July 12th
Fair words butter no parsnips. “Now, this time, I do hope you’ll stay longer than three days?” Evelyn Hayes chirped down the phone. “Do stay longer with us? Eleanor! Why so quiet?”
“Happy Birthday once more, Evelyn! Do look after yourself. William and I will ring as soon as things are definitely sorted.”
I hurriedly put the phone down. “Brrr,” I thought, setting it aside, “the chat seemed pleasant enough, Evelyn was unnaturally sweet, and the occasion was joyful – her big birthday. Yet, from the first word to the last, I just wanted it over.” Spending our precious, long-awaited shared holiday break at my mother-in-law’s felt like a sentence. Surely there were a million better places for our family holiday? I’d hinted to William that perhaps this summer, anywhere *but* Evelyn’s cottage might do? No. He was immovable. It was how he was raised. Respect your elders. Disappointing them by not visiting? Simply not done.
* * *
“Elle, I barely see Mum and Dad once a year,” William protested, brow furrowed. “D’you want me to stop visiting entirely? Then the children truly will forget they have grandparents in Sussex.”
“Darling, how to put this gently… Doesn’t it ever strike you these trips are really just for *you*?”
“What d’you mean?” He looked genuinely confused.
“That your parents are quite accustomed to life far from us. They’re quite content. They don’t ache for the grandchildren they barely know; their lives are full without us.”
“Elle! Where’s this coming from?”
“Because Evelyn only ever asks one thing in our chats – photos of the older boys or videos of our littlest. She doesn’t inquire about *them* – how they are, their school, health. The grandkids are just props for her neighbours or bridge club – a flawless picture, nothing more. What lies behind it isn’t her concern. Our struggles? Not remotely.”
“Well, we live far away,” William argued. “They can’t pitch in – collect Alfie from nursery or meet the boys after school. If we lived close, it’d be different.”
“Will… My mum’s miles away too. Yet, nothing stops her rushing here whenever we’re in a pinch. She’s like Mrs Pepperpot dropping everything instantly. Remember how often she’s used leave or grabbed a train ticket just to help? I haven’t spotted that urgency from your lot.”
“No, Elle, your mum is golden,” William conceded readily. “Always been our lifesaver. I’ve thanked Marina Hayes countless times.”
“Exactly. When we visit *her*, she embraces the boys. Cycling, river swims, football, hide and seek. She adores them, they adore her. That’s family warmth.”
“Elle, what do you want from me?” William sighed. “People are different. Your mum’s a live wire. Mine are… quieter, steadier folk. Older school. So we stop visiting?”
I paused, pressing my lips tight, holding back words long stored up. Not today. “It’s uncomfortable there. For me, and the boys too. Awkward. Difficult.”
“How? Mum’s cottage is lovely! Separate rooms, clean, comfortable. What more?”
“There’s a saying, Will: ‘Fair words butter no parsnips.’ That’s precisely how arriving at Evelyn’s feels.”
“Really? You’ve never said… I thought you liked it. Perfect break: see them, you relax. What’s wrong?”
“Everything. The moment our brood tumbles into their serene little world, it shatters their perfect quiet. You don’t see it.”
“Elle, I think you’re imagining things lately. Getting rather sensitive.”
“Will, love, you’re always busy helping your dad. Fixing this, lugging that. Rarely spending time with us *at* the cottage. Whereas I see – and hear – it all. Your mum’s pointed remarks, your dad’s sour glances. Pleasant? Ten years married, yet Evelyn still seems to resent my very existence. Resents that you have us.”
“Eleanor!” William cut in sharply, eager to end this unpleasantness.
“Fine. We’ll go. But *watch* properly this time. Observe what truly happens there, especially when you’re busy ‘helping’. Things might clarify. Perhaps you’ll see I’m not just being awkward.”
* * *
For days I packed, while William stalked about like a thundercloud. Words bite deep.
The drive to Sussex took four hours. I worked hard at holiday spirit: songs with Freddie and Alfie in the back. Will’s silence pricked me, but I couldn’t swallow it forever. Too long I’d been ‘the good one’. Forever smiling sweetly, never answering Evelyn’s digs about me or the children. Avoiding conflict. Pointless. Sensing endless tolerance, Evelyn seized every tiny chance to criticise. Nothing was right: the boys too rowdy – *my* fault; Will too thin – *I* starved him; my skirt too short. Spotting fault was Evelyn’s hobby. I was bone-weary of it. This visit would differ.
“Hello darlings!” Evelyn beamed at the doorstep, radiating delight. “Come through! We’ve been counting the minutes!”
William shot me a pointed glance: *See? What nonsense you spoke.*
“Will, take your bags straight upstairs! Don’t clutter!”
He obediently hauled cases upstairs.
“And must you bring *so* much, Eleanor? Packing doesn’t suit you. Excess baggage for poor William. Spare his back! He works endlessly to feed you all, clearly eats poorly… lost weight.”
“Evelyn!” I replied deliberately, loudly. “Nonsense! He eats extremely well. Takes after your Roger, surely you see? Do *you* adequately feed *him*? Not excess baggage! Five Hughes! The boys will be filthy digging about. No proper laundry here. They need clean clothes. Hardly *my* fault.”
Evelyn gaped. Silence in reply? Unheard of! Then Roger entered from the garden.
“Ah, arrived. Lads! Broken anything yet? Or haven’t got round to it? Granny spent yesterday hiding vases, pictures… anything fragile. Values her china!” He chuckled. The boys playing in the lounge quietened.
“My children have never broken anything here,” I stated flatly. “Please don’t invent things.”
Roger’s face puckered. He shuffled silently to the table.
“Harry, sit upright! James, *manners*! Alfie, neatly!” Evelyn spent dinner discontented, constantly correcting.
Finally, I snapped. “Oh, stop badgering them! They’re boys! They haven’t mastered stillness! Show patience!” Evelyn flushed crimson but bit her tongue before William.
Finished, the boys dashed off. Their noise filled the house. Talk was impossible.
“Eleanor!” Evelyn finally burst out. “For goodness sake calm those children! How much longer? This infernal racket! Unbearable!”
“They’re playing! They’re noisy boys! What did you expect? Reading quietly? That’s films! This racket lasts a week. Till we leave. Try joining them *
Evelyn stood frozen by the silent breakfast table, the untouched croissants mocking her, finally grasping how her need for a flawless facade had emptied her nest.
