So, picture this: Liz, in her leggings and t-shirt, steps out of her bedroom craving a quiet half hour to herself her little girl, Sophie, has just fallen asleep after lunch. Instead, she hears rustling in the kitchen someone moving things about, glasses clinking, plasticky bags being shuffled.
She walks in, and theres Margaret her mother-in-law standing square in the middle of the kitchen, both hands gripping Lizs African violet, holding the flowerpot like shes trying to figure out if its worth keeping.
Liz says, a touch wary, Margaret, what are you up to?
Margaret doesnt even turn around. Just tidying up. Youve put this thing in the wrong place again. It blocks the light here, you know.
Its in the spot I chose on purpose. It does fine therelook, even got new buds coming in.
Margaret sighs, Not the best. East-facing windows violets dont like the morning sun. Itll wilt eventually. Ill move it over by the fridge, theres a little shelf just right for it.
Liz takes the pot not in a snatching way, just calmly and puts it right back on the windowsill. Margaret, could you not move my things, please?
Margaret looks at her, not cross, just a bit lost, as if Liz had just explained a rule she thought was daft. Im only trying to help.
I know. But its my kitchenIll decide where things go.
Your kitchen, right. Margaret arches an eyebrow and turns to the sink. Fair enough. As you like.
She turns the tap on, wipes down the taps, scours them so thoroughly you could see your face in them. Liz watches her, feeling that weight in her chest she always gets on a Wednesday afternoon when Margaret drops in unannounced. Key in the lock, and suddenly shes in the flat, rearranging, giving advice, becoming part of the furniture.
Margaret asks, When will Sophie wake up?
Probably in about an hour and a half.
Ill finish up here then, let you rest.
Liz opens her mouth but closes it again. Honestly, Margaret, I already cleaned.
I can tell. Margaret gives a nonchalant smile. The taps were a bit smeared, though.
Liz pours herself a glass of water, drinks it standing at the window, eyes tracing the violets buds. Sophies been poking at them all week, that round little finger tapping as she says, Fwower. Liz always corrects her: Flower. Sophie laughs and repeats, Fwower! No need for arguments, Liz thinks. She just wants Margaret to leave on her own, to sense this simply isnt her time or space. But Margaret either doesnt realise or doesnt care.
Twenty minutes later, a familiar, comforting smell wafts in: chicken soup, rich and warm, bubbling away.
Liz walks in. Theres her own pot, Margaret stirring something.
Whats this?
Oh, just cooked up some chicken noodle soup. Jamiell be hungry after work, and youve hardly anything in the fridge.
There was buckwheat and some meatballs left from yesterday.
That was yesterdaythrew them out, theyd only make you ill.
You threw out my meatballs?
Margaret shrugs. Theyd been sitting, Liz you dont want to get sick.
I was planning to reheat them today. I made those for us.
Oh, come now, meatballs cost next to nothing. Here, try the soup.
The soup does smell good, and thats almost worst of all. Made in Lizs kitchen, with Lizs pots, from ingredients Margaret probably brought from home. Liz bites her tongue, doesnt want to start a row.
Thanks, she says, But please dont throw out my food again.
Im only looking out for you.
I know. But dont. Please?
Margaret stirs the soup, silent.
Liz sits and listens, eyes following as Margaret bustles about like its her own kitchen, opening the right cupboard without thinking twice which means shes been here before, when Liz was out or asleep. Maybe she just lets herself in, tidies up, pokes round while Liz is at her mums or out walking with Sophie. Thats unsettling.
Margaret, Liz says, how often do you pop in here?
Oh, from time to time. If it needs it.
And what counts as needing it?
Margaret turns around, her face open but a bit hurt. What do you mean, Liz? This isnt a hotel Jamies my son.
Yes, and its his flat. Its my flat too.
So why shouldnt I? Cant I come over?
You can, if you tell us first. And if we say its okay.
A long pause. Margaret just looks at her, that mixture of confusion and quiet affront that Liz has learned always turns into a phone call with Jamie later.
Alright then, Margaret finally says. Have it your way.
The soups left on the hob. Margaret leaves an hour later, not waiting for Sophie to wake, just pecks her goodnight through the closed door with a whispered, Sleep tight, sweetheart, and takes her keys with her.
That evening, Jamie comes home and the first thing he notices is the soup.
Oh, Mums been?
Yep.
Smells good.
Jamie.
Hes pulling off his coat. What?
She came round again without calling, threw out the meatballs I made last night, moved my stuff, wandered through the flat.
Shes only trying to help, you know.
I know, youve said. But I want you to talk to her. Tell her not to just turn up.
Jamie rips a chunk of bread. Alright, Ill talk to her.
You say that every time.
Then Ill say it again.
Liz serves the soup. Jamie tries it, says, She makes good soup, before realising maybe that wasnt the right thing to say.
Liz eats in silence.
A few days later, Margaret is back. Its Friday, about two in the afternoon. Sophies just waking from her nap, Liz is on her way to check on her when she hears a key turn in the door.
“Awake, darling? Grandmas here! booms Margarets voice through the hallway. Sophie stops crying at once she always does when Margaret arrives. Liz can never tell if shes grateful or not.
Margarets in the nursery lifting Sophie from the cot, swinging her around, beaming. I missed you! Did mummy call you already?
Liz shakes her head. No, I was just about to get her.
Ill be quiet then. I wont get in the way.
They go through to the kitchen. Liz puts the kettle on, Sophie munches bread and butter on Margarets lap. Margarets pulled out a cake from her carrier bag A little something from the bakery, a proper Victoria sponge. Little Sophie loves a treat.
Shes not having cake, Margaret.
And whys that?
Shes two and a half. I dont let her eat that much sugar yet. She had a reaction to a chocolate icing once.
That was icing. This is just vanilla, no chocolate.
Margaret, please.
One tiny bit wont hurt her, says Margaret, voice gentle, which only makes it more aggravating. I raised Jamie, didnt I?
Your child and my child are different people. Sophie reacts to things differently.
You fuss too much.
Maybe, but shes my daughter. Please dont give her cake.
Pause. Sophies little hand grabs for the bag, Margaret moves it away.
Alright then. No cake.
Thank you.
They drink their tea, Sophie distracts herself on the floor with a wooden spoon Margaret has handed her from the kitchen drawer, without so much as asking. Liz notices, stays quiet the spoons clean, anyway.
So, Jamie hows he doing at work? Margaret asks.
Tired, but okay.
He always did wear himself out. He ought to take a holiday. Are you thinking of going away at all this summer?
Not sure yet.
I could have Sophie while you two went away. My gardens lovely this time of year, all that fresh air and veg patches.
Ill think about it.
What is there to think about? Shall we say July?”
I said Ill think about it.
Margarets gaze lingers, but Liz stays firm. Eventually, Sophie toddles over. Margaret sweeps her up, buries her face in her hair.
Lovely girl, Margaret says.
Liz washes the cups, looking out the window at her violet. Another bud ready to burst.
Of course, the cake comes out anyway. Margaret slips Sophie a slice as soon as Liz leaves the room to answer the phone. Liz comes back to find Sophie clutching a wedge of sponge cake, Margaret looking quietly triumphant.
Margaret
A little piece, Liz. She reached for it herself.
Shell reach for anything you offer. Thats a child for you. Next time just say no.
Margaret stands. I think Id better be off.
Alright.
Youre cross.
Im not cross. But you need to respect our rules when youre in our home.
Your rules, Margaret repeats, tone making it another word entirely.
She leaves. Sophie waves: Bye-bye! and Margaret answers from the hall, softly: Goodbye, sweetheart. The door shuts.
Liz puts the rest of the cake in a carrier bag near the door a reminder to give it back.
Jamie says that evening, She only does it because she cares about Sophie.
Liz replies, I know.
So whats the problem?
Liz stays quiet a while, then says, Jamie, do you get that she just comes and goes as she likes, does what she wants, and doesnt see why she needs to ask me? Its our home, I shouldnt have to fight for the right to decide what my child eats.
Hes sat scrolling through his phone. Puts it down. She helped us buy this place, Liz.
Thats it.
Liz folds her hands. I remember.
Wed still be renting if it wasnt for her.
I know, Jamie.
So maybe
What? Maybe I need to put up with this? Let her come and do what she wants, whenever she wants, just because she gave us some money?
He doesnt answer.
Thats not how it works. Help is meant to be help, not an open-ended pass to our lives.
He picks up his phone. Ill talk to her.
Youve said that twice already.
Ill do it again, Liz. What more do you want?
She wants him to just get it, without her spelling it out. But she can see he either wont or cant because truly getting it would mean doing something, speaking to his mum, which hes more scared of than Lizs silence.
Nothing, she says. Good night.
She checks on Sophie, asleep, arms flung out, face down in the pillow. Liz gently rolls her onto her back. Sophie mumbles, dozes on. Liz stands a moment just listening to her breathing in the dark.
A week goes by, then another.
Saturday morning, Margaret rings: Liz, Id like to come over Sunday, is that alright?
Sunday wont work for us.
But Jamie said youd be in.
We will, but weve got plans. Maybe next time?
A long pause.
Ive bought Sophie a toy. Wanted to give it to her.
Pass it to Jamie, hell bring it.
Theres a longer silence.
Right. Okay then. Margaret sounds different now not wounded, just lowered, dulled.
Sunday night, Jamie says, Mums upset.
I know.
She says you wont let her in.
I just dont want her turning up unannounced. Thats not the same thing.
To her it is.
Liz is folding clean laundry on the bed. Sheets, towels, Sophies tiny jumpers.
Jamie, whose side are you on?
Im not on anyones side. I just want you both to
No. This isnt about us getting along. Its about who decides things in this family. Is it her, or is it you and me?
He sits on the bed, watching.
We do.
Then talk to her properly. Not like before. Tell her no more popping round. If shes coming, we need to know. And the keys shes got to give back the spare.
He looks up.
The keys?
Yes. The keys.
Liz, shell be devastated.
And Im not meant to be, every time she just walks in?
Its not the same.
Why not?
He says nothing.
Because shes a mum, he mutters.
And Im a mum, Jamie of Sophie. And a wife in this house. Liz tucks the folded sheet away. Im not saying she cant come. She just needs to let us know. Respect what I ask. Its not much.
No answer. Jamie heads to the kitchen, puts the kettle on.
Liz picks out a little cardigan of Sophies. One button is looseshe puts it aside to fix.
A fortnight later, Margaret calls Jamie to say shes busy Friday but would love to visit Saturday if possible. Jamie just says, Of course, come by. He doesnt say a word to Liz.
Saturday, Margaret arrives, her arms full of heavy shopping bags.
Oh, hello. Jamie said youd be coming.
Yes, I thought Id make pasties Jamie likes them with cabbage.
Margaret, can I just
Have you got a rolling pin? I forgot mine.
I do, but
Brilliant. Ill get the dough started while Sophies asleep.
And shes off: hands washed, rummaging in cupboards, already half making herself at home.
Liz finds Jamie in the bedroom.
Did you tell her she could come?
He glances up. Yeah. She wanted to.
You didnt bother asking me.
Shes my mum.
Its our home. You could have asked.
Youd have said no.
And that right there that one sentence says it all. He didnt ask, because he knew shed say no.
Liz stands for a while, silent, hearing Margaret rattle pans in the kitchen. The smell of fried onions, then something burning, then onions again.
Next time, you ask, she says quietly. Every time. Understood?
Jamie mumbles something. Liz goes to Sophie, whos just waking.
The pasties are good, golden and crisp just as promised. Sophie gobbles one whole, then demands another. Margaret beams. Liz eats in silence, thinking of her discarded meatballs, Sophies forbidden cake, the violet on the sill.
When Margaret is leaving, she halts in the hallway, points at the wall. Would be handy to hang a shoe rack here, you know. Saves piling them on the floor.
Well think about it, Jamie says.
I saw some nice ones at the market, I could pick one up
No, thanks, Margaret, Liz says, If we want one, well sort it ourselves.
Margaret glances at her, then at Jamie. Then she slips her shoes on and leaves.
Why do you do that? Jamie says.
Do what?
Shes offering to help.
Shes offering to make decisions about my home without asking. Thats not the same.
He walks off. Liz hears him snatch the last pasty.
Mid-April stays chilly. Liz and Sophie go for walks, come back, do the usual jobs, sometimes read if Sophie naps for long. The flat isnt much, but its theirs. Its home.
Then one quiet afternoon when Sophie is sleeping and Liz is finally reading by the window, the door unlocks again.
She puts the book aside.
Margaret strides in, spotting Liz.
Oh, youre in. Good. Ill just be a tick. I brought new curtains thought Id swap yours out, these are much nicer. Yours are a bit tatty, you know.
Shes already unfolding the new set beige, with a tiny print.
Liz stops her politely but firmly, Please, Margaret, dont. I like our curtains. And I have asked you to call before coming.
But I thought youd be home.
That doesnt matter. Please ring first, and the curtains are fine as they are. Take these ones back with you.
Margaret wraps up the curtains, holding the bundle tight.
Fine, Liz, youre the landlady here.
That word, in her voice, means something else entirely. Maybe stubborn, maybe ungrateful.
Yes, Margaret. I am.
This time Margaret leaves without having a cuppa, the first time in months shes left without cooking anything or moving something about.
When Jamie gets home, he says, Mums upset. Says you were rude.
I wasnt rude. I just reminded her of what weve already agreed.
Shes only trying to help.
Jamie, can I just ask you something? Do you really think helping gives you the right to do whatever you like in someone elses home?
He cant answer.
If so, then we have very different ideas about things. And if not, then stand by me. Im your wife.
He squeezes her hand, says softly, Ill talk to her.
Youve said that five times already.
Liz
Five times, Jamie.
He lets go, gets up, leaves the kitchen.
She clears up, moves the violet from one end of the sill to the other, closer to the sunlight. The third bud is nearly open.
End of April: Jamie turns thirty.
Liz genuinely enjoys getting ready for his birthday, tracking down the ideal recipe for a homemade honey cake with sour cream icing and caramel. She buys everything, bakes at night once Sophies asleep, ices it at midnight, and leaves it to set in the fridge.
Not too many guests two of Jamies mates with their wives, his sister Natalie and her bloke. And, of course, Margaret.
Liz lays the table: potato salad, roast salmon, pickles, cold cuts. She takes pride in it.
For once, Margaret rings beforehand to say shell come to help, but Liz assures her theres nothing left to do.
Margaret arrives first, heads to the kitchen. Oh my, youve put on quite a spread! Fish?
Salmon.
Jamie prefers sea trout.
Were having salmon tonight.
Margaret adjusts a fork with a slight nudge. Made the cake yourself?
Yes. Honey cake.
Jamies always liked the Napoleon. Never was a fan of honey cake.
He never told me.
Well, I know, dont I, as his mum.
Liz slices bread, says nothing.
Id have managed Napoleon, Margaret says, But fair enough.
Guests arrive, the flat fills with chat. Sophie runs about being doted on, everyone sneaking her biscuits. Liz keeps watch.
Jamies buzzing, laughing with friends, a glass of wine in hand. Liz watches him, thinks how he really is goodjust caught between her and Margaret, too unsure to say so.
At the table, Margaret sits opposite Liz.
When the honey cake comes out, Liz brings the plate it smells lovely, everyone says so. Margaret turns to Jamies mates wife.
Honey cake, Liz made it.
That smells delicious! the guest says.
Well, honey cakes, you know, a bit heavy. Not for everyone, really.
Liz sets the plate down; the pause only lasts a second before people start serving themselves.
But she hears. She notices.
She takes empty dishes into the kitchen, takes a moment to breathe, then returns.
Late in the evening as Sophie rubs her eyes, Liz carries her off to bed. Margaret stands, ready to follow.
Ill put her down.
Ill do it, Margaret.
Liz, youre exhausted, let me
Ill do it, thank you.
Margaret halts in the hallway. The rest of the house is laughter and the clink of glasses.
Every time I try and help, Margaret says, low enough so only Liz hears, you shut me down. Its hurtful.
Liz turns. Sophies nearly out cold in her arms.
Margaret, I want to settle my own daughter. Its not personal. Its my right.
She puts Sophie to bed, strokes her hair, and returns to see guests starting to leave. Natalie is kissing her brother goodbye, his mate is putting on his coat. Evening winding down.
Margarets in the kitchen, scooping leftover salad into a container.
What are you doing? Liz asks.
Just taking some leftovers home, else they go to waste.
They wont well finish them tomorrow.
Liz, theres half a bowl.
Ill see to it, Margaret.
Well, Ive already
Please, give me the container.
Liz is calm, and maybe thats why Margaret finally looks at her, really looks at her, pausing.
Whats up with you? she asks.
Nothing. Just give it to me, please.
Margaret puts the container down, silent.
Liz, Im not your enemy.
I know.
I love Jamie. I love Sophie.
I know. But this is our family, Margaret. Jamie has a wife and a daughter now. We need our own space.
What space? What do you mean?
I mean this Liz glances toward the now-quiet lounge. You pop round without warning. You move things, throw out my food, bring curtains without asking, feed Sophie things Ive asked you not to. Today, in front of everyone, you said Jamie likes another cake. Whether or not its true, its not right to say it then.
Margaret is speechless.
Im not against you. Im your granddaughters mum, Jamies wife. We need clear rules, for everyone.
Are you throwing me out? Margaret whispers, almost lost.
Im asking you to respect our home.
I do!
No, Margaret. You dont. Please, say goodbye to the guests. I want a quiet talk with Jamie tomorrow.
Margaret picks up her bag. She looks at Liz for a long time, then finally says, “Alright.”
She says her farewells. Jamie hugs her, she laughs with him one last time, peeks into Sophies room, then quietly leaves.
When Jamie comes back in, he rubs his forehead, looking tired.
Sit down we need to talk, Liz says.
He sits, wary.
She pours tea for both, sets the mugs on the table, sits opposite.
Jamie, I want you to ask for Mums key back.
He blinks. What?
The spare key. I want her to give it back.
He stares at his mug.
Liz, shell
Youll tell me shell be hurt, that you owe her because she helped buy the flat. I get that. But listen I say we look at a small loan, pay her share back, close that account. Then she cant say shes got a right to drop by anytime.
But why?
Well manage the mortgage. Why take a loan?
So you never again tell me she helped us as a reason why every boundary is overrun.
I dont say that
You do. Every time.
Jamie stands, paces. Mums a tough woman. She had us to herself after Dad shes always run the show.
I understand.
She isnt being malicious.
I know. Im not telling you to stop loving her. Just to draw a line. You have your own family now.
Shell be so upset about the key.
And Im not upset every time Im bowled over here?
Its not the same.
It is.
He sighs. Shell say were ungrateful.
Maybe.
Shell say Ive chosen you over her.
Maybe.
Ill feel terrible.
I know.
They stand quietly in the kitchen, Sophie snoring in the next room.
You really want a loan? he asks.
I want us to have our own home not one bought with someone elses money. Ours.
It is already.
Not while she holds the key.
He comes back to the table, takes a sip.
Give me a few days, he says.
Alright.
Ill talk to her.
Alright.
About everything.
Thank you, Jamie.
He looks at her. The cake was good, you know. Really good.
She gives a small smile, starts loading mugs into the sink.
Three days go by. Margarets quiet. Jamie comes home, helps with Sophie, keeps his head down.
On the fourth evening: I phoned her.
Liz looks at him, waits.
It was hard. She cried.
I know.
She accused me of not loving her.
She always does.
I explained about the key, the calls before coming, and what youve asked about Sophie.
Did she agree?
Not straight away. She said I was under your thumb, you were pushing her out.
And you?
I said it was our decision.
Liz exhales. Thank you.
Shes asked for some time. Said shed give the key back, just not right away needs to adjust.
Thats not an answer.
Liz, just a week. If she doesnt, Ill collect it myself.
She thinks, nods. Okay. One week.
He relaxes. Pulls out a paper from his bag. You know, about the loan it might actually make sense. Ill talk to someone at the bank.
Alright.
Evening settles. Sophie muttering about her tower of blocks in the next room.
Liz goes to check, peeks in. Sophies building a tower, stacking block on block, solemn as a judge.
A tower! Liz says.
A tower! Sophie repeats, adding the last block.
It wobblesbut doesnt fall.
A week goes by. Margaret rings Wednesday, asks if she can come round Saturday, whether its convenient. Liz says yes. Margaret arrives midday, brings Sophie a new animal picture book, hands it over at the door.
There animals. She loves animals.
Thank you, Liz says.
Hello, grandma! Sophie runs in.
Margaret sweeps her up, holds her for a second, then watches Liz over her head with a look Liz cant quite read.
Tea time. Chit chat weather, Margarets garden, summer plans. Sophie flicks through her book, naming the creatures.
Bear, Sophie says.
Bear, Margaret repeats.
Before she leaves, Margaret opens her handbag, pulls out her house keys, and detaches one. Places it on the table.
There. As agreed.
Jamie pockets it. Thanks, Mum.
No trouble. Just let me know when to come round from now on, all right?
Of course, Jamie says.
I dont mind arranging visits, Margaret says, matter-of-factly. I get that youre your own family now.
Jamie smiles, Were always happy to see you.
She glances at him, then at Liz.
I know, she says, and maybe its true, maybe not. Liz chooses not to dwell on it.
Margaret leaves at half-five. Sophie waves from the window. Margaret turns at the street corner, waves back.
Jamie closes the window. Well, he says.
Well, Liz echoes.
Sophie is off to her room with her new book. They stand by the window.
She hasnt called all week, Jamie says. Its tough for her.
I know.
You sure youre not sorry about all this?
Liz considers, honestly. No, Jamie. Im not sorry.
Me neither.
He stands beside her, looking down at the empty street. Margaret, in her mustard cardie, rounds the corner.
We ought to move that cupboard, Jamie says, suddenly.
Which one?
That one in the hallway. Remember, she moved it in spring? You said its not right.
You remember?
Yeah.
Now?
Why not.
They go to the hall. Jamie grabs one side, Liz the other. They shuffle the cupboard so its back where Liz likes it, slightly on the angle so the door opens easier.
There, Jamie says.
There, exactly.
Sophie wanders in, waving her storybook. Mum, look! Fox!
Fox, Liz agrees. Clever fox.
Clever, Sophie grins, and toddles off.
Liz pours herself a glass of water and sits at the kitchen table, gazing at her African violet on the sill.
Its blooming, just where she put it three rich purple flowers with crisp white trim, all open, healthy and thriving. The next bud, tight and green, is ready for its turn.
Hasnt wilted at all.
