Margaret quietly opened her front door and tiptoed insidewell, you never know, the old dears might be having a nap. Not likely! Loud voices echoed from the kitchen. Her mums were at it again, arguing at full volume and so engrossed that they didnt even notice her come in.
By “mums,” Margaret meant her own mother, Doris Watson, a sprightly 82, and her mother-in-law, Mabel Higgins, who at 84 took the business of being a battleaxe quite seriously. Margaret herself was hardly a spring chicken at 59, but she was still working as a nurse in the village clinic. Today had been especially drainingthe workers from both sections of the local factory were in for their annual check-ups, and shed drawn more blood samples for their tests than youd find in a vampire horror. All she wanted was a hot dinner and perhaps the gentle embrace of her sofa, but fate (in the form of her mothers) had other plansanother showdown.
Shed lost her husband three years back. Her only daughter lived halfway across the country and visited rarely. So, when her sister pleaded for her to take their mum in, Margaret agreed readily, drove up to Manchester, and brought Doris back. Her sisters daughter had just married a fellow student and theyd all moved in, so the little two-bedroom flat was now bursting at the seams. Margaret, on the other hand, had a lovely three-bedroom place all to herself.
Doris settled in at once; she loved the placea charming, timbered eight-flat building in the heart of a peaceful little cul-de-sac. Ground-floor flat, all mod cons, and you could step straight outside to the garden and sit on the bench whenever you fancied. No other grandmas to chat with, true, but you cant have everything.
For two years, the two of them rubbed along nicely enough. And then, at the start of the next year, it fell to Margaret to fetch Mabel from her crumbling cottage out in the countryside. Mabel had gotten frail, couldnt manage on her own anymore, and, sad to say, had outlived all three of her children except Margarets late husband.
Margaret decided the old ladies might keep each other company. For the first time in years, Mabel got a proper check-up; the doctors discovered her diabetes and prescribed tablets, a diet sheet, and enough pills to keep Boots Chemist in business. Margaret offered them her daughters spacious room.
For a blissful week, it was all peace and quiet. Then came the fireworks. Every trivial mishap started a rowone would complain the walking stick had been put in the wrong spot (they both used them), or that the other snored like a lawnmower, or perhaps had let one rip in the night. Endlessly amusing, if you werent the referee. Both came to Margaret with their grievanceswho else would listen?
To keep the peace, Margaret moved Mabel into her own bedroom and took up residence in the sitting room. That calmed things down for about a nanosecond. Soon after, the grannies were sneaking out of their rooms to rekindle their squabbles.
Doris had spent her life working as a cook in the local school canteen, while Mabel was a dairy farmervery much of the up at dawn and elbow deep in cows persuasion.
I dont see why you should complain about your health,” Mabel would say, stacking her grievances higher. “Cosy job, always next to free grub, and I know what you lot got up to in the kitchensthose meatballs were mostly bread, everyone knew! You watered down the custard and put all the decent stuff aside for yourselves. Try working on a farmyoud see what real graft is!”
Ha, and what about you lot pinching milk and taking a cheeky bit of clotted cream for your tea? Working in the canteen wasnt exactly a picnic, you know! Hauling massive pans about, and freezing your hands chopping up frozen beef carcasses! You shouldve got an education instead of yanking cows tails all your life, Doris would retort.
And so it went, day after day. Each argument ended in a dose of liquid Valium and a melodramatic clutching of the heart. Margaret began to worry that theyd end up whacking each other with their walking sticks one day.
So, whats the grand argument about today? Margaret finally asked, bemused.
At last, the old dears deigned to notice her.
Shes eaten two chocolatesand you said shed end up in a coma! She scoffs sweets every night and hides the wrappers under her pillow, sniffed Doris, pointing an accusing finger at Mabel.
Well, you smashed the milk bottle and left shards under the cupboardjust waiting for someone to cut their foot on! huffed Mabel, never one to let a grievance go unmentioned.
Right then, listen up, my golden girls! said Margaret, pausing for dramatic effect. My sisters rungher young ones are moving out. Mum, youre off back to Manchester, and Mabels staying hereher old place has caved in and theres nowhere else for her to go. I cant cope with you both forever, youll have me shipped off to the funny farm before Im sixty. Thats the end of it!
That stunned them to silence, and they each shuffled away to their own corners. For three days, peace reigned. Then, sheepishly, the old ladies appeared on either side of Margaret, seeking pardon.
I really dont want to go back to Manchester. I like it herefresh air, you give me my jabs when I need them, and its just nice. Please dont send me away, Doris sobbed, blinking back tears.
We promise we wont argue anymore, honestly. Wont you give us one last chance? Id be so bored on my own, and it would just feel all wrong without Doris, Mabel pleaded, pulling her best sad face.
And, miracle of miracles, from that day, the old girls stuck to their word. They realised there was nothing left to squabble overthe world had given them enough tough times as it was. They lived quietly from then on, lounging in front of endless soaps on the telly and filling Margaret in on the plot each night. In summer, theyd sit together on the bench, soaking up the sunshine in companionable silence.
And then, as gently as autumn follows summer, they each drifted away, one after the other, within half a year.
