Oh, come off it, whats so odd about it? laughed the sister, her voice spiralling through the living room like a kite on a blustery day. Charlotte and Michael have it all worked out, havent they? Either she works and they split the housework right down the middle and hire a nanny, or she stays at home with the children and he pays her a salary for keeping everything immaculate. Fairs fair, isnt it?
Charlotte was laying out the last of the crockery, fine bone china with little bluebells along the rim, when the first guests rang the doorbell. The house glimmered, spotless and bright under the afternoon sun, and the long oak dining table was laden with elaborate dishesroast and trifle and finger sandwiches, all arranged almost too neatly to touch. At the head of the table, the birthday pairidentical twins Arthur and Poppywere perched in their highchairs, smearing bits of puréed carrot across cheeks and curls, delighted by the mess.
Charlotte, youre marvellous, gushed her friend Abigail, her eyes sweeping the sitting room, walls lined with old photos and fairylights. Your house is like something out of an interiors magazine, your tables fit for royalty, and the twins look so well cared for. And youve done it all yourself!
Thank you, Charlotte smiled, tucking a napkin under Arthurs chin. I try my best.
But how do you manage it all? Aunt Irene joined in, her tone one of baffled wonder. I could barely keep my head above water with one child, let alone two, and not a speck of dust anywhere. Its remarkable!
Charlotte shrugged, wishing the attention would drift away. More guests appeared, voices swirling and laughter bubbling until the house hummed with sound and the scent of freshly brewed tea.
Wheres your mum, by the way? Abigail asked, nibbling on a sausage roll. Is she lending a hand?
Mums away on holiday by the seaside, Charlotte replied nonchalantly. Its just us muddling through on our own.
Without even a nanny? Irenes eyebrows rose.
No nanny, Charlotte replied. The conversation drifted.
Michael, Charlottes husband, was topping up wine glasses and smiling at the compliments being flung at his wife. His mother, Valerie, sat primly on the floral sofa, observing, a faint, unreadable smile on her lips.
In my day, Valerie mumbled, just loud enough for those nearby to catch, no one made such a song and dance. The children, the husband, the houseit was simply what one did.
Talk at the table soon turned to women and motherhoodhow times had changed, how difficult it all was. Charlotte received praises like flower petals tossed at her feet: clever wife, super-mother of two, queen of the household.
I dont honestly know how you do it, Charlotte, family friend Evelyn marvelled. Ive only my little girl, and Im ragged. But you always look perfect, your home looks perfecthow?
Organisation, Charlotte replied with a soft laugh, waving it off.
Oh, please, sixteen-year-old Lucy, Charlottes younger sister, piped up. If I got paid for being a wife like Charlotte does, I could do it twice as well!
A heavy hush descended on the table. Charlotte shot her sister a stern look, but it was too late.
Whats this about wifes salary? Valeries voice, suddenly sharp, sliced through the silence.
Lucy, enough, Charlotte tried, but her words scattered like feathers.
Oh, theres nothing wrong with it! Lucy grinned, hair falling in her eyes. Charlotte and Michael have this brilliant set-up: either she works and they share everything and hire outside help, or she stays home and he pays her for being housekeeper and top mum.
Glances were exchanged. Valerie sat up straight, indignation knitting her brows.
And what, pray, is this salary for? Her voice rang out like a bell.
Mum, Michael interjected, lets just enjoy the party
No, I wish to understand. Valerie pressed on, cheeks flushed. Why on earth does my daughter-in-law receive a salary from my son?
Charlotte realised there was no sense in pretending. She exhaled and met Valeries stare.
For running the house, Mrs. Pearson. We agreed: either I take an outside job and we split everything down the middle, including paying for a nanny, or Im home and compensated for all the work I do. Fair trade.
And what sort of compensation do you call that in numbers? Valerie could barely contain her outrage.
Two thousand pounds a month, Charlotte replied, her voice even.
Two thousand! Valerie nearly choked on her tea. For what? For doing what every wife and mother is meant to do?
Guests fidgeted, forks pausing mid-air. Michael flushed scarlet, murmured something about private matters.
Private matters? Valeries voice climbed. Its not private, its commerce! Shes earning off her supposed duties!
Duties? Charlottes voice stayed calm. And what might those be, exactly?
Running the house! Raising the children! Looking after the husband! Valerie fired back.
And the husbands duty?
To provide for the family!
Marvellous. So the husbands got one jobto earn. The wifes got the house, the children, and the husband himself. And for all that, Im simply to be grateful for the chance to work for nothing?
And why should you be paid? Valerie wouldnt let go. For living in your own home?
For being the cleaner, the cook, the nanny, the tutor, personal assistant and household manager, Charlotte reeled off calmly. Add up the market price for those services.
Theyre your children! Your home! Have some sense!
Theyre our children. Our home. So why is all the care automatically mine alone?
Michael looked as red as the trifle, not knowing whether to defend his wife or appease his mother. The guests shrank into their chairs, silent spectators to the scene.
Im shocked, Valerie announced. A wife taking wages from her husband! Whats become of the world?
Silence hung in the air. Even Arthur and Poppy held still, wide-eyed.
Mother! Michael tried. Thats enough.
Let her finish, Charlotte said evenly. Let everyone say what they mean.
Oh, Ill finish, Valerie fumed. When I was young, women had children, ran a home, and never asked for a penny. It was natural!
In your day, women also worked and then came home and did a second shift, cleaning, cooking, parenting. And you called it equality. Isnt that rather unfair, dont you think?
Youre mocking me! Valerie snapped.
Not at all. I offer honest exchange. We split household work fifty-fifty or each does their fair share and is paid accordingly.
But Michael keeps you! He supports you!
He supports the family, just as I run the home. His work earns a salary, mine is only now being valued.
This is a family, not a business!
Quite right. A partnership. Michael earns outside, I keep the ship afloat within. We both deserve respectand proper recompense.
The guests watched, rapt and unsure. No one expected a birthday argument quite like this.
Charlottes absolutely right, Abigail spoke up. Nannies, cooks, cleanerstheyd all cost easily two thousand a month.
Youre all off your heads! Valerie huffed. Youd back this farce?
Were backing fairness, Evelyn said. Home work is still work.
And if the children fall ill? Valerie pounced. Does she get sick pay? Its absurd! A wife ought to serve from love, not for money!
Ought to? Charlottes eyes flashed. Is a husband supposed to serve his wife?
Hes meant to earn!
So a mans love is measured in pounds, a womans must come free? What curious logic!
You twist my words!
Im quoting you. You say a man gives money for his family, a woman gives herself for nothing. Isnt that right?
At last, Michael gathered himself.
Mum, enough. This is our familythese are our choices.
And you call this a family? Valerie turned on her son, trembling. You let your wife take money from you?
Mum, Charlotte works. A lot, and she does it well.
Works! At home with her own children, and expects a wage for it!
I do it well because its my decision. My responsibility.
To whom? Valerie scoffed. Her husband-boss?
To the family. To the children. To myself, most of all!
And if your husband says youre no good at it? Does he sack you?
In a family, respect and love go both ways. That includes how we value each others efforts.
Slowly, heads nodded. Valeries expression grew more sour with each word.
And next week, suppose you decide you want a job outside?
Then well revisit our deal. Well get a nanny and a cleaner, and share out the rest.
How convenient! Valerie sneered.
How honest, Charlotte corrected.
Valerie stood abruptly, pushing her chair back. I cant listen to this. Michael, wake up!
Mum, sit down, please, Michael pleaded. We settled all of this fairly.
Fairly? Your wife demands a paycheque from youis that fair?
And is a man asking his employer for wages fair? Charlotte burst out. Or is only a mans work worthy?
Theres no talking to you! Valeries voice rose.
Because Ive thought about it, unlike those who take a womans home work for granted.
Shut your mouth! Valerie snapped.
Mum! Michael rose. Apologise. Now.
I will not! Let her apologise, for turning my son into a sponsor!
Your son is my husband and my partner, Charlotte answered quietly. We are equals. If thats not to your liking, you neednt visit again.
I wont! Valerie shouted, grabbing her bag and storming off. At the door, she turned. Michael, if you ever come to your senses and divorce this businesswoman, let me know!
The door slammed. Guests remained frozen in silence until Abigail cleared her throat.
Charlotte, could you explain your system a bit more? It sounds awfully clever.
Of course, Charlotte smiled. But first, lets have cake. It is a birthday, after all.
Michael slid an arm around her shoulders.
Sorry about Mum.
Dont apologise. Everyones allowed their opinioneven if its fifty years out of date.
The party picked up again, though a trace of strangeness lingered in the air like the memory of a peculiar dream. Charlotte understood this would never be forgotten, and her relationship with Valerie had altered for good. She did not mourn it. Better to be honest than merely convenient.
