Dont touch those boxes! Emma snatches an old photo album from Jamess hands. Ill sort this out myself.
James raises an eyebrow.
Emma, whats wrong? I was just trying to help with the move.
Help? she presses the album to her chest. You threw away my postcard collection yesterday, calling it junk!
But theyve been gathering dust on the shelves for twenty years!
Theyre memories! Theyre my grandmothers memory!
James sighs and sinks onto the sofa amid the piles of boxes and bags. They are shifting into a new twobedroom flat in a brick tower block on the edge of Manchester. After five years of renting they finally secure a mortgage. The flat is modest but its theirs.
Sorry, he says quietly. I didnt realize the postcards meant so much to you.
Emma softens and sits beside him.
Im just exhausted. Ive been packing all day and I have work tomorrow.
Maybe you could take a day off?
I cant. Its the endofquarter period.
James wraps an arm around her and she leans against his shoulder. Five years of marriage have taught them to defuse arguments quickly, though lately fights flare up more often. The main cause is Helen, Jamess mother.
Helen lives in the flat next door in the same block. When James suggested buying a flat here, Emma was initially pleased the neighbourhood is familiar and the commute is easy. But learning that they would be neighbours with Helen makes her uneasy.
James, should we look in another area?
Why? This is perfect. Mum will be close, and well be nearby.
Thats exactly what worries me.
Emma, why are you being so dramatic? My mums lovely, you know that.
Emma knows its true. Helen is a decent woman, a primaryschool teacher who raised James alone after his parents split. She does have one fault she treats her son as the centre of the universe and is jealous of anyone, including his wife.
For the first few years Helen kept her distance, living in a different district and visiting once a week. A year ago she sold her house and bought a onebedroom flat in this block, saying she wanted to be nearer to James. Since then her visits become daily. She drops by in the morning with cakes, at lunch with advice, and in the evening with complaints. Emma tolerates it, knowing Helen is lonely.
Alright, Ill put the kettle on, Emma says, rising from the sofa.
A knock sounds at the door. She opens it to find Helen holding a pot.
Hello, love! I brought you some stew. I know moving day leaves no time for cooking.
Thanks, Helen, Emma says, taking the pot. Come in.
Helen steps inside, eyes scanning the chaos of boxes.
Oh my, what a mess! Why do you need so many things?
It isnt junk, Emma snaps. These are our things.
No offense, dear. Its just that young couples these days hoard everything. In my day we managed with the bare minimum.
James emerges, hugs his mother.
Thanks for the stew, Mum! Were starving.
Youre welcome, sweetheart, Helen replies brightly. James, you look thinner! Emma not feeding you?
Im feeding him, Emma says sharply. Hes too busy at work to even have a proper meal.
Work is work, but you need a proper lunch schedule! James, you must eat well!
Dont worry, Mum, everythings fine.
They sit at the kitchen table while Emma reheats the stew and slices bread. Helen watches Emma with a critical eye.
Emma, why isnt the bread fresh?
I bought it yesterday. I didnt have time to shop today.
Yesterdays bread isnt good for you. You should buy fresh bread every day.
Were adults, well decide what to eat.
Oh, sorry for caring! I just want James to be healthy.
James, Emma takes great care of me, he says.
Helens face softens, then hardens. If you say so.
After dinner Helen stands.
Ill be off. Ill come back tomorrow to help with the boxes.
Thanks, but we can manage ourselves, Emma says quickly.
What do you mean manage ourselves? I want to help!
Mum, really, weve got it, James assures her. You have school tomorrow.
Ill drop by after school. Ill be there at three.
She leaves. Emma slumps onto a chair, exhausted.
James, is she really going to come every day?
Not every day, just while were moving. She wants to help.
Your mum always wants to help, even when we dont need it.
Emma, dont start. She means well.
I know, Im just tired of the constant monitoring.
The next day Emma takes a halfday off work to continue unpacking. At three oclock, as promised, Helen arrives.
What a mess! she exclaims, eyeing the dishes. Everythings wrong!
Whats wrong? Emma asks, weary.
The plates belong in the upper cupboard, the pots in the lower. Its basic!
I prefer it the other way around.
Its not about preference, you just cant organise properly!
Helen starts rearranging the kitchenware. Emma clenches her teeth, counting to ten.
Please leave it as it is. This is my kitchen.
Your kitchen? Where will James cook?
James doesnt cook.
Because you never taught him! I tried to get him to help, but you spoiled him.
I? Spoiled him? Its you who indulged him! He couldnt even fry an egg before we married!
Watch your tone! Helen snaps, waving her hands. Im not your friend!
Sorry, Emma murmurs. Just please leave my kitchen alone.
Helen huffs but stops moving the dishes. She wanders into the living room, critiquing the furniture layout.
The sofa should be against the other wall! And move the wardrobe! Why do you keep that old chest?
Its my grandmothers chest, Emma says firmly. It stays.
Grandmother! Always with your grandparents! Old things should be thrown away!
Emma slips out of the room, shuts herself in the bathroom, and looks at herself in the mirror. Her face is pale, dark circles under her eyes. The move and Helens incessant criticism have worn her down.
That evening James arrives, tired but smiling.
Hows it going? he asks.
Some progress. Your mum dropped by again.
And?
She was as critical as ever, moving things around.
James sighs.
Hang in there. Shell get used to staying out of our business.
How long until she gets used to it?
I dont know. Shes my mother, I cant just send her away.
Im not asking you to send her away. Just talk to her, explain were adults.
Ill try.
But the talk doesnt change anything. Helen continues to appear almost daily, bringing soup, offering to wash laundry, or just stopping by to chat, always with a remark about dust, food, or Jamess attire. Emma endures it, understanding Helens loneliness and how Jamess son is everything to her.
The climax hits on Saturday. Emma wakes with a pounding headache after a grueling day at work and then cleaning the flat. James is away on a threeday business trip. She cant even sit up. A painkiller does nothing. A knock sounds at the door. She drags herself to answer.
Helen stands there, another pot in hand.
Ive made cabbage soup. James isnt home?
Hes on a trip.
Ill leave it for you.
Helen sets the pot on the stove. Emma leans against the wall, head spinning.
Whats wrong with you? You look so pale.
Head hurts. Im going to lie down.
Headache? Must be from sitting around all day!
James works five days a week, Helen.
Sitdown work isnt work! I stand all day teaching!
Emma says nothing, retreats to the bedroom, pulls the blanket over herself. Helen prowls the flat, tidying as she goes, then steps into the bedroom.
Ill clean while you rest.
No, Ill do it later.
Dont be lazy! Look at the dust on the nightstand!
Helen starts dusting, moving things. Emma closes her eyes, trying to block it out.
Eventually Helen leaves, but through the thin walls of the tower block she hears Helen on the phone.
Lucy? Its me, Helen. Yes, Im at Jamess flat. He and his wife theyre not letting me in.
Emma catches the conversation. Lucy, a fellow teacher, replies.
Can you believe it? Shes lying in bed with a headache on a Saturday! She cant even cook a proper meal.
Honestly, she never knows how to manage a kitchen. I bring her food every day or else James would be starving.
Exactly! Shes ungrateful. Im thinking of finding a better daughterinlaw for James.
Emmas fists clench. She bangs on the wall.
Helen! I hear you!
Silence follows. A faint voice from the other side says, Ill call you back.
Emma sits on the bed, shaking with anger. She dials Jamess number.
Hey, love, whats wrong?
Its fine, she croaks.
Are you crying?
Your mum she called me a
She tells him everything she heard, the insults, the constant criticism, the feeling that she cant take it any longer.
Emma, shes emotional, maybe she said that in the heat of the moment.
In the heat? She was calm, and she called me that name!
Ill come home, well talk to her.
Dont. Ill handle it myself.
Dont do anything rash.
Im not doing anything rash. Im just setting boundaries.
After the call she checks the locks, decides to change the lock code so Helen cant get in without permission.
A few minutes later theres another knock. Emma looks through the peephole its Helen.
Emma, open up! I need to talk!
Emma stays silent.
Emma, I know youre home! Open the door!
Leave, Helen.
How can you tell me to leave? I have a right to be here!
I heard everything.
Youve misunderstood! Open up, please!
Never.
Emma, Ill force the door with my key!
Ive put a chain on.
Helen tries the key; the door cracks open a few centimetres, then stops against the chain.
Take off the chain!
No.
Im Jamess mother! I have the right to enter!
No, you dont. This is my home too, and I didnt invite you.
How dare you!
I dare because you called me ungrateful rubbish.
Helen falls silent, then murmurs, I overreacted. I didnt mean to hurt you.
You hurt me, and not for the first time. You constantly criticize and demean me.
I was only trying to help!
I dont need that kind of help. Please go.
Im here for my son!
Your son is away.
Ill wait for him.
No, you wont. Either leave or Ill call the police.
You wont!
I will. Youre breaking into my flat against my will.
Helen slams the door, but continues pounding, shouting. Emma steps back, sits on the sofa, pulls out her phone and starts recording the shouting. After about ten minutes Helen, exhausted, finally walks away. Emma exhales.
That evening James calls.
His mum called, shes crying. She says I wont let her in.
I didnt let her in.
Shes my mother!
Im sorry, love. She called me a filthy you heard what she said.
Shes upset!
Ive been tolerating her rudeness for a year.
Thats not rudeness, its care!
Care? Listen to the recording!
James plays the video; Helens voice is heard berating Emma.
Now what? he asks.
Emma shrugs.
Its over. I changed the locks.
The next day Emma hires a locksmith and replaces the lock. Helens keys no longer work.
Helen still phones, knocks, begs, but Emma doesnt open. Neighbours start asking whats happening; Emma explains briefly that its a family dispute.
James returns from his trip on Monday night. Emma greets him calmly.
Hi.
Hi. Mums waiting for me. Ill drop by then we can talk.
He leaves, returns two hours later, looking downcast.
Mums having a fit. She says I insulted her.
I? She insulted me!
Shes old, you have to be more tolerant.
Shes fiftyseven! Shes younger than my mum!
Still my mother.
Youre my wife! That doesnt matter?
James sighs, rubs his temples.
Lets find a compromise. Shell try not to criticize, and youll let her visit occasionally.
No.
Why?
Because she wont change. Shell smile to my face and badmouth me behind it.
Youre exaggerating.
Im not exaggerating. Ive seen the truth. Your mother hates me. She thinks you deserve better and will keep trying to drive us apart.
Dont be ridiculous!
This is real, you just dont want to see it.
They lie down, still at odds. In the morning, over breakfast, James brings it up again.
This cant go on. We live in adjacent flats with my mother.
So what? She stays in hers, we stay in ours.
But she wants to interact!
Let her interact with you. Visit her.
How about holidays? New Years is coming.
Celebrate just the two of us.
Emma, youre giving an ultimatum either my mum or you?
Emma meets his gaze.
No. Im setting boundaries. Your mother will not step into my home unless I give permission. If thats not acceptable, you decide.
James stands, leaves for work, slamming the door.
That evening he doesnt return. He calls, says hell stay at his mothers. Emma doesnt try to convince him.
A week passes. James lives with his mother, only coming over for essentials. Emma continues her life, looking more rested, smiling more at work.
A colleague, Marina, notices.
You look happier, Emma. Did you finally get enough sleep?
Just stopped waking up at seven because of door knocks.
What about James?
Hes staying with his mum.
Why?
I told him I wont let his mother in.
Good for you. I fought my motherinlaw for ten years before I divorced.
What? I dont want a divorce. I love James.
Does he love you?
Emma shrugs, unsure.
Saturday morning, the doorbell rings. Emma peers through the peephole its James, alone, no mother.
Hey, can I come in?
Of course. Youre on the lease.
James steps into the kitchen, looks exhausted, unshaven.
Lets talk calmly, no anger.
Okay.
Ive spent a week at my mums. Ive realized a few things.
And?
Shes meddling too much, constantly criticizing you. She says nasty things behind your back.
Finally you see it.
I dont want to abandon my mother, but I dont want to hurt you either.
Can you hurt me?
No, youve been tolerating it for a year.
James lowers his head.
Im sorry. I was blind, thinking youd sort it out yourselves.
Weve sorted it. I wont let her in.
Never?
Until she apologises sincerely and promises to change.
She wont apologise. She thinks shes right.
Then I wont let her in.
James stands, embraces Emma.
Im sorry, love. I should have defended you.
Better late than never.
James returns home, moves his things, settles in. Helen throws a tantrum, but James is firm.
Mum, this is my family. If you want to see me, respect my wife.
She wont let me in!
Youve insulted her. Apologise, and itll be okay.
I? Apologise to her?
Yes, to your wife.
Helen leaves, slamming the door.
A month passes. Helen doesnt show up, doesnt call. James visits her once a week, but never brings her to the flat.
Emma enjoys the quiet, no earlymorning knocks, no criticism of her cooking, no rearranged furniture.
Emma finally breathed easy, knowing her home was hers again.
