Mistress of Her Own Home
Annie, you’ve forgotten to put the lid back on the butter again Mary sighed, scraping her chair closer to the table. Now its been sitting all night in the fridge soaking up every smell. Tom, love, better have some cream cheese. I bought fresh just yesterday.
I felt my knuckles tighten around the knife handle. I kept slicing the bread, trying to keep the slices even, though my hands were trembling ever so slightly. The October rain was trickling down the window outside, drawing irregular paths; the kitchen felt too small for the three of us, all grown adults.
Mum, the butters fine Tom didnt even glance up from his mobile, chewing his sandwich absently.
Yes, yes, of course. Im only trying to help. You young ones, you dont get that food goes off if you dont store it right. Then your stomach aches and wholl have to nurse you better?
I placed the plate of bread on the table and sat down on my own chair. My head had been spinning since morning, and there was a funny, unpleasant taste in my mouth. I poured myself a mug of Good Morning tea, hoping the hot drink would settle my queasiness.
Annie, youre hardly eating Mary eyed me over the rim of her glasses. Youve gotten so slim. Tom, darling, how are you supposed to start a family with a wife who never eats? You want a healthy mum for your child.
Something clenched painfully inside me. I sipped my tea, the heat almost scalding, and managed a smile.
Mary, Ive just never been much of a breakfast person. Always the same.
Always, always… In my day, wed get up with a fever and still go to work, never complained. Young people now, off sick for every sniffle. I was already raising Tom on my own by your age, mind, working and keeping house too.
Tom finally looked up from his phone.
Mum, honestly? Annie had to stay in the office till eight yesterday, getting all the reports in.
Im not saying anything, love, just worried for you both. Young couple, its time you started thinking about children, but with health like that…
I stood and took my untouched cup to the sink. Through the windows reflection, I could see Mary spooning more cottage cheese onto Toms plate, patting his shoulder affectionately. Behind me, Marys voice was soft and caring, directed at Tom.
Love, dont forget, youve got that important meeting today. I ironed your blue shirt its hanging on your chair.
I hovered by the sink, clutching my cooling mug, and felt something dull and heavy growing inside me. Heavier than tiredness, deeper than plain resentment.
Only three months ago, I had genuinely welcomed Marys arrival.
***
She turned up at the end of July. Phoned late in the evening, her voice worried and trembling. The flat beneath hers had flooded, ruining her parquet and half the furniture shed need major repairs. The builders promised a week, ten days at most.
Tom, love, could I stay with you for just a week? Hotels are expensive, and I wouldnt like it on my own, shed asked, and of course Tom immediately agreed.
I was even glad about it. Mary lived all the way in Birmingham and we only saw her at Christmas or birthdays our relationship was amicable enough. She was a lively, pleasant woman perhaps a little over-talkative but genuinely kind. Since her husband died five years ago, shed been alone, working at the local library, growing violets on her windowsill.
Itll go by in a flash, I assured Tom, already mentally moving my things to give her the spare room. Its been ages since we had a proper chat.
He hugged me, kissed the top of my head.
Youre a star. I know its tight, but Im glad Mum wont be alone with all that going on.
Mary arrived with two massive suitcases and a cardboard box tied up with brown string. Tom and I met her at the station, helped her with the bags. She was noticeably tired her eyes were red, lips a thin line.
Thank you, Annie, for taking in an old lady she said, hugging me at our doorstep. Im only here briefly, I promise. Ill be out of your hair the moment the flats sorted.
The first days were almost idyllic. Mary cooked lunches, did the hoovering, while Tom and I were at work. In the evenings, wed have tea and her favourite shortbread biscuits shed brought, chat about the news. Tom seemed in his element, more light-hearted than usual, truly happy to have his mum around.
But by the end of the second week, things began to shift.
First, it was little things. Mary rearranged all the spice jars in the kitchen, telling me it was more practical this way. She reorganised our linen cupboard too, folding everything her own way. I found my things in new places and felt oddly displaced, but told myself it was nothing, really.
Annie, I noticed there was dust atop the curtain rails Mary said conversationally as she ladled out the soup. Not cleaned those for a while, have you? Bad for the allergies, that. Ive gone over it today, all spick and span now.
Thanks, Mary I murmured, cheeks flushing. I truly hadnt dusted up there in weeks I was wiped out from work. Evenings, all I wanted was a book or a telly show on the sofa.
Not a criticism, love shed smile. Just helping out. Makes things easier for you.
After three weeks, the builders called from Birmingham. Electrical faults meant the repairs would run at least another ten days. Mary took it well, or seemed to.
Tom, Im not in the way, am I? Just a bit more patience, love.
Youre not, Mum Tom hugged her tightly.
I watched them and said nothing. A faint unease stirred in me, one I pushed away. Another week thats all, I told myself.
But then a month passed. Six weeks. Mary somehow took over our little two-bed flat. She slept in what was meant to be my study, with its sofa bed and work desk. I moved my laptop to the kitchen or the bedroom awkward, but I couldnt exactly ask for my room back, could I?
Each evening, Mary cooked. Delicious food, really, but always what Tom liked best: roast potatoes, stews, pies. I preferred lighter, fresher meals fish, vegetables but it felt awkward to raise it.
Annie, youre not eating a thing Mary would tsk Tom, see how thin shes getting? Ought to see a doctor, you know, something might be up with her stomach.
Annie, honestly, you hardly touch your food Toms brow would furrow in concern.
Im simply not hungry and it was true. Id lost my appetite. Mornings I woke feeling nauseous, spent my days with odd spells of weakness. But the thought of a doctor of being told all this was stress felt like a defeat. I couldnt admit to myself how Marys presence drained me. How could I say such a thing out loud?
***
In mid-September, my office entered crisis mode. The tax authorities needed urgent rework of our reports, and all three of us in the accounts department were working late. Id get home near ten, exhausted, head pounding.
The flat greeted me with a soft lamp glow, dinner smells, and Marys voice.
Annie, darling, at last. Tom and I have already eaten, but Ive left you some just heat it up. Oh, and dont shift the pans about, Ive arranged them for convenience.
Id nod, heat the food, barely able to swallow it. Tom would join me, kiss my cheek, share his day. Mary would sit nearby, knitting or leafing through her magazine. Always, always there as though the flats air grew thicker.
Tom, is it just me or does your mum plan to stay indefinitely? I asked one night in the darkness.
The works arent finished, remember he mumbled sleepily. Just a bit longer. No one can stay there now.
But its been two months…
Annie, shes my mum. Shes on her own. Cant you try to understand?
A stab of pain. I fell silent, turned my face to the wall. Tom was soon asleep, but I lay alert, listening to the slight rustling behind the thin bedroom wall.
The next evening, Mary met me with a suggestion.
Annie, I thought maybe I could help with the cleaning on Saturdays? Youre so tired lately. Two of us will finish in no time.
I tried to refuse, but shed already brought in bucket, mop, dusters. So we cleaned together. All the while: comments.
Oh, look at all the muck behind the radiator ought to hoover it, really. Curtains need a wash see how dusty. What do you do about the fridge? Should be cleaned every fortnight at least bacteria, you know.
I nodded, wiped, scrubbed and the resentment inside me grew with each remark. But I couldnt snap. She was helping. She meant well. How could I complain?
By late September, it dawned on me: I felt like a guest in my own flat. An embarrassment, an impostor, somehow not good enough. Mary ruled the kitchen, bathroom, even the laundry. Shed wash Toms clothes herself, fold them her special way, iron his shirts till they crackled.
Hes loved a crisp shirt ever since he was a boy shed say with a grin I taught him to be tidy from day one.
I washed my own things separately, in the rare slot when the washing machine was free. Sometimes I felt I was creeping around, hoping not to inconvenience anyone, not to draw attention.
My nights were full of strange dreams. I wandered endless corridors, searching for my room doors all locked. Or I was in the kitchen, trying to cook, only for pans, plates, groceries to vanish spookily from my hands.
Id wake drenched in sweat, heart racing, and lie staring into the darkness next to Toms quiet breathing. Sometimes I wanted to wake him, confess how heavy and close the air had grown, but the words jammed in my throat. What could I say? That Mary was smothering me with her concern? How do you even say that?
***
The first of October, things genuinely grew odd.
I woke nauseous, barely made it to the loo before vomiting. Pale and shaking, I heard Marys anxious knock outside the bathroom.
Annie, love, are you all right? Should we call the doctor?
No, honestly, Im fine I croaked, rinsing my face with cold water. Must have eaten something that didnt agree.
Something didnt agree? there was an offended edge to her voice. I made the fishcakes fresh, checked everything twice. Tom was fine, but you…
Mary, its not the food. My stomachs just sensitive.
The queasiness hovered all day. At work, I struggled to focus, numbers blurring. My colleague, Jess, across the desk, looked worried.
Annie, you look dreadful. Maybe you should go home.
I cant reports are due tomorrow.
Well, your health is worth more. Ask for a check-up at least.
But I didnt. I got home late to find Mary waiting, face pinched with disapproval.
Weve been so worried all evening. Tom too. Dont you see youre scaring us?
Sorry, theres just too much at work.
Always with the work. What about your home? Your family? Toms been on his own half the day; at least I could feed him a proper meal.
I ducked into the bedroom, closed the door, collapsed face-first on the bed. My head thudded with pain. Through the wall, I heard Mary and Tom talking. I couldnt catch the words but the tones were clear: complaint and placation.
I pressed the pillow to my face and imagined screaming. Just letting the air out until I had nothing left. But, as always, I stayed quiet.
The next morning, rummaging for something to wear, I found my favourite silk blouse hanging in the wardrobe, only now it bore an odd yellow stain at the collar. Last night it had been clean, I was certain.
Mary, do you know what happened to my blouse? I queried, walking into the kitchen.
She turned, seemingly surprised.
Which blouse?
The white one. Its got a mark on it now…
Annie, I havent touched your things. Maybe you spilled something? Forgot?
I looked at her round, innocent face and felt, with utter certainty, she was lying. She knew. She did it.
But with no proof, I just changed tops, left for work with a sinking feeling.
Soon other things began to go missing. My favourite mug a big ceramic one Tom gave me vanished without a trace. Mary only shrugged when I asked.
Mightve broken and thrown it out. I never saw it.
Then my shampoo in the bathroom disappeared overnight. Mary shrugged once more.
Really? Must be those silly caps. Maybe it leaked?
I gave up questioning. Each day, I sank deeper into a kind of dreamy, unreal haze. I’d work on autopilot, then sit at the kitchen table with my laptop, never venturing back into my old study. Tom grew quiet and irritable. We nearly argued several times.
Annie, youre so tense lately, he said. Is it work?
No. Not work.
Then what is it?
I wanted to tell him the truth. That his mum’s constant presence was suffocating. That I felt like a stranger. But again, the words stuck.
Im just tired. Sorry.
He hugged me, kissed my head.
Hang in there. Mums nearly done I checked with her. The builders are almost finished.
But the flat was never finished. Week after week, Maryd come back from phoning the builders, sombre-faced: Just a bit longer theyre wallpapering, now the skirting boards. Give it another week.
A week ticked into a month.
***
Late October, my sleep deserted me. I could still pass out at night, but it was fitful and light Id wake exhausted. Deep shadows under my eyes, hands trembling.
One night I woke to a strange sound. A faint shuffle and scrape, coming from Marys room. I sat up, listened. It stopped, then a soft rustle.
The next morning, I asked if shed heard anything in the night.
No, love I sleep like a log. Why?
I couldve sworn someone was moving about.
Mustve been a dream. Your nerves are shot see a GP.
A few days later, there was a new smell in the flat. Waxy, sweet, almost like a church. I traced it; it was strongest by Marys door.
Mary, are you burning candles in there? I asked that evening.
Candles? No, why ever would I? What makes you think that?
Theres a smell of wax.
Havent a clue, Annie, maybe its drifting from next door.
But the scent would return, always at night, always faint yet persistent. I started waking with it on my mind, fear surging.
One day, when Mary was out shopping, I crept into her room. Everything looked normal: sofa bed perfectly made, magazines stacked, violets lined up on the window ledge. I opened her wardrobe neat rails of clothes, suitcases at the bottom, and the string-tied cardboard box.
I crouched and reached for it, but the front door clattered open. I panicked and dashed out. Mary came in, smiling with shopping bags.
Annie, youre home? Thought youd still be at work.
I felt rough. Came home early.
Oh, dear, poor love. Sit down, let me make you tea.
That evening, the waxy smell returned. In the hallway, I noticed a framed photo of Tom and me, which belonged on our bedroom dresser, now sitting on the shelf. The glass was unbroken, but my face on the photo was scratched a fine, criss-cross tangle, like it had been marked with a needle.
My heart pounded. I stared at the ruined photo, hands shaking, unable to look away.
Annie, you all right? Tom appeared, yawning.
Tom… look at this.
He took the frame, frowning.
What’s happened here?
I dont know. Just found it. The glass is fine the photos scratched.
Perhaps the print was defective, and we never noticed?
Tom, thats not a printing error. Thats deliberate. With a needle or pin…
Who would do that?
I fell silent. We both knew who else lived here. But to say it aloud felt mad.
Maybe Im mistaken. Sorry.
That night, I didnt sleep a wink. I just lay there, eyes fixed on the shadows, listening for movement in the flat.
***
November brought bitter cold. I felt perpetually chilled. Even indoors, woolly cardigans werent enough the cold seemed to come from within. The nausea was worse in the mornings. I subsisted on tea and crackers, only when Mary wasnt looking.
Annie, youre positively ill Mary said with undisguised concern, though something else flickered in her eyes. Satisfaction, perhaps? It felt that way to me.
At work, my boss called me in, concern on her face.
Annie, youre making mistakes lately. The totals in yesterdays report were mixed up, and the date was wrong the other day. Thats not like you.
Sorry, Olivia. It wont happen again.
Are you sure youre all right? Shall I approve some leave?
Leave. I pictured time off spent trapped in the flat and something tightened inside.
No, thank you. Im fine.
But I wasnt. I was slipping into a foggy, twilight state. I kept working, barely, but in the evenings I just drifted at the kitchen table. Tom tried to talk to me, but my answers grew clipped and distant. He was cross, then wounded, then retreated himself.
Annie, I dont understand. Youre slipping away from me. Are you even here?
Sorry. So tired.
Maybe the doctor after all? Mum says youre barely eating.
Mum says. I looked up at him.
Your mum does a lot of talking.
What?
Nothing. Forget it.
I left him in the lounge.
A few days later, everything unravelled fully.
I got home early, about six. Normally, Mary would be in the kitchen watching her soaps, or chatting with friends on the phone. But the flat was heavy with silence.
I put my things down, washed my face in the bathroom, then heard a quiet sound. A voice low, muttering coming from Marys room.
I stopped dead. Listened. Words slid together, the tone strange, almost prayerful. But not a prayer.
I crept to her door. It was ajar. Light spilled out I glimpsed the edge of her table. Upon it stood two thick church candles, both lit and giving off a steady yellow flame.
I could hear my own heartbeat in my ears. I pushed the door open.
Mary stood with her back to me, bent over the table. In front of her were two photos: one of Tom, taken at his university graduation; the other, of me. My face had been crossed out, a thick black marker scrawled from corner to corner.
I saw Mary waving her hand over the photos, muttering, a gleam of metal in her fingers a sewing needle. She bent lower, the tip of the needle hovering over my photo.
Mary my voice came out hoarse, like a strangers.
She swivelled abruptly, face pale, eyes wide.
Annie… I didnt hear you come in…
What are you doing?
She quickly withdrew her hand, hiding the needle. Her expression flickered between embarrassment and sudden anger.
Nothing that concerns you.
Candles. The photographs what is this?
I said, its not your business! Her voice rose, shrill now. Please, get out of my room!
Something inside me snapped. All those months of exhaustion and anxiety poured out.
Out of your room? I stepped forward, hands shaking. This is MY flat! MY room, which youve turned into your personal domain for three months now! Three whole months!
Annie, dont shout…
I will shout! You sit here with your candles and needles, scratching out my photos, ruining my things, making my life a misery!
I havent ruined anything! she straightened, wearing a look of cold outrage. Youre the one destroying everything! You make Tom unhappy hed have a proper family by now with another woman, instead you just bury yourself in work! He deserves so much better youre not a real wife at all, just a burden!
Her words hit me like blows. I stood, trembling, tears prickling in my eyes.
You… how dare you…
I dare, because Im his mother! I raised him alone, I gave him everything! Who are you? Just someone who led him away from me!
Led him away? I almost choked. We love each other! Were a family!
Family? she gave a contemptuous laugh. What family? You cant even give him a child! Look at yourself all skin and bones. He deserves better.
The last remnant inside me gave way. I strode to the table, swept the candles to the floor. One rolled under the desk, extinguished. I grabbed my ruined photo, ripped it in two.
Leave I said, my voice low but unshakable. Leave my flat. Now.
What? Marys face drained of colour. You cant
I can. Im the mistress of my own home. Pack your things and go. Now.
Tom wont forgive you for this!
Thats between Tom and me! But you youre not staying here another day, another hour!
The flat door banged. Tom had returned from work. Hearing raised voices, he rushed in.
Whats going on?!
Mary ran to him, grabbed his arm.
Tom, shes throwing me out! Your wifes kicking me onto the street!
Tom stared from his mother to me. I stood, shaking, torn photograph in my hand, tears streaking my cheeks.
Tom I managed, through tears just look. Look at what she did.
I showed him the table: candles on the floor, ruined photos, needle gleaming. Tom said nothing for a moment, but the shock, then comprehension and finally horror, crossed his features.
Mum… whats this?
Nothing, love, just… I was praying for you…
With a needle? With crossed out photos? his voice was harsh. Mum, what the hell?
I was trying to help! Shes not right for you, you can see that!
Enough! He exploded; Mary actually flinched, as did I. I had never once heard him shout at her. Pack your bags. Now. Ill drive you to the coach station. Youre going now.
Tom…
Now, Mum. I mean it.
***
In less than an hour, Mary was leaving. She packed in stony silence, Tom helping her stiffly. I stood in the hallway, feeling the last of my energy slip away.
At the door, Mary paused, gave me a long, heavy look.
Youll regret this.
I said nothing. Tom picked up her case and left. Mary followed. The door banged shut.
I was left alone.
The quiet was thunderous. I went to Marys room my old study and looked around. Dribbles of wax, torn pictures, the toppled candles. I gathered it all, put it in a carrier bag and dumped it out on the balconys rubbish bin.
Then I threw open the window, letting the sharp November air rush in. I stood by the sill, gazing at the slate-grey sky and rain-soaked roofs, and for the first time in so long, could finally breathe.
Tom didnt come home until nearly midnight. He looked spent. Walked into the bedroom and collapsed onto the bed.
Bus got her back to Birmingham he said.
I sat next to him, took his hand.
Im sorry.
What for?
All of it. That it turned out like this.
Annie, dont. I should be the one apologising. I… I never saw it. I didnt want to see. I thought you were just tired, stressed. But this…
He rubbed his face wearily.
She lost her mind, Annie. I never knew she was capable of that.
Tom, shes lonely. Lost your dad. Youre everything to her.
Its no excuse. What she did… its not okay.
We sat together. Then Tom hugged me, tight, and I realised he was trembling.
I was scared Id lost you. Youve seemed so far away, so… gone. I thought youd stopped loving me.
No. I just… couldnt breathe.
You wont feel that way again. I promise.
The next morning was surreal. I woke to sunlight edging through the curtains. I sat up, listening: no footsteps in the kitchen, no clattering pans, no Marys voice.
I wandered through the flat. Opened the door to my study. Empty. Just the sofa bed, the small table, empty shelves. My room once more.
In the kitchen, Tom was making coffee. He smiled when I appeared.
Morning.
Morning.
We breakfasted, just the two of us awkwardly quiet, but peaceful. I ate a piece of buttered toast, and for once didnt feel sick.
Annie, you should see the doctor Tom said. You look so pale. Can I book you in?
All right.
He booked me for the next day at the local surgery. I went into work, feeling not quite well but lighter, as though a huge weight had been lifted.
That evening, snuggled on the sofa, Tom nuzzled my hair.
Ive been thinking about Mum. She hasnt called since.
Do you think shes angry?
Im sure she is. But… Annie, I cant just cut her off. Shes my mum. But I wont lose you either. Not ever.
I understand.
Maybe once shes calmed down she can visit. Properly, for a day. Well talk things through.
I nodded. Fear and worry were still there, but I knew I couldnt deny Tom a relationship with his mother.
***
Next day, the GP a kind-faced older woman listened to my symptoms, asked me questions.
When was your last period?
I thought, suddenly realising I couldnt remember. Itd been weeks of chaos.
Ages ago… more than a month, I think.
Lets do a pregnancy test.
I froze: pregnant? I hadnt even considered it, what with everything. But we hadnt been careful. Wed wanted a baby in the future, sometime.
The test was positive.
Congratulations the doctor smiled. About six weeks. Nausea and tiredness are typical. Ill refer you to the midwife to get started.
I left the surgery in a daze. Pregnant. I was pregnant. Our child.
I sat on the bench outside the practice and wept with relief, joy, fear, everything at once.
That evening, I told Tom. He didnt believe me at first, then swept me up, laughing and crying.
Really? Honestly?
Honestly. Six weeks.
I… I cant believe it. Annie, thats wonderful!
We sat in the kitchen, hands joined, and he kept repeating how much he loved me, how hed make everything all right for us both.
***
Three weeks passed. Mary still hadnt called. Tom tried her a couple of times, but she wouldnt pick up. Eventually, she messaged: Im alive and well. Dont worry. Nothing more.
Gradually, I came to life again. The nausea stayed, but it was bearable. My appetite came back, and with it, energy. Together, Tom and I sorted out my study now properly mine again. We scrapped what was left of Marys time with us, rearranged the furniture, hung new curtains.
The flat changed. It felt lighter, brighter. I began to cook again, choosing the dishes I liked. Tom joined in, and wed laugh in the kitchen as we used to, before Mary arrived.
One evening, as we lay on the sofa, Tom put his arm around me.
Annie, theres something I ought to say about Mum. When the babys here, shell want to visit.
I suppose.
Will you mind?
I was silent, then turned to look at him.
Shes welcome to visit. For a day. Not to stay. Thats my one condition.
Thats fair.
And I wont leave her alone with the baby. Not at first. Maybe later, if I see shes changed, but not yet.
I agree. Really, I do.
Tom, I dont want to be the villain. I dont even want a row. But I cant let her take our life apart again. Our child needs to grow up in peace.
Therell be boundaries, clear ones. Mum accepts them, or she misses out. I wont risk our happiness.
I cuddled in close, eyes closed. Rain fell outside, drumming at the window, but inside was warm and still.
Do you think well manage it? I whispered.
What exactly?
All of it. The baby, family, keeping peace with your mum.
We will. Absolutely. Because now we know what we wont ever allow again.
I nodded. The fear was there, true, but so was something else. Id stood up. Id claimed my home, my right to live as myself.
Tom I laid my hand on my belly, where our baby was growing promise me next time things get hard, youll listen. Dont pretend everythings fine.
I promise. Ill always listen. Always.
