad advice. Youre in someone elses house, Lena. Simon brought you here, you should be grateful.
Mum, stop! Simon leapt up. Lenas been independent long before she met me!
Oh, stop defending her! Mum shouted, cheeks turning scarlet. I see the way she looks at me like Im dirt. She comes in with her fancy jelly, thinks shell impress? Ill flush yours down the loo if it smells sour!
Silence fell, only the ticking of the old mantel clock and Edwards heavy breathing breaking it.
I rose slowly, movements smooth despite the storm inside. I looked at Simon, his face torn between his mothers grip and the fear of losing me.
Simon, I said evenly, the car keys are in my pocket. Im leaving. Are you coming?
Lena, its night, its snowing Mum, sorry!
Mum?! she shrieked. After this outburst? Let her go! Its a family night, finally, without outsiders!
Simon froze, eyes shifting from Mum to me, his expression a battle of fear and love.
I Lena, wait, lets calm down he stammered.
That was the end. I understood, as if a spotlight had switched on. He wasnt going to leave. Hed stay, eat the Yorkshire pudding, listen to the gossip about me, and nod because Mums old.
I get it, I nodded.
I stepped into the hallway, slipped off the shabby slippers, pulled on my boots, threw on my down jacket. Mums voice drifted from the kitchen, See, I told you shed blow up!
I opened the front door. The cold liftshaft air hit my face, freshening my thoughts. No pain, just a huge sigh of relief, like dropping a sack of stones Id carried for a decade.
I walked down the stairs, out onto the street. Snow kept falling, covering the courtyard in a white blanket. My car, a little monster of a thing, waited. I started the engine, turned on the heater. While the windscreen defrosted, I checked my phone three missed calls from Simon. I silenced it and tossed it onto the passenger seat.
Driving out, I saw Simons silhouette in the fifthfloor window, looking down. I didnt wave. I turned on the radio; a cheery New Year tune about miracles playing.
The road home was empty. The city was tucked in, ready for the midnight chimes. I smiled, thinking of my cosy flat, a quick shower, slipping into my favourite pyjamas, pouring a glass of wine, and finally watching that film Simon always swears off.
I got home fifteen minutes before midnight. My cat, Whiskers, bolted out, purring loudly, rubbing against my legs.
Alright, Whiskers, I said, cradling him. Just you and me. No jelly.
I fetched a tin of caviar Id hidden just in case, popped a cork on the champagne. At twelve, as the clocks struck, I made a simple wish: never again betray myself.
My phone buzzed again. A text from Simon: Lena, Im sorry. Im a fool. Im calling a cab now, Ill be there. Mum caused a scene, I cant listen to that.
I looked at the screen, took a sip of champagne, and laid the phone face down. Let him come, or not. It didnt matter now. For the first time in years I felt truly at home.
A knock came forty minutes later. I knew it was him, but I didnt rush. I finished the caviar toast, petted Whiskers, and finally shuffled to the hallway. Simon stood there, snow dusting his coat, a bag of mandarins in his hands, his hat askew.
Lena can I come in? he asked quietly.
I met his gaze. The childlike plea was gone, replaced by fear and the understanding that something had changed forever.
Come in, I said calmly, opening the door wider. But put on some slippers. Ive tossed Dads old ones down the bin.
He stepped over the threshold, shaking off the snow. The celebration was just beginning, but it was a very different kind of Christmas.
