When will you be making me a spare set of keys, then? Jane Archer asked, her voice as casual as one might use to remark on the weather, while she delicately spooned homemade raspberry jam onto her scone. I can see Edwards positively wasting away, and I suspect youve ancient dust gathering in the corners.
Sophie, who was just then pouring tea, froze with the pot in mid-air, hot water threatening to spill beyond the rim of the cup. She managed to settle the pot on the tray and turned to her husband. Edward sat opposite his mother, head down, methodically working through his stack of crumpets, adopting, as always in moments of impending household storm, the vanishing actfading quietly into the wallpaper.
Mrs Archer, whatever do you need keys to our flat for? Sophie tried to sound calm, though anger was beginning to bubble inside her. Sunday visits to her mother-in-laws were always a test of nerves, but today Mrs Archer had outdone herself.
Why, isnt it obvious? Mrs Archer dabbed her lips with a napkin, eyebrows raised as though Sophie were simple. Youre out all day working, off before the sun, back after. When do you ever have time to tidy up? Ive plenty of time on my hands, being retired. I could pop round during the week, dust a bit, mop the floors, simmer a proper stew. Edwards never been able to manage muchits that tender tummy of his, dont you remember?
Edwards constitution is just fine, Sophie replied, sliding into her seat. And as for housework, we manage quite well. Weve a robot hoover, and every weekend we do a proper clean. Together.
Oh, do give over, Mrs Archer dismissed her with a wave, her face shifting into that look of condescending pity Sophie detested. A robot! That plastic thing just chases dirt from one spot to another. And what sort of wife gets her husband mopping floors? Hardly mans work, that. Anyway, Ive put together a plan: Ill be round every Tuesday and Thursday, everything gleaming for your return.
Sophie felt Edward give her a gentle nudge under the table, the signal not to kick off, but silence now would be a crime against her own peace of mind. The flat was hersbought two years before marriage, paid for from bitter overtime and frugal lunches. It was her fortress, her sanctuary, every object carefully placed. The thought of Mrs Archer prodding through her linen cupboard and peering into saucepans made her physically queasy.
There wont be any spare keys, Mrs Archer, Sophie spoke firmly, locking eyes with her mother-in-law. Its our home and we decide how and when its cleaned. It suits us just as it is.
A brittle silence dropped over the kitchen, broken only by the ancient clock tick-tocking on the wall. Mrs Archer laid her spoon down slowly, her face flushing a blotchy red.
That your final word on the subject? she asked with icy calm, cutting her gaze from Sophie to Edward. Edward, are you hearing the way your wife speaks? I only want to help, doing whats best, and shes turning me away?
Edward finally looked up from his crumpets, looking as if he rather wished to be swept away entirely. He wanted nothing but peace, but he could see his mother had overstepped.
Mum, honestly, he started gently. Sophie prefers to be home when people are over. We do appreciate you wanting to help, but let us muddle through.
Muddle through! Mrs Archer huffed, standing abruptly. I see the state you call muddling. Living in filth, eating packet rubbish. Look at your shirtbarely pressed. Never mind then. Fester in your messyoull come begging soon enough.
The rest of tea passed in stilted, hurried silence. Sophie and Edward left twenty minutes later, some invented errand as their excuse. In the car, Edward tried to smooth things over.
Dont let it get to you, Soph. Mums just old-fashioned. She shows love by fussing and scrubbing. She means no harm.
Sophie turned to him, catching the traffic lights. Imagine if my mother waltzed in while we were out, started rifling through your socks to help, or sorting your desk for orders sake? Would you like that?
Edward grimaced. Fair point. But you know she wont stop.
He was rightJane Archer was not easily defeated. Used to getting her way, she was a master of persistence and guilt. The next days were quiet enough, except Mrs Archers daily missives to Edward: healthy recipe cards, articles on household allergens, dire warnings about dust.
Wednesday after work, Sophie arrived home to find Edward in the bathroom, door shut, voice a tense whisper. Mum, I cant… Shell notice. Its not right… I said no.
Sophie knocked. Edward stepped out, sheepish. Whats that all about? she asked, warming dinner.
Mum again. She wants to pop by tomorrowwith miracle cleaning sprays, says shes making a surprise. Asked for the keys.
Sophie set the spatula down. And?
I said no. Told her youd notice. No keys without you knowing.
Thank you, Edward. Its important, you know. Boundaries.
Jane Archer, however, was not easily put off. Switching tack, she shifted to manipulations of guilt and the local grapevine. On Friday, Sophie got a call at work from a formal-sounding number.
Hello, Miss Evans?the voice clipped, official.
Yes, speaking.
“This is the management company. Scheduled inspection of your buildings air vents. Well need access to your flat tomorrow, first thing.
Were home Saturday, so thats fine.
Excellent. Someone will be round between ten and twelve.
At exactly ten oclock Saturday, someone knocked. Sophie, still in her dressing gown, expecting an engineer, opened to find Mrs Archer, a bulging carrier of cleaning supplies and a Victoria sponge in tow. Beside her, a wan, nervous man with a battered toolkit shifted from foot to foot.
Good morning, Sophia! sang her mother-in-law, elbowing inside. Were with the inspector. I thought Id join, so he doesnt track muck. And while Im here, Ill sort out your kitchen.
Sophie was struck dumb. The nerve was staggering.
Mrs Archer whats all this about? Did you phone me yesterday?
Oh, dont be daft, dearest! Mrs Archer feigned insult, hanging her coat. My friend Dorothy works on reception, heard about your inspection, asked me to pop round. Youd sleep past lunch if left to yourselfand these chaps cant be left unsupervised. In you come, Mr Jenkins!
Edward drifted out, sleepy, stopping in the hallway. Mum? What are you doing?
Housework, while you two lie abed! she trilled, directing the inspector to the kitchen. Now, you, check the vent. Ill see about the extractor fanmust be thick with grease by now.
While the poor inspector fumbled with screws, Mrs Archer was already rummaging cupboards, tutting at Sophies groceries.
Honestly, Sophie, storing rice like this? Invite the weevils, why dont you? And these? Pasta on special offer? Not for Edwardmakes his stomach churn.
Mrs Archer, please step away from the cupboards, Sophie said, arctic. Youre a guest.
A guest? Im at my sons! came the retort, but she did put the bag away. You see, Edward? I mean well, and she snaps like a terrier. That temperament will see you with ulcers, mark my words!
The inspector signed off and scurried out, sensing the air electric with tension. Mrs Archer snapped on a rubber glove.
Now the real cleaning can begin. Sophie, wheres your mop bucket? Ill bleach the floorsstrangers germs everywhere!
No bleach, Mrs Archer. Sophie stood between her and the bathroom. Enough. Youre not cleaning. Please have tea with your cake, and then well get you a cab.
Mrs Archers gaze narrowed. Throwing me out? From my sons home?
Its not your sons, Sophie said, soft but clear. I bought this place before the marriage. Edward lives here because hes my husband, but I own it, and the rules are mine. Rule one: nobody cleans here unless I ask. Rule two: no unannounced visits.
Mrs Archer went pale, seeking Edwards support. Do you hear her? Throwing your own mother out! I raised you, cared for you, and now its by appointment?
Edward shifted, shamefaced for both their sakes. He knew how hard Sophie had worked for the flat. Now he must choose.
He went to Sophies side, took her hand. Mum, he said, steady, Sophies right. This is our home, and her rules stand. Were happy for visitswhen invited. But demanding keys and rummaging isnt on.
So thats it? Mrs Archer whispered hoarsely, clutching her chest. She matters more than your own mother? After all Ive done?
Dont start, Mum. Doctor says your heart is fine, you know. We love you, just please respect our space.
Mrs Archer stood a moment, breathing heavily, glowering. When drama didnt get her way, she began packing. The mop refused to fit back into her bag, further fueling her temper.
You wont see my shoes on this floor again! she snapped at the door. Live in muck if you like. When you divorcewont be long with a wife like thatdont come crying, Edward.
The door slammed. Relief, weightless and silent, filled the flat.
Sophie hugged Edward tight. Thank you. I know that wasnt easy.
He squeezed her. But youre right. If we didnt hold the line now, shed move into water the plants.
Two weeks passed; Mrs Archer kept her word and stayed away, though Edward fielded daily calls about loneliness and ungratefulness. He listened, sympathised, but stood firm. For the moment, the storm had passed.
But Sophie underestimated her resolve. Mrs Archer next tried the legal and practical route.
One evening Edward came home, pensive.
Soph, Mum rang. Wants to transfer her allotment to me
Sophie arched a brow. Allotment? Hidden agenda?
Yes, but she wants to register herself at our address temporarily. Council paperwork, she says. She wants to let out her flat to help us out.
Sophie laughed, a little anxiously. Edward, thats the thin end of the wedge.
He turned pale; clearly, this had never occurred to him. He pictured her present every day, passing judgement on Sophies every move.
Youre right. She said its just paperwork
Theres no such thing as just paperwork. If shes registered here, she has the right to live here full time. Not even the police can remove her. Shell be here all her waking hours. And then the Tuesday and Thursday inspections will never end.
Next day, Edward came prepared. He put Mrs Archer on speaker so Sophie could signal if necessary.
Mum, about the allotment, he ventured. Thanks, but were okay right now. And we cant have you registered here.
What do you mean, cant? Mrs Archers tone was suddenly sharp. Your own mother?
Youve your own home, Mum. We dont need extra income, honestly. And your pension arrangements arent affected.
Oh, its her, isnt it?her voice risingThat wife of yours, scared Ill take over? I dont even want your pokey little flat! I only tried to help, financially!
Sophie could take no more. She approached the phone. Thank you, Mrs Archer, for the thought. But help should be asked for, not foisted. Were fine. Do come for tea next weekendwell bake a pie. But we live separately, and only we hold the keys.
On the other end, silence. You could almost hear the cogs churning: should Mrs Archer sulk or shriek?
Fine, she grunted at last. What kind of pie?
Cabbage and leeks. Your favourite.
Youll make the crust yourself, not buy one?
Myself, Mrs Archer. Promise.
Well see. Saturday at one. Edward, bring proper tea, not those bags you buy.
The call ended. Sophie and Edward grinned at each other, laughter slipping easily between them. Not victory, exactly, but a well-marked truce: the boundaries set, the moat filled, the drawbridge let down only by request.
Months rolled by. Mrs Archer still critiqued the dust on Sophies sideboard, but only as a guest, never asking for spare keys again. And once, overhearing Mrs Archer commiserate with a friend about her own lazy daughter-in-law, Sophie smiled to hear Mrs Archer boast, Well, at least mines got a spine. Keeps her patch tidy enough for my boy.
That, Sophie reasoned, was high praise indeed. Still, she hid their backup keys in her office safe. Better to be preparedespecially where mothers-in-law are concerned.
