You know, Emily always used to add a grated green apple to this salad, not just chop everything up willy-nilly like this. It really was to die forunlike this ordinary mess, my mother-in-laws voice grated right by my ear. And she sliced things into neat matchsticks, not cubes. Cubes are what you get served in a canteenno style at all.
I took a long, silent breath, careful not to draw attention to myself, and kept chopping carrots for the salad. The steady clack of the knife on the wooden board gave me something steady to focus on. Across the table, Margaret Jonesmy husband Andrews mothersat grandly, hands folded on the floral oilcloth. Shed come round to “help” prepare for Andrew’s birthday party, though really all she did was dispense advice and reminisce fondly about his ex-wife, Emily.
Emily, in Margarets stories, was an almost mythical figureshe cooked like a Michelin chef, dressed straight off the catwalk, and spent hours in sophisticated conversation with her mother-in-law about art and opera. The fact that five years ago, this paragon packed her bags and left Andrew (leaving him with a mortgage and a broken heart) seemed to have been wiped clean from Margarets memory. Or perhaps shed carefully chosen to forget that part, preserving only the rose-tinted highlights.
Margaret, Andrew specifically asked for this salad with chicken and cubeshe prefers it this way, I said gently, brushing chopped carrots into the enamel bowl.
Men will always just eat whats put in front of them, she scoffed, smoothing her perfectly set grey hair. A man needs to be guided. Emily always told Andrew, You dont even know what you like until I show you. And she was always right, wasnt she? Oh, and that silk shirt she got him for his thirtieth! You probably dont rememberah, yes, you werent around then. Italian silk, sky blue. What have you ever given him? A jumper?
A wool jumper, I corrected. The office is cold, he needed it.
Practicality, Margaret wrinkled her nose like shed tasted lemon. Boring, boring practicality. Hes lost all his joie de vivre with you. With Emily, they went to the West End, exhibitions, concerts…
I kept quiet. I knew for a fact that Andrew bought those West End tickets, and Emily usually backed out last minute with a migraine, sending him with his mother instead. But no good ever came from shattering an old womans illusions. Besides, I loved Andrew. Wed been together three years, chipping away at the mortgage Emily had called a shackle for the poor, and planning a summer walking holiday in the Lake District. Our life wasnt Instagram-glossy or high-flying, but it was warm and honest.
That evening, when the guests had gone and I was clearing up the last of the china, Andrew wrapped his arms around me from behind and buried his face in my hair.
Sorry about Mumshe was on top form with that dry duck thing.
Emily made Peking duck blindfolded not like this, all dry with too little apple, I mimicked Margarets nasal tone and burst out laughing. Dont worry, love. As long as you enjoyed it.
Youre a treasure, Andrew kissed my neck. I honestly dont know where you get your patience. Id have lost my cool ages ago if I were you.
I wasnt a saint, but I tried to keep the peace for Andrews sake. But things got sticky a month later when Margarets ancient plumbing finally gave way and flooded her flat top to bottom. Not just a puddlethis was a proper disaster. The floors warped, the electrics fizzed, and black mould was already blooming on the walls.
Its simply unliveable, Margaret declared dramatically from our kitchen, surrounded by hastily packed bags. The builders say it has to be stripped back to bare brick and dried with heatersat least a month, perhaps two!
As I poured the tea, my stomach sank. Our flat was lovely, but tiny. One bedroom, one living roomand Andrew often worked late on his laptop at the lounge table.
Of course youll stay here, Andrew said, though his voice wobbled slightly as he looked at me.
Where else could I go? Margaret took a sip of tea, then grimaced. Is this really that cheap supermarket bag tea again? I did ask for proper leaf tea with bergamot. Emily always ordered authentic English tea online, you know.
I set my own mug down just a little too firmly.
Margaret, we honestly want to help, I said, choosing my words But it’s a tight squeeze right now. Both of us are working flat out and often need the lounge late into the night. Theres barely any quiet, and the sofas pretty brutal for sleeping.
Ill manage, she returned loftily. Though Emily, I recall, bought a memory foam guest mattress
Thats when the idea landedso daring I hesitated for a moment, just in case it all went wrong. But two months of being compared to Saint Emily was a nightmare too far.
Margaret, youre right. Youre used to something much nicerproper tea, sophisticated surroundings. Its cramped and noisy here, I cook plain food Itll be hard for you.
She looked at me, surprised by my candour.
Well yes, its not idealbut Im hardly going to sleep on the street, am I?
No need for that! I gave her my warmest smile. You often say Emily is like family to youa true daughter. Shes got a big three-bedroom flat in Kensington, lives alone, no children, all very nice. I hear from you she has designer everything! Why not stay there? The comforts, the company just what you love.
Andrew nearly choked on a biscuit. Margaret paused, her teacup halfway to her lips.
Stay with Emily? she said, stunned.
Of course! Youre so closealways ringing each other, sharing news. Shed be delighted to have her beloved second mum for company, especially in that big flat. Imagine: evenings discussing art, real tea, beautiful food, plenty of peace.
Margaret slowly lowered her cup, eyes flickering with doubt, then catching a spark of excitement. The lure of Emilys glamorous homeand a chance to prove their special bondwas hard to resist.
Well yes, thats a thought. Emily always insisted her door was open, not like some people who make excuses about work…
She whipped out her phone and dialled. Andrew and I held our breath.
Hello, Emily? Darling, its me Youll never guess, disaster of biblical proportions No, nowhere to live, just chaos! Yes, Andrew offered, but honestly its so cramped thereyou know what its like, little and plain Oh, really?
Margaret listened intently, her expression changing, but her performance was award-worthy.
Oh, how sweet of you, Emily! Ill pack and come by. Youre a star! Love you!
She hung up, looking at me triumphantly.
See? Emily said shed love to have me. Learn from her, would you. Andrew, call a taxi. Ill go to Emilys.
Still a little shell-shocked, Andrew booked a Comfort Plus car, carted the bags down, and slumped next to me on the sofa.
You devious genius, he whispered, eyes twinkling. You do realise this could all blow up in our faces?
I do, I replied, sipping my cold tea. But sometimes people need exactly what they ask for, so they know what they actually want.
A week went by. Our flat was blissfully quietno one rearranging the mugs or huffing over a speck of dust. Margaret rang Andrew daily, but their chats were oddly stilted and short. She sounded chipper, but not exactly thrilled.
Hows Mum coping? I asked one evening.
She says they went to the opera last night, he shrugged, but she sounds exhausted.
The truth came out three weeks later, on a soggy Tuesday evening. Id just unbuttoned my coat, planning to fry some fishcakes, when the doorbell rang. Margaret was on the doorstep.
She looked different. Her immaculately set hair was askew, shadows smudged beneath her eyes, and her usual proud pose slumped. Shed left with three suitcases, now she returned with one.
Mum? Andrew came out, drying his hands. I thought you were staying till the decorating was finished.
Margaret shuffled in, settling on the hallway stool and closing her eyes.
Put the kettle on, please, she murmured. Just regular, strong English tea. Hot.
When she sat at the kitchen table, clutching the oversized mugyes, the one with the cartoon cat on itall her composure crumbled.
Its simply impossible, she began, staring into her mug. You knew, didnt you, Rachel?
Knew what, Margaret? I said, honestly baffled.
Emily is absolutely intolerable to live with! Margarets voice wavered. Mum, dont come in, Ive just mopped, Mum, dont touch the TV, my head hurts, Mum, that dressing gown clashes with my colour scheme. You wouldnt believe it.
It turned out the Instagram-perfect version of Emilys life was for visitors only. She didnt cook at alleverything was Deliveroo, too salty or too spicy. By day two, Margaret had raging heartburn. When she tried to boil up a nice bit of soup, Emily kicked off: Boiled onions will make the expensive curtains smell! She banned Margaret from the kitchen altogether.
I offered her another fishcake. Andrew sat silent, not daring to meet my eyes.
And her dog, that horrid little thing! Margaret shuddered. Sleeps in her bed, eats off the plates. Emily told me to respect the dogs rules as he, Richie, was the master here, I was just a guest.
It got worseEmilys art conversations were actually hours on the phone with girlfriends gossiping about men and Botox, all but ignoring her mother-in-laws existence. When Margaret tried to join in, Emily just waved her off or put her headphones on.
This morning, I accidentally knocked over a little vase, she sniffled. Just a cheap one, really, but Emily screamed at me like I was a bull in a china shop, said I was ruining the energy of her home and the vase cost more than my pension over six months. She said, Take your things and goIm tired of the smell of old people. So I left. Called a taxi. The rest of my stuff well, she can bin it! I cant go back. Andrew, Rachel, please let me stay. Ill sleep on the rug, honestly. Ill be quiet.
I got up and put my arm round her shoulders. For once, Margaret didnt pull away, just leaned her cheek into my hand.
Dont be ridiculous, Margaret, I said gently. The sofa pulls out. If you need fresh sheets, Ive got them ready. Please, stay as long as you need.
Tears glistened in her eyes.
Rachel, forgive mesilly old woman that I am, she whispered. Your fishcakes are heaven. And the salad. And youre well, youre a diamond, just like Andrew said.
The repairs took another six weeks. In that time, Margaret never mentioned Emily again. In fact, gradually, life at ours just settledless drama, more honest conversation. She even taught me her famous cabbage pie recipe, no lecturesjust passing it on quietly, like family.
One night, just as we all slumped in front of the telly, Andrew popped onto the balcony for a call. He came back with a curious look.
Mum, that was Emilyasking when youll collect the last suitcase. She also said shed forgive you for the vase if you paid for professional cleaning after you spilled something on the sofa.
Margaret drew herself up, regal as ever and finally ready to let something go.
Tell her, she said, her voice steely, that Ill collect my things tomorrowand I wont be paying for anything. And if she wants advice, she should learn how to cook at least a simple steweating all that takeaway will ruin her skin in the long run.
I hid my laugh in a cushion. Andrew smirked and relayed the message.
When Margaret finally moved home, there was more space, but oddly, both Andrew and I missed having her around. It wasnt perfect overnightshe still loved a friendly grumble and never could ignore a speck of dust, but all those sharp comparisons were gone at last.
Six months later, at a big family gathering, some distant cousin unwisely piped up:
Havent seen Emily in agesnot in touch anymore? Such a beautiful couple, you and she…
Margaret, spooning herself a generous portion of the salad (the cubed one, my way), looked over her glasses with icy calm.
Pretty wrapping isnt what matters. Its whats inside that counts. Andrews wife, Rachel, is a wonderful homemaker, clever and kind. Lets not discuss strangers at the table. Rachel dear, pass me those mushroomsyouve marinaded them perfectly this year.
As I handed them over, Andrew squeezed my hand under the table. It felt like our quiet little victorya win for real life over snap judgments, for mutual respect, and yes, for homemade fishcakes over pick-up sushi any day.
Oh, and about Emilys vaseMargaret later found one just like it and gave it to me for Mothers Day, saying, Hereyou’ll actually dust it, wont you? Youre so tidy. That was the best compliment shes ever paid me.
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