The Second Mother-in-Law
A woman in a cleaners uniform peered cautiously through the open door of the office at Eclipse Aesthetics Clinic. Her name was Janet, and she tried to speak as quietly as possible, hoping not to upset the boss.
I heard theres a vacancy for a junior masseuse, she ventured hesitantly.
Timothy Grant looked up from his paperwork and shot her a hard, tired stare. He was in a foul mood; only moments ago hed been told that an important meeting with investors had gone up in smoke, leaving him with a pounding headache.
And what, you planning on giving massages with a mop in hand? he snarled.
No, I took an online course. Wrote a CV as well, Janet answered, blushing as she offered him a crumpled sheet of paper shed pulled from her pocket.
At that moment the assistant manager, Leo Siddons, popped his head round the door. Tim, rubbing his temples, snapped:
Leo, what on earth is the cleaning staff doing here, wandering about as they please? Get her out. The cleaners deluded, fancies herself the next great massage therapist! Chuck her out and remind the staff to stop with these hare-brained ideas!
Without waiting for a reply, Tim grabbed the CV and tore it to shreds, scattering the pieces at Janets feet.
Janet bit her lip and crouched down to pick up the tatters, hot tears stinging her eyes. Leo had little patience and roughly ushered her out down the corridor, past curious patients and staff, and stuffed her into the janitors closet.
She slumped helplessly on the edge of a battered old sand bucket that looked like it belonged in a museum, and finally let the tears come.
Janet had only started at Eclipse recently. Mopping floors was never her dream, but they paid better here than anywhere else. And Timothy Grant had a reputation: self-made, hard-working, built the clinic from the ground up.
And it was true. Tim had grown up in care, never knowing his mother or father, and had spent his adult life searching for his roots with no luck. But he had become a surgeon, and then a star in the world of aesthetics. People paid big money for his skills, celebrities from London and socialites to boot. He raised his prices every year and wanted for nothing.
That was why Janet took a gamble. Shed heard about the job opening and thought she should at least have a go.
She dreamed of being a masseuse. Shed taught herself, studied textbooks, completed as many online modules as possible. But with no official certification, she couldnt work in the field. Shed been saving for a proper training course, but her husband did a runner with all their savings, leaving her broken, alone and skint with a young daughter.
Later shed learn that Simon had been in trouble with the law, a petty con artist who had spun a web of lies. Their divorce dragged on as he never showed up in court. For her daughter Sophies sake, Janet endured, and thats when her hardships began.
No one wanted to hire a woman with a child. The three of them Janet, her daughter, and her mother, Anne squeezed into a tiny flat, scraping by, sometimes surviving on Annes pension alone. Anne was an irrepressible optimist, a former gymnast and coach, full of grit and stubbornness. She took charge of her granddaughter and only then could Janet try working part-time.
Determined to reach her dream, Janet scraped together the money for a cheap course, earning a printed certificate the very one Tim had just torn apart.
She wiped her tears, stood up, and returned to cleaning the floors. People whispered and glanced as she passed. But at home, her mum greeted her with good news: Sophie had won the nursery drawing contest. Janet tried to buy her daughter decent paints and materials whenever she could. Sophie was in the junior art class, and Janet counted every small miracle with joy.
The mop bucket felt impossibly heavy. As Janet hauled it outside, Fred Evans the caretaker and the only one at the clinic who never looked down on her came over and relieved her of it. He was elderly, treated Tim with gentle amusement, and seemed to remember the bosss humble beginnings better than Tim did himself.
Fred never had a harsh word for Janet. Instead, hed bring her homemade scones at weekends and always had a comforting word. Thanks to his support, Janet had found the confidence to put herself forward for that job.
Seeing him now, she burst into fresh tears. Fred patted her on the shoulder.
Dont fret, love. Things change.
I shouldnt have bothered, Janet sniffed. Only made things worse.
Tims in a right state today. Try again another day, Fred said gently.
They told me Im not to go near him again, Janet sighed. Why did I get my hopes up? Thought maybe I could climb up from nothing too. People say hes a self-made man, but he only cares about that certificate on the wall.
Fred just shrugged. Janet took her mop to the cupboard, heading home while worrying about money again. Sophie had been begging for an expensive toy and there was no way she could afford it.
Home wasnt as it usually was. Anne was sitting in the front room, quietly wiping her eyes. Janets heart sank. Her mother was strong, resilient. If she was crying, it meant something serious had happened.
Mum, whats happened? she asked anxiously.
Nothing, love, Anne said, waving a hand.
Mum, tell me the truth, Janet pressed.
Anne broke down.
I went for my health check courtesy of the local drama group. They found something Its an operation or nothing. Otherwise it could only be a year, tops. The waiting lists endless. Going privates impossible. They said Id need specialist tests in London. The cost, the travel, the lot Well, I suppose my numbers up.
Mum, dont say that, Janet shot up. Well think of something.
On your cleaners wage and my pension? Anne managed a grim little laugh. Bless you, love. But you cant sew trousers out of scraps.
Janet lay awake all night, running through every possible option. By morning she knew shed have to try Tim again, no matter the risk.
But that day, she wasnt even allowed in the building. The receptionist told her shed been let go, last hired, first fired. She got the statutory redundancy and was sent packing.
Fred made her jot down his phone number before she left. Janet keyed it in without much thought, mind racing. They could manage for a month, but what about after that?
Janet never liked giving up. She told her mother about the redundancy as if it had been her own decision and immediately started hunting for new work. Without qualifications, the wages were pitiful. Then she saw an advert: Carer wanted, no medical certificate necessary, but it involved cooking, cleaning, and helping someone around their house.
Janet sighed it wasnt any worse than being a cleaner in a clinic. She sent her details. They called back within the hour. A reputable agency, it turned out, represented the employer: an elderly, wealthy woman living alone.
Janet was asked to bring her documents and references. Soon she was sitting across from Tamara, the head of recruitment.
Ill be upfront, said Tamara briskly. This client is challenging. Youll be her tenth carer. No one lasts.
Janet tensed but kept quiet.
Youll know her name. Mrs Emma Morrison. Well, not her real one. Changed her name ages ago. Shes a retired prima donna from the local opera. A right handful but rich. Rumour is, her admirers left her a fortune.
To be honest, Im not fussed, said Janet softly. I havent got the luxury of being picky.
If youve got a child, bear in mind Mrs Morrison cant stand children. Or pets. She uses a walking frame but prefers to be wheeled about. The probation is three months. Last that, and youll get a yearly contract and a salary bump.
Janet nodded. Even the starting wage was twice what shed ever earned. Here was a real chance to help her mum, and Janet wasnt about to let it go.
She was to start the very next morning at seven sharp.
That evening, Janet looked her up online. A scattering of old theatre announcements from years ago. In every photo Emma Morrison looked formidable: black hair, severe expression. None of those images prepared Janet for the reality.
The door was opened by a security guard Emma owned an entire grand townhouse in the heart of the city. Janet gazed around the opulent decor, feeling out of place.
What are you staring at? Hoping to pocket a silver spoon? came the shrill voice.
Emma glided into the hall in a top-of-the-range motorised wheelchair. She was tiny, all bones and white hair, eyes sharp and alive.
Hello, Mrs Morrison, Janet muttered.
Speak up. Dont mumble, Emma snapped. And hands out of your pockets. Put the shoe covers on parquets real oak, only the best. Get moving breakfasts late.
Janet fumbled on the posh, non-slip covers, more like hairnets than the cheap blue things you get at the doctors, then trailed after Emma.
Brush my hair, gently, Emma barked. Not that brush. Goodness, youre hopeless. Now get the wig and sort that out.
Sorry I just wasnt sure which one you meant, Janet stammered.
Ugh, another clumsy buffoon. Where do they find you all? Make tea, and dont dawdle!
Janet hurried to the kitchen.
Dont stomp about! came Emmas shriek. The floor shakes! Walk lighter youre giving me a headache!
Emma examined her tea as if she expected to find poison, then, with a grimace, promptly flung the hot cups contents at Janet.
You nudged my elbow. Your fault.
Janet took a deep breath.
Right Where can I wash up?
Servants bathroom, by the back door, Emma replied. And youre not even going to answer me back?
What for? Janet replied mildly. Im starting to get curious how many more tricks youll try.
Hah. Off you trot, Emma muttered. Towels there. Theres a guest pyjama set put your clothes in the wash.
Janet followed instructions, returned, and endured Emmas jibes and petty tricks all day. She soon realised it was a test. She said nothing, simply carried on Emmas mischief had to run out eventually.
By evening, Emma was calming down. Janet finished up with a gentle massage. When Emma was sound asleep, Janet quietly put away the wig and said goodbye to the startled security guard.
The next morning, the guard on shift looked cheerful and asked outright:
What did you do to the boss yesterday? Shes still sleeping hasnt stirred all morning. Jenny, the housekeeper, says its a first.
Nothing much, Janet shrugged. Perhaps she was just tired.
Emma was up and lively that morning, immediately criticising Janets lack of fashion sense and telling her shed never find a man if she didnt bother with makeup. Janet just nodded, busying herself with the morning routine. The wig was a doddle this time.
Emma arranged a manicurist appointment, had Janet change her into an elegant Japanese dressing gown, and wheeled her into her boudoir.
It was clear soon enough there was a reason for all this fuss.
After lunch, a distinguished grey-haired man visited: tall, with the grace of an old dancer. Emma introduced him as her old friend Oscar and had Janet serve coffee.
Janet fussed over the expensive coffee machine, terrified of making a mistake, but all was well. With a guest present, Emma was perfectly civil.
Towards evening, Emma asked, What did you do to me last night?
Massage, Janet answered quietly.
Are you qualified? Emma shot back.
No, self-taught, Janet admitted.
All right. You may carry on, Emma said, almost kindly.
That night ended, as would many more, with a massage, and so the days fell into a rhythm.
Three months whizzed by. Janet only had one day off a week and barely saw Sophie, but she was soon able to let Anne stop working her mother tired easily and Annes job at the local theatre working with costumes was far too much.
Her relationship with Emma gradually improved. Emma seemed to be testing Janet, measuring her patience and spirit. One day she suddenly asked, How do your family cope with these hours?
Its just mum and my daughter. Not much choice, Janet replied.
How olds the child? Into anything?
Nearly six. She draws beautifully, Janet said, recalling Tamara’s warning about bringing up children.
Bring her by. Well meet, Emma said regally.
So Sophie started visiting. Shed sit quietly in a corner, sketching. One afternoon she drew Emmas portrait so well that Emma ordered it framed and put on the wall.
Slowly, they grew close. Janet no longer feared losing her job.
Emmas joint disease was inoperable surgery wouldnt help. On bad days, Janets massages relieved the pain a little. On one occasion Emma asked Janet and Sophie to stay overnight, giving them the guest room.
Drifting off to Sophies gentle breathing, Janet imagined living in the grand house for real. Shed come to love its old-world atmosphere, as if the walls themselves held quiet reminders of the past.
Emma was better the next day. She and Sophie had breakfast together, while Janet was tasked with cleaning Emmas private study The others are too clumsy. Dusting and tidying odds and ends, Janet found an old yellowed photo album. When finished, she took it to the lounge.
May I look, Mrs Morrison?
Oh, the glory days Emma chuckled. Go on then. Been ages.
The three of them crowded round the table. Early photos of Emmas childhood, then suddenly, Sophie squealed:
Look! Thats granny! Weve got a photo just like it at home!
Janet stared at the album in disbelief. There was young Anne, unmistakably.
How do you have a photo of my mother? Janet managed.
Emma narrowed her eyes, scrutinising Janet.
Youre Annes girl? she said slowly. You know, I kept thinking you looked familiar. Well, Im an old fool.
You knew my mum? Janet persisted.
Course, we were thick as thieves. Shed sneak away from training; Id skip out of music school. Grew up together. Started gymnastics together, but Anne was the real talent. Didnt want to always play second fiddle.
Why did you drift apart? Sophie asked innocently.
We grew up, Emma sighed. Your grandmother fell head over heels for our handsome new coach, Ian. We fought over him, and he chose me in the end. Anne was heartbroken, lost her place in the competition squad.
I never knew any of that Janet whispered. Mum had a different surname then?
Oh, I was Siddons back then, Emma replied, wrinkling her nose. And Ian? His family name was Morrison my first husband, for all three months. Kept the name for the stage.
From that day, Janet could think of nothing else but reuniting the two old friends. A chance soon came.
Emma needed Janet and Sophie to stay over again, but the next morning Sophie had an outing with nursery. Janet asked Anne to collect her instead.
Anne arrived at Emmas in her worn old coat. Emma was already in her night things but wheeled into the hall as Janet gathered Sophies crayons and art supplies.
Whos here? Emma snapped. Im expecting no one.
Hello, Emma, Anne replied coldly. Cant say Im thrilled to see you.
The feelings mutual, Emma sniffed. Clearly lifes had a go at you.
No more than it has others, Anne said calmly. At least I have a daughter and granddaughter. I see strangers emptying your bedpans, despite all your marriages.
None of yours lasted either, smirked Emma. Still keeping your maiden name too?
Anne smiled softly. Oh Em, you never did get it. I kept tabs on your triumphs was proud, you know, that a girl from our little house became a star. Never stabbed you in the back. But do you remember that call five years ago?
Emma paled.
You were about to sign over your place to some smooth-talking charmer from our youth drama group, Anne continued. I overheard him bragging hed dump you into a home and live here with his mistress. So I phoned you, disguised my voice. That was my good deed.
That was you? Emma gasped.
Couldnt bring myself to hate you, Anne sighed. Always pitied you. Only so many rules you can apply to artistic types. But even I had my limits.
Emma looked away. You saved me. Hed quite dulled my senses. After your call, I hired a private investigator.
Good move, Anne nodded. Well, anyway, wed best be off. Sophies half asleep.
Wait, Anne. Howre you living now? Emma called out.
In a council flat since they tore down the old place. Not a palace, but itll do.
Thats settled then, Emma announced. Youre both moving in. Far too many rooms here. I had plans for a proper nursery for Sophie anyway. Dont argue. We have plenty to talk about only so much time left, as I know well.
Anne slumped onto the bench by the stairs.
About eight months, she said quietly.
Eight months? Oh god, Anne, is it cancer? Emma whispered.
No, heart. Cant afford the op. Dont bother worrying, theres no saving up to be done.
Right. Its settled, youre moving in, and well take it from there, Emma said, brooking no contradiction. And by the way, Ive always regretted pinching Ian off you.
Brings back memories what about that pretty Simon from school? laughed Anne. But enough. Well come tomorrow.
My driver can give you a lift, Emma said. And in the morning, hell help you move, with Janet.
That night, Emma couldnt sleep. She quizzed Janet on Annes health, reminisced about the old days, and for once the frost between them thawed.
Within a week, the house was transformed. Couriers delivered fabric samples, catalogues, and swatches; Emma took charge of the move in her usual, grand style.
In the evenings, Anne and Emma would share stories over tea at the polished old table. When the move and decorating were finished, Emma announced at dinner:
Anne, I showed your paperwork to my doctor your operations in two weeks. The surgeons a dashing young man, so try not to flirt too much.
You got me a spot? How? Anne stammered. Honestly, why?
No waiting list for you, Emma said. I paid, of course. Too late to back out. Youre having it and getting well. Sophie needs you in her life one granny is plenty frail already.
Oh Emma, you shouldnt have Anne said, eyes filling.
And what else am I to do with my money, hey? Cant take it with me. Thats that. Janet, you look after your mum in hospital, Ill mind Sophie. Besides, since those massages, believe it or not, Im feeling better myself.
Two weeks later, Anne was in a private room at the citys best clinic. Her surgeon was Dr Valentine Smith, a promising young cardiac specialist, son of a renowned London professor but making his own way. He was calm, pleasant; after watching Janet looking after Anne, he said:
I dont often see families like yours your mums a lucky woman. Any husband would be lucky too. And the kids.
I just have Sophie, Janet said, embarrassed. But shes the best in the world.
Im sure she is, Valentine smiled. I rushed into marriage once she wanted the rich professors lifestyle, but I ended up in a rented bedsit. That finished us.
I think youll meet your match one day, Janet said softly.
Maybe I already have, he replied, turning to look out the window.
Janet found herself thinking more and more about him. He wasnt a model like Simon, but he had strength, integrity, and genuine warmth.
Anne recovered swiftly. All the while, Emma did her best to manage alone and play grandma to Sophie, who by now called her “Granny Em.”
Emma would put on a brave face, but when Janet gave her massages at night, she could feel the tension in Emmas tired muscles. Emma could hardly manage the wheelchair some days.
One evening, Emma told her: Time for you to stop being my carer.
Do you want someone else? Janet asked in a panic.
You daft thing. When the house is full? I want you to train properly proper massage course, diploma and all. Can you manage?
Of course, Janet beamed, but its costly
Think of me as your fairy godmother, Emma smiled. Besides, having my own in-house masseuse is very practical. Ill cover the fees for you to study rehabilitation therapy as well. Just dont let me down.
It was decided. Emma more or less adopted Janets whole family, though Janet wasnt about to freeload. She intended to earn her keep.
Janets tutor on her course was Simon Archer, a respected practitioner. He singled her out as a natural. When handing Janet her certificate, he asked:
Heard of Vanilla Spa?
Who hasnt? The place to be. Its new but already everyone wants to work there.
I own it myself now, he grinned. Took the plunge. Will you join the team? I focus on post-op and trauma recovery. Its demanding work strong hands, lots of judgement. I trust yours.
Janet nodded, barely managing to hold back tears.
She studied harder than ever. Simon paid for additional courses out of his own pocket, calling it a scholarship. Soon, Janet was working at Vanilla. The hours suited her: morning shifts at the spa, afternoons with family and Emma, and school runs for Sophies art class.
Within six months, people were booking the spa specifically for Janet, not just Simon.
During that time, things progressed with Valentine. At first they were just friends, but their bond grew. Valentine had been in the city for a year, hoping to become a leading cardiac surgeon. He was tired of seeing only hospital walls. They started going for walks with Sophie, to parks, to the panto, even the circus.
Anne got back into work, but Emma often took to her bed. Pain became a constant, and only Janets massage helped, and only for a little while.
Valentine started referring cardiac patients to Janet for rehabilitation she gladly learned about heart recovery, and they found more and more to talk about.
Valentine became a regular in Emmas home, a part of this odd old-new family, and eventually received Emmas own stamp of approval.
Mind you never treat my girls badly, Emma told him, and he grinned.
Through courage, kindness and a bit of luck, Janet and her family found what theyd been searching for all along not just a better life, but a home where generations, old friends and even grumpy grand dames could find their happy ending.
