Mum, what did you say to my wife? She was about to pack her bags and leave.
I only told her the truth. Oliver, shes just not right for you. Someone like Emily would suit you much better.
Emily? What are you on about now?
I have always known that my son was special. He was my firstborn, and I loved him more than anyone else in the world. When he grew up and got married, I simply couldnt accept it. I couldn’t grasp that there could be someone else in his life who could even slightly replace me. Letting go of my beloved child was harder than I imagined, but eventually, I handed him over to another woman.
My son is my everything. Id do anything for him I raised him on my own, as his father was hardly ever around, always travelling up and down the country for work. It was never easy, but I tried my best to be both mother and father. I learned how to fix a puncture on a bike, to kick around a football, and build forts out of cushions, all to keep up with his interests. I know he appreciates what Ive done for him. His happiness and success have always meant the world to me hes my dearest treasure.
But Ive always felt his wife never loved him the way I do. She doesnt take care of him properly she doesnt cook, leaves dirty dishes in the sink, her clothes are strewn all over the place. Honestly, she just isnt much of a homemaker.
Still, I wanted to be there for him, like I always had been. So, every week, Id go round to their flat to collect his washing and bring it home to do for him. I had a key he gave it to me last year so I could help out while he and his wife were at work. Id quietly tidy up, make sure his things were laundered and ironed, then bring them back and slip them into his wardrobe. His wife never had any idea. She didnt know that my Oliver was allergic to those strong detergents she used, just bundling everything together and hanging things up all out of shape.
The jumper I knitted him for his birthday last year she shrunk it and left it all bobbly, because she doesnt know wool cant be boiled and then draped across a radiator. I had to pull out all the yarn and start again. Easier to do it myself, really, than to fix her mistakes after the fact.
My daughter-in-law just doesnt understand. She says its not her job and that Im spoiling him, and he should be doing these things for himself. But I cant leave him to fend for himself in a pigsty, especially when she clearly finds mess perfectly normal. I love my boy and want him to be healthy and happy. If I can help with that, then why not?
My husband scolded me for it, told me I was babying Oliver and that hes a grown man, responsible for his own choices including the wife he picked. But how can I sleep at night if I imagine him coming home, slaving away, ironing, cooking, cleaning, while shes just lazing about on the sofa?
So, one morning, I decided for the last time to wash all his things and then leave him be. Early, after they left for work, I went over, gathered up not just his clothes but a few of hers as well heaven knows, they reeked, and I could just see her mixing hers with his clean ones later. I took the lot home and set about the washing, even doing a few of their blankets for good measure, drying and ironing everything with care. Their flat is just round the corner from mine, thankfully, so I didnt have far to go to return it all.
He lives on the fourth floor and my knees arent what they used to be, so I always use the lift, but that day it was out of order repairs, of course and there was no other chance to deliver the laundry. It took me over an hour to climb those stairs, lugging the big bag, all the while thinking about Oliver how he shouldnt have to live in squalor, how I wish hed find someone kind, like Emily, whod truly care for him.
Finally, I reached their door, quietly let myself in as usual, and quickly dropped off the clean clothes. I didnt want to rouse the neighbour’s little terrier with a bang, since it always yaps maddeningly at the slightest noise. But then I noticed some unfamiliar shoes left in the hallway. Odd, since they hadnt been there before perhaps theyd come home from work early and his wife had, as usual, just dumped her things wherever she pleased.
I walked further in and saw a pair of Olivers trousers by the bedroom door. Maybe Id forgot to wash them, so I picked them up, meaning to press them on the spot, and I heard some sounds from the bedroom. When I looked up, I found my son in bed with another woman. His wife is blonde; this girl had dark hair.
I just froze. Oliver spotted me and shouted in shock, “Mum, get out! Will you ever give me a moments peace?” Shamefaced, I closed the door and mumbled, Come out, please, I need to speak to you.
After a few minutes, he came into the kitchen, wearing the dressing gown Id bought for his last birthday.
“Mum, what are you doing here? Did you forget your key?”
“No, darling, you gave them to me last year, you remember so I could pop in and help out now and then.”
“Mum, people usually let you know before they come over,” he sighed.
“I just wanted to drop off your laundry, I told you I was coming.”
“I thought you said itd be tomorrow,” he snapped, looking away.
“Sorry, but is that your Sarah? Has she dyed her hair?” I asked nervously.
“No, Mum, thats not Sarah. Its someone else,” he replied, embarrassed.
“Youre cheating on your wife?”
“I suppose youre going to judge me for it.”
“Of course not, love. Your choices are your own.”
“To be honest, Mum, I like Emily more anyway. Sarah shes obsessed with her job, never lifts a finger around the flat. But Emily came over, cooked dinner, tidied the kitchen, and she’s just nicer, kinder. Clearly takes care of her bloke. Still, Im with Sarah its just a fling, I suppose,” he murmured.
“Whatever you choose, Im behind you always. Your laundrys done, the way you like, and this is the last time Ill get involved so long as someone like Emily is looking out for you,” I replied gently, and left his flat.
I was delighted, really, to see him with a decent girl at last. The kitchen was spotless, soup simmering on the stove, and she seemed well turned-out and pleasant. No doubt in my mind that Oliver had finally recognised the difference between order and chaos and beauty and bedlam.
A week later, all was calm. Knowing my son was being well looked after, I stopped by the local Sainsburys and spotted Sarah there, as usual buying posh and baffling foods. Avocado, some odd green things, crispbreads, buckwheat, kefir all in her basket. I couldnt help saying,
“Sarah, on a diet, are you?”
“Hello, Mrs. Russell. Yes, your son and I are, actually. We want to look our best for the summer. Were hoping to go to Bali,” she replied with her trademark frosty tone.
“I thought you and Oliver had split up?”
“What? Who told you that?”
“Well, hes with Emily now.”
“Whos Emily? Theres no one else. We havent even had a row!”
“But I saw he was with Emily the other week, they were together in the flat. Shed even tidied the kitchen, did all sorts round the place. I thought hed have told you by now. Anyway, maybe now you can find a man wholl enjoy buckwheat with you,” I said, with a hint of relief.
She turned pale. “Kitchen? Emily? Are you losing your mind? Not only have you turned your son against me, but now you’re planting some Emily or whoever in his bed? Honestly! Cant you just let us live in peace and finally leave us alone? With that, she tossed her basket aside and stormed out. I hadnt realised she was such a drama queen, but I was more shocked that Oliver might have dumped Emily and gone back to his Bali boss.
Not long after, Oliver rang me.
“Hello, darling, is everything alright?” I asked softly, as usual.
“Mum, what did you say to my wife? She was about to leave me!”
“I only told her the truth. Honestly, shes not right for you Emilys much better.”
“Whos Emily? What are you on about?”
“It was true, wasn’t it? I thought youd chosen Emily and broken up with your wife.”
“Ive not broken up with anyone. And theres no Emily! Dont call me again were changing the locks. As far as Im concerned, you don’t exist anymore.”
