First Impressions — Mum, this is Eleanor, — introduced Richard, his cheeks slightly flushed as he brought the young woman home late at night. — Good evening, — answered Fiona, eyeing the unexpected visitor with clear disapproval. — What a splendid hour for introductions! It’s half past eleven, almost midnight… — I told Richard it was late, — the girl replied instantly. — But does he listen? He’s so stubborn! “Nicely played,” Fiona thought. “She excuses herself and throws him under the bus. Unpleasant girl.” — Well, come in, — the mother invited, saying nothing more and disappearing down the hall to her bedroom. What else could she do? She wasn’t about to throw her only son out in the middle of the night, especially not over some stranger! If they wanted to live together, let them. A mother exists to protect her son and open his eyes. And she, Fiona, would do just that—swiftly. Richard would end up sending this Eleanor packing, without a second thought! He’d probably feel relieved getting rid of her. The whole night, she lay awake, concocting a plan to drive out the intruder. It wasn’t that she minded marriage for Richard. The boy was already thirty, well past ready for a life together with someone. Just not with her! First, the girl was clearly younger. Flighty, unstable. What sort of wife, mother, or homemaker would she make? Second, her character was plain to see: she turned up to someone else’s home at night, didn’t even apologize! Worse, she blamed her son for nothing at all… And then she stayed the night! Was this the first time, or a regular occurrence? Third. She simply didn’t like her. Therefore, Richard would stop liking her too. Why waste time? In the end, the plan wasn’t needed. Eleanor herself gave Fiona all the reasons she needed for laying down the law. The first red flag came in the morning. Eleanor went in for a shower and wasn’t out for almost an hour. Richard paced back and forth, helplessly fuming. — Son, what’s wrong? — asked Fiona, sweetly, far too sweetly. — She’s getting ready, wants to look nice for you… — But I have to get to work! — Knock on the door and explain she’s not the only one in the flat, — his mother suggested. — Not possible, — he grumbled. — We’ll talk later. Aren’t you running late, mum? — Me? No. I’m ready. I baked scones. Come have some breakfast. — I haven’t even washed yet! — No worries, do it after. Enjoy a proper meal while you can. You’ve got a long day ahead. Richard sat at the table. That’s when Eleanor finally emerged from the shower, a towel wound around her hair. She looked charming. — At last! — Richard groaned, rushing to the steamed-up mirror. Washed in a flash, shaved in record time, wolfed down the smallest scone, and, already heading out, shouted: — See you tonight! Hope you two get on. — Richard! — called Eleanor. — Weren’t we supposed to get my things today, remember? — We will. This evening. Don’t be cross! — his voice echoed from the building foyer. Fiona stood, went to the door, closed it behind her son, turned to Eleanor, and asked bluntly: — Aren’t you ashamed? — Not at all, — smiled the girl. — Should I be? — Richard’s going to be late because of you! — He won’t be. He’ll probably just get a cab. Don’t worry, everything will be fine. — Regardless, remember: you’re not alone here. If you want to spend an hour in the shower, get up earlier. Lucky I’m not working today. — I won’t do it again, — Eleanor replied simply. — I apologise. Fiona was slightly stunned. She’d expected a row. But this… — Fine, — she muttered, heading to the bathroom. First thing she saw was a new tube of toothpaste. Unopened, although the old one was far from empty. — Eleanor, why did you open a new toothpaste? — I just like this one better… — Hope you’ll be bringing your own—and shampoo too! — Of course, Mrs. Smith… — And towels! — I will… No matter how hard she tried to provoke a fight, Eleanor gave her no opening. She agreed to everything, nodded obediently, “taking notes” on her future duties. Exhausted with excuses, Fiona decided to get straight to the point. — What are you doing here? — Richard and I love each other… — Of course you love a boy like him! There’s just one thing I don’t get: what does he see in you? — I’ve never asked him… — Who are your parents? — My mum’s a seamstress at a local factory. — And your dad? — Never knew him. — I see. Grew up without a father. And how do you expect to be a good wife to my son? — I’ll try… — Try all you like—it won’t work, girl. My son doesn’t love you. Thinks he does! I know better! He’ll never marry you! Why should he? He’s had the lot already. — He does love me, — Eleanor’s voice quivered. — I know he does. Read more — You’re wrong. Think you’re the first? — I don’t think so… But it doesn’t matter… — Doesn’t matter? In a week he’ll be bored of you! You’re not even the same class! Intellect! Do you know the word? — I do. But it doesn’t apply here. — Why not? — I’ve a university degree. — So what? Look, girl, best if you go home now. This isn’t the place for you. I’ve spent the whole morning trying to tell you, and you just don’t get it. — All right, I’ll go. But what will you tell Richard? He won’t be happy. — That’s none of your concern! Go—don’t come back. You’re not welcome. Fiona spoke and wondered at herself: whatever had gotten into her? She’d never said a tenth of this to anyone before. The sharp words poured out like venom. And Eleanor? The girl looked at Fiona, and understood everything. The mother was jealous of her son! They’d only just met, yet—and still, when the sun set over London, Fiona felt, for the first time, the heaviness of silence in a flat where a grandchild’s laughter would never ring.

Mum, this is Emily, Charles announced, a mild blush creeping up his cheeks as he brought the girl home far too late in the evening.
Good evening, replied Margaret, eyeing the unexpected guest with clear disapproval. What a splendid time for introductions! Its half past eleven
I did tell Charles it was already late, Emily snapped back without missing a beat. But does he ever listen? Absolutely stubborn, he is!
Nice move, thought Margaret. Excuses herself and throws him under the bus. Cheeky. Dont like this one.
Well, come in, Margaret beckoned, not another word, and promptly disappeared down the hallway into her bedroom.
What else could she do? She wasnt about to toss her only son out into the street at midnight, not just because of a stranger! If they wanted to start playing house, let them have at it. A mothers job is to shield her sonand open his eyes. And she, Margaret, would do it at lightning speed. Charles would see sense and send young Emily packing without a trace of remorse. Hed probably sigh with relief, honestly.
She spent the whole sleepless night plotting her strategy to eradicate the interloper.
It wasnt as if Margaret was against Charles settling down. The boy was thirty nowhardly a fresh daisyhigh time he got on with a grown-up life.
Just not with her!
First off, the girl was obviously younger. Flighty, no doubt. Fickle as the weather.
What sort of wife, mother, or homemaker would that one make?
Secondly, her character spoke volumes: she waltzed into someone elses home in the dead of night, didnt even bother with an apology! Worse still, she blamed her son for her own rudeness
And she had the nerve to sleep over!
Was this her first time, or was this her modus operandi?
Third. Margaret simply couldnt stand her.
Naturally, Charles would come to the same conclusion.
Why waste everyones time?
As luck would have it, the grand plan never got off the ground.
Emily herself handed Margaret all the ammunition she needed to restore order at home.
The warning bells sounded the very next morning.
Emily hopped into the shower and didnt emerge for nearly an hour.
Charles was pacing up and down the hallway, fuming but helpless.
Son, whats wrong? Margaret asked, a shade too sweetly. The girl is just getting herself together, trying to impress you
But Im supposed to be at work!
Knock and explain shes not the only one in the flat, his mother suggested.
Cant do that, he muttered. Well talk later. Mum, arent you going to be late?
Me? No. Im ready. Made scones. Come have some breakfast.
Havent even washed yet!
No matter, you can freshen up later. Use this rare time wisely and eat well. Whole day ahead of you, son.
Charles sat glumly at the table.
Just then, Emily floated out the bathroom, towel wrapped like a turban around her hair. Absolutely radiant.
Finally! Charles grumbled, lunging at the fogged-up mirror. He splashed water on his face, scraped his chin with the razor in record time, wolfed down the smallest scone, and, flying out the door, called:
See you tonight! Try and get along!
Charles! Emily cried. We were supposed to pick up my things today, remember?
Well go tonight! Dont be cross! his voice faded down the stairwell.
Margaret rose, closed the front door behind her son, turned to Emily and, not bothering with pleasantness, shot:
Arent you just a bit embarrassed?
Not really, Emily grinned. Should I be?
Charles is going to be late because of you!
He wont be late. Hell just hop in a black cab. Dont worry, itll all be fine.
All the same, a little reminder: youre not the only person living here. If you plan on monopolising the shower for an hour every morning, set your alarm earlier. Lucky for you, Im not working today.
Wont happen again, Emily said, straightforward. Sorry about that.
Margaret was taken aback. Shed expected a row. But this
Fine, she muttered, stomping toward the bathroom.
First thing in sight: a new tube of toothpaste, opened, although the old one clearly still had life left in it.
Emily, any particular reason you started a fresh toothpaste?
I just like this one better
Well, I do hope youre bringing your own, and your shampoo while youre at it!
Of course, Mrs. Palmer
And towels!
Will do
No matter how Margaret tried to provoke a fight, Emily didnt bite. She just nodded along, made notes of her future responsibilities, and agreed to everything as if she were revising for an exam.
Out of excuses, Margaret decided to be blunt.
What exactly are you here for?
Charles and I are in love
Of course you are, with a man like that! Only thing is, I just dont see what he sees in you.
Ive never asked him
What do your parents do?
My mother works as a seamstress at a clothing factory.
And your father?
Never met him.
I see. Raised without a father. And how exactly do you intend to be a good wife to my son?
Ill do my best
Try all you want, dear, but nothing will come of it. My son doesnt love you. He thinks he does, but I know better! Hell never marry you! Why would he need to? Youve already given everything.
He loves me, Emilys voice trembled. Im sure of it.
Fool yourself if you want. Do you really believe youre the first?
Doubt it Doesnt matter anyway.
Doesnt matter? In a fortnight hell be sick of you! Youre not even in his league. Read any books lately? You know what intellect means, I trust?
Heard of it. Not quite sure it applies here.
And whys that?
Ive got a university degree.
Big deal. Look here, girl, youd be better off heading home. This is no place for you. Ive spent all morning trying to spell it out, and youre just not getting it.
Okay, Ill leave. But what will you tell Charles? He wont like it.
None of your business! Off you go and dont come back. Youre not welcome here.
Margaret almost didnt recognise herselfwhen had she ever been so forthright? Words tumbled out like acid, poisoning the air.
And Emily?
The girl just looked at Margaret and understood everything.
The mother was jealous of her own son! Theyd known each other less than a day, and already she
And yet, as the sun slipped behind the row-houses of London, Margaret felt, for the first time, the weight of silence in a flat that had never known the laughter of a grandchild.