“Hey, youve got to help meyoure my mum!”
“Charlotte, youre back again,” sighed Evelyn, shrugging off her coat as she watched her daughter rummage through the fridge. “Why did you even move out if youre just going to keep coming back? Maybe it wasnt the best idea after all…”
Charlotte spun around, clutching a packet of sliced ham to her chest. “Mum! You scared me half to deathcreeping up like that!” she huffed, but then flashed a disarming grin. “Just popped in to check on you, thats all.”
Evelyn set her shopping bags on the table and studied her daughter. At twenty-four, Charlotte looked every bit the grown woman, but there was still something childishly helpless flickering in her eyes.
“Checking on me or the fridge?” Evelyn asked gently.
Charlotte flushed, staring at the floor. After a beat, she blurted out, “Look, Mum, my wages just… vanished suspiciously fast. Ive got a week till payday, and my cupboards are bare. Thats the long and short of it.”
Evelyn held back a sigh. Charlotte had rushed into moving out, desperate to prove her independence. But could she really have stopped her? Young people always charge headfirst into freedom without thinking it through.
“Dont say I told you so,” Charlotte cut in, raising a hand to silence her. “I just miscalculated a bit. Itll be fine, Mumsoon Ill be the one bringing *you* treats and ordering your groceries online. Cross my heart!”
Evelyn shook her head. Her daughters stubborn optimism hadnt faded a bit.
“Take what you need, love. Dont fret.”
She watched as Charlotte methodically emptied the fridgesliced ham, cheddar, sour cream, vegall vanishing into her oversized tote. From the cupboards went tins of baked beans and pasta, and from the pantry, a hefty bag of potatoes.
“Thatll do me the week!” Charlotte chirped, planting a loud kiss on Evelyns cheek. “Thanks, Mum! Youre the best!”
Evelyn walked her to the door, giving her shoulder a squeeze.
The flat fell silent. Leaning against the wall, Evelyn thought back to herself at Charlottes agejuggling work, a husband, and a toddler. How had she managed it all? These days, even a trip to Tesco left her drained.
“Where did my youth go?” she murmured, catching her reflection in the hallway mirror. Wrinkles at her eyes, streaks of grey in her once-thick chestnut hair. Time marched on, relentless. Her best years had slipped by in a blur of nappies, packed lunches, and overtime. She didnt regret a thing, but sometimes the loneliness hit like a punch to the gut.
A week later, Evelyn rang Charlotte. Motherly worry gnawed at her.
“Need a bit of cash, love? Anything I can do?” she asked the second Charlotte picked up.
Her daughters laugh was breezy. “Mum, Ive been paidstop fussing! Im a big girl now!”
“Big girl, my foot,” Evelyn muttered. “Who was scrounging groceries last week? Listen, why not just move back home? Itd be easier on us both.”
Silence. Then Charlotte exhaled sharply, irritation barely contained.
“Mum, Im *grown*. I want my own place. So what if Im still finding my feet? Ill get there. Why dont you believe in me?”
Evelyn faltered. She hadnt meant to upset herjust to help.
“Sorry, darling. I worry. To me, youll always be my little girl.”
The call left a sour taste. Evelyn sat clutching her phone, lost in thought. Raising Charlotte had been hard, but letting go? That was worse.
—
Three days later, Evelyn got home late from her friend Margarets. The moment she stepped inside, she heard clattering in the kitchen. Her stomach lurchedburglars? But no, it was Charlotte, demolishing a sandwich by the open fridge.
“Back already? Just, uh, topping up my supplies,” Charlotte said through a mouthful. “Paid the rent today and realised Ill be skint till payday. Same old story.”
She smiled, but Evelyn saw none of the old warmth. Something calculating had crept into her gaze.
“I thought you were all grown up?” Evelyn sighed, sinking onto a chair.
Charlotte tossed her hair, stuffing groceries into her bag. “I *am*. But youre my mum. That means you *have* to help me. Its, like, your *job*.” The way she said itso smugmade Evelyns chest tighten.
Into the bag went fruit, veg, a tub of coleslaw, and five yoghurts. Evelyn said nothing. *Since when was love an obligation?*
—
Charlottes raids became routine. New shoes “wiped her out,” her phone “died out of nowhere,” her rent “went up.” Always a reason to raid Mums fridge.
Evelyn bit her tongue. How could she scold her own child? But each visit stung more. Charlotte stopped pretending shed come to chat. No “How are you?” No “Hows work?” Just grab-and-go.
—
One evening, Evelyn trudged in soaked from an autumn downpour. Shucking off her wet coat, she headed to the kitchen.
“Right, defrost that chicken,” she mumbled, yanking open the freezer.
It was empty.
Every shelfonce packed with mince, ready meals, frozen peasbare. Only a lone jar of Branston pickle (which Charlotte hated) sat in the fridge.
Hands shaking, Evelyn dialled her daughter.
“Mum? What?” Charlotte snapped.
“Did you take *all* the food?” Evelyns voice cracked.
“Yeah?” Charlotte said, as if it were obvious. “Thought Id save myself the trips. No point wasting time!”
Evelyn squeezed her eyes shut against the tears. *How could she be so thoughtless?*
“Charlotte, Ive just got homeIve nothing for dinner”
“Mum,” Charlotte drawled, exasperated. “Just nip to the shops! The walkll do you good. Doctors say we need 10,000 steps a day. Anyway, gotta dash!”
The line went dead. Evelyn slumped at the table, staring at her phone. A bitter ache spread through her. *Had she become nothing but a free corner shop to her daughter?*
—
After that, the raids were brazen. Every fortnight, Evelyns fridge was stripped. No excuses anymore.
Then, one night, the smash of glass woke her. She bolted to the kitchen to find Charlotte on her knees, mopping up spilled Branston pickle amid shattered jar shards.
“Even *this*?” Evelyn snapped. “You *hate* pickle!”
Charlotte glared up. “Oh, dont start, Mum. Just help me clean up!”
“Why didnt you *wake* me? Skulking in here like a”
Charlotte hurled the cloth down, smearing yellow stains on the tiles. She stood, arms crosseda mirror of Evelyns own stance when annoyed.
“Ive got a *key*, Mum. Or did you forget? This is *my* home too! Why should I *announce* myself? Or am I just *banned* now?”
Evelyn shook her head. “Youre welcomebut you dont come to see *me*. You come for the fridge. Charlotte, Im not made of money. I cant feed us both, especially when you take *everything*.”
Charlotte slammed the fridge door. “You *begrudge* your own daughter *food*? You *said* I could take what I needed!”
“I meant *once*!” Evelyns voice broke. “But you treat this place like a bloody supermarket! Half the time, I dont know if Ill have dinner or go to bed hungry. Thats not *normal*!”
Charlotte backed toward the window, stepping over glass. “Oh, so you *regret* helping me that first time? Just say it! And I *thought* you were my mum! Youre *supposed* to”
“Charlotte, youre *twenty-four*!” Evelyn cut in. “I dont *owe* you meals! If you cant manage, *move back*. Contribute. Save on rent.”
Charlotte froze. Her face twisted.
“I *dont* want to live with you! Got it? Oliver and I moved in together! But I didnt realise hed eat like a *horse*!”
Evelyn went very still. *Oliver?*
“And thats *my* problem?” she said coldly. “Hes *your* boyfriend. *Your* responsibility.”
“But you *have* to help me! Youre my *mum*!” Charlotte shrieked.
“Let Oliver raid *his* mothers fridge!” Evelyn shot back. “Or get a second job! If two grown adults cant feed themselves, thats *your* failure. Ive *drained* my savings for this. For *what*? To feed your greedy boyfriend?”
Charlottes face blotched red. “How *dare* you! Olivers *lovely*! Youyoure a *terrible* mother! A *good* mum would *support* her daughter!”
Evelyn cradled her head. The hurt was a physical weight.
“Charlotte, leave. Please,” she said hollowly. “For six months, all Ive been to you is a bloody *meal ticket*. Take whatevers left. Consider it a parting gift. *Go*.”
She didnt look up as Charlotte stuffed her bag. Only the slam of the front door made her flinch. The kitchen clock ticked loudly in the silence.
Evelyn rose, staring out the window. Somewhere in the city, her daughter was heading back to Oliver with the last scraps from her childhood home.
“Changing the locks tomorrow,” she whispered. “Past time they learned to stand on their own feet.”
—
The new locks stayed. Charlotte didnt call, didnt text. *Sulking.* But it was better than being a walking Aldi for her and Oliver.
A month later, her phone finally rang.
