I didnt invite any guests! Emilys voice cracked. I didnt ask you to come!
Matthew stood in the kitchen, valiantly whisking the sauce for the pasta. One hand clutched a whisk, the other an open Delia Smith cookbook, his face set in a picture of grim concentration.
The smell of garlic, tomatoes, and basil filled the flat, weaving in with the gentle hint of beeswax candles Emily had dotted around the lounge.
I reckon Im actually nailing this, Matthew turned to his wife, who was busy slicing cheese for the salad. At the very least, its not curdled.
Emily smiled fondly at him. Her chestnut hair was tangled up in a messy bun and her big blue eyes shone in the golden light of the kitchen lamp.
Youre the cleverest man alive, Emily hugged him around the waist. Smells incredible. Just like that place on the Strand.
Thats what were going for. Picture this: silence, a bit of soft jazz, dinner by candlelight No calls, no visitors. Just the two of us.
The plan of celebrating her birthday quietly had been mutual. After months of relentless family pop-ins, they desperately needed an evening dedicated to just them.
Emily had even picked out her favourite English wine in advance, and Matthew had snuck away early from work to cook dinner himself.
Once the food was ready and the nibbles transferred into the lounge, Emily put on some mellow music.
Happy birthday, love, Matthew raised a glass. May this year bring you peace and blissand as few family drop-ins as possible.
Thank you, darling, Emily clinked glasses.
The tang of the wine was crisp and luxurious. She closed her eyes, savouring the moment. This was the night Emily had been counting down to for weeks.
Right at the peak of their private bliss, a shrill, invasive buzz battered the hallway from the intercom. Matthew frowned.
Who on earth is that? We werent expecting anyone.
Emily shrugged, but a cold dread crept down her spine. Matthew strode over to the entry panel.
Yes? he inquired, pressing the button.
The response echoed through the hall, loud and impossible to mistake.
Mattie, darling, its us! Come on, open upweve brought supplies! Here to wish the birthday girl well!
Matthews face drained of colour. He shot Emily a despairing look.
Mum? he whispered. Whats she doing here?
What do you mean? Ive come to wish my lovely daughter-in-law happy birthday! Let us intheres a draught out here!
Matthew silently hit the door release. A heavy, stormy silence settled in the flat.
Your mother? Now? Emily asked quietly, voice quivering.
I swear, she only said shed call
There was a rapid, insistent banging at the doordefinitely not the gentle knock reserved for actual guests.
Taking a deep breath, Matthew opened up. There stood Mrs. Barbara SmithMatthews motherpetite, round, crimson lipstick slightly askew, her hair cropped smartly short.
Barbara was wrapped in a floral woollen shawl and carrying an enormous tub of something vaguely threatening.
Well, you finally let us in! Were freezing our bits off like stray mutts! she declared, bustling straight past into the hall, already unbuttoning her coat.
Only then did Emily and Matthew notice the retinue behind her: Uncle Geoff, Barbaras certifiably enormous brother in a tracksuit, lugging a crate of Robinsons squash, his wiry wife Aunt Mabel clutching a vast cake box before her like a battering ram, their twenty-year-old daughter Becky instantly tapping at her phone, and two younger children darting shrieking down the corridor.
Mum, what is happening? Matthew managed.
Whats wrong with a family surprise visit? Barbara chirped, depositing her coat across three pegs at once. Were all kin, arent we! We wanted to spoil Em! Here you go, lovehomemade pork pie. Matts favourite.
Emily automatically received the weighty container.
Thank you, Mrs. Smith, she forced out. But we we werent expecting company
Oh dont be silly, were not company, were family! With a hearty guffaw, Barbara swept into the lounge. Ooh! How romantic. Candles and all!
Meanwhile, Aunt Mabel deposed the cake on the table, resolutely shoving aside a vase of flowers and their wine glasses.
Em, love, happy birthday! Made this myself, a good old Black ForestGranny Ivys recipe. You must try some!
The children squealed around the lounge in a game of tag. In a flash, one nearly toppled a floor vase; Emily instinctively dove to catch it.
Her heart thundered. Matthew, quickly regaining control, tried a diplomatic approach.
Right, well, since youre all here Do help yourselves. Em, lets set up in the kitchen?
But Barbara had commandeered proceedings.
No need to slink off to the kitchenits lovely right here! Geoff, push the table over. Mabel, get some plates. Becky, off your phone and put yourself to use, please.
Without enthusiasm, Becky shuffled towards the kitchen, thumbs still flying. The ambiance of their romantic evening evaporated in a blink.
Within ten minutes, a full banquet of family fare sprawled across their table: pork pie, pickled onions, coronation chicken, marinated mushrooms, and Mabels epic cake.
So, birthday girl, hows life? Still at the same place? Is your boss still an old battle-axe? Barbara probed, pinning Emily with a keen stare.
All fine, thank you, Emily mumbled, toying with her salad.
Well, Becky still cant find a proper job, Barbara continued serenely, ploughing ahead. Did all that uni, and now just lazes about. Any chance theres a spot at your place? Shes very keen.
Emily just nodded, feeling herself shrink. Matthew hunched beside her, fielding Uncle Geoffs questions about the fate of West Ham United, looking battered and mortified.
He shot Emily apologetic glances, utterly useless in abating the chaos. The children were back on the rampage.
Young Alfie found Emilys cherished collection of glass figurines on the shelf.
Mum, lookso shiny! he shouted.
Careful, Alfie, those are delicate! Emily leapt up, but too late.
He grabbed the swan. A tiny, crystal-cracking crash. Glittering splinters cascaded over the carpet.
Dead silence descended, broken only by the faint hiss of burning candlewick.
Oh, for heavens sake! Aunt Mabel shrieked. Alfiewhat did I tell you! No touching!
Oh, dont fuss, its only glass, Barbara waved dismissively. Chuck it out. Hes a childhe didnt do it on purpose.
Emily looked up slowly.
That was a gift from my grandmother, she said quietly, with icy clarity. She passed away last year.
God rest her, of course, but things are just things, arent they? Barbara replied, undeterred. Should keep your nice bits locked away if you dont want them broken, especially with a rowdy lot coming.
That was the final straw. Emily rose so fast her chair screeched.
But I didnt invite anyone! I didnt ask you to come! We wanted an evening to ourselves! Its my birthday, not a family summit!
The lounge fell funereal. Even the kids froze at the seismic change in tone.
Uncle Geoff stared at his plate, Aunt Mabels mouth hung open. Barbara flushed crimson.
Oh, I see? After we brought gifts and a full buffet? I cant even visit my own sons home now?
Mum, enough, Matthew stood, his patience fully spent. Emilys right. We wanted some peace for once. You shouldnt just barge in, entourage in tow, no warning.
Barge in? Im barging in to my sons home? I only devoted my life to you, and now Im supposed to call first?
Its not about Emily, its about respecting our plansour space!
A robust, pointless argument erupted. Barbara volleyed accusations, Matthew attempted reason, Emilys dignity flooded out of her, and the other relatives sat mortified.
Emily, unable to endure any more, retreated in silence.
Muted bickering seeped through the walls, no less agonising for being muffled.
She had no idea how long she sat in the bedroomten minutes? Twenty? Eventually, the clamour subsided into strained hush.
Sounds of shuffling feet, low whispers, and the front door closing.
Matthew stood in the doorway, looking utterly defeated.
Theyve gone, he said hoarsely. Em, I shouldve just turned off the entry. Im sorry
But you didnt, Emily said, voice flat. You should have stopped her.
Shes my mum she meant well.
For whom? Herself? To parade as the devoted matriarch? Shes ruined the whole night, Matt!
What was I supposed to do? Throw her out? Shed have made a scene
And that wasnt a scene? Emily paced the room. She always does this. She always takes overtells us what to eat, where to go, how to live. And you always let her
Emily looked out the window, spotting Barbara marshaling the clan into their battered Vauxhall.
It seemed the storm had passedbut Emily knew it was just a lull.
I dont know how to go on, Matt, she whispered. I cant spend my life wondering when your mum will crash in with her pies and advice.
Ill talk to her. Ill explain. This cant go on
Youve said that before. Nothing ever changes.
Their dream of an idyllic evening evaporated before it had begun.
Im sorry, Matthew repeated. Happy birthday, love.
Emily shut her eyes. She was thirty-three, but felt about sixty.
Shall we try to carry on, maybe? Matthew offered feebly. Theres still plenty of food left.
Ive no appetite whatsoever, Emily replied, dry as chalk. Im just exhausted. I want to go to bed.
She slipped out, heading to the bathroom to wash away the uninvited evening, longing for sleep and the promise of a new dayone that might, just possibly, contain less Barbara and a little more peace.
As for Barbara Smith, she nursed her grievances for weeks, no idea what shed possibly done wrong.
