Dear Diary,
Tonight the doorbell rang with a shrill, unwanted jingle, announcing yet another visitor. I slipped off my apron, wiped my hands on the kitchen towel, and hurried to the hallway. Standing there was my daughter, Poppy, arminarm with a young man Id never seen before. I ushered them inside.
Hey, Mum, Poppy smacked me lightly on the cheek. This is Victor, hell be staying with us.
Nice to meet you, the lad said, attempting a British greeting.
And this is my aunt, Lucy, Poppy added, though I corrected hermy proper name is Lucy Whitfield.
Alright, love, whats for dinner? I asked.
Pea purée and sausages, I announced.
I dont eat pea purée, Victor replied, tossing his backpack onto the floor and heading toward the living room.
Come on, Mum, Victor hates peas, Poppy whined, eyes widening dramatically.
Victor plonked himself on the sofa, his bag thudding beside him.
This is actually my room, I reminded him.
Victor, come on, Ill show you where youll be sleeping, Poppy called, already marching toward the bedroom.
Im fine here, he muttered, getting up.
Darling, think of something to feed Victor, Poppy pleaded.
I only have half a packet of sausages left, I shrugged. Thatll do with a splash of mustard, ketchup, and some bread.
Sounds decent enough, Victor said, and I headed to the kitchen, muttering to myself that I used to bring home stray kittens and puppies, not this.
I ladled a bowl of thick pea mash, tossed two fried sausages onto a plate, nudged a small salad over, and began to eat hungrily. Poppy burst into the kitchen.
Why are you eating alone? she asked.
Ive just come back from work and Im starving, I replied between bites. If anyone wants food, they should serve themselves or make something. By the way, why exactly is Victor moving in?
Because hes my husband, Poppy blurted.
My spoon froze halfway to my mouth.
Husband?
Yes, thats it. Youre an adult now, you decide if you get married. Im already nineteen, she added, eyes gleaming.
You didnt even invite me to a wedding, I snapped.
There was no ceremony, we just signed the papers. Since were now husband and wife, well live together, she explained, glancing at my halfeaten plate.
Congratulations, then. Why no wedding?
If youve got money for a celebration, feel free to give it to us well find a way to spend it, Victor said, trying to sound casual.
Fine, I said, chewing. Why my flat?
Because the twobed flat is cramped; were a fourperson household.
So renting wasnt an option?
Whats the point in renting when theres a spare room?
I see. I kept eating. Anything else you need to eat?
Poppy, the pot on the stove has the mash, the pan has the sausages. If you need more, theres half a packet left in the fridge. Help yourselves.
Mum, youve got a new soninlaw, Poppy announced, emphasizing the last word.
And what? Im supposed to break into a jig for that? Im exhausted after work, so lets skip the ceremonial dancing, shall we? Use your own hands and feet, I retorted.
Thats why youre still single! Poppy shot back, slamming her bedroom door.
I finished my dinner, washed up, cleared the table, and headed to my bedroom to change. I grabbed my gym bag and went to the local fitness centre. Im a freespirited woman; a few evenings a week I spend in the gym and the pool.
Around ten oclock I returned home, hoping for a soothing cup of tea, only to find the kitchen in utter disarray. Someone had apparently tried to cook. The pot lid was missing, the pea mash had dried and cracked, the sausage packet lay open on the countertop, a stale loaf of bread sat unwrapped, the nonstick pan was scorched and its coating scratched with a fork. Dishes piled in the sink, a sticky sweet puddle spread across the floor, and the air reeked of cigarettes.
Blimey, this is new, I muttered. Poppy never allowed anything like this.
I opened the bedroom door. Victor and his mate were there, wine glasses in hand, a cigarette between their fingers.
Poppy, clean up the kitchen. Buy a new pan tomorrow, I told Victor, then slipped back to my room without closing the door.
Poppy sprang up, flinging herself after me.
Why should we clean? Im a student, I dont earn, where am I supposed to get money for a pan? You care about the dishes?
Remember the house rules: eat, then clean; make a mess, then clean; if you break something, replace it. Everyone looks after their own mess. And yes, that pan was worth more than a few pounds, now its hopelessly ruined, I explained calmly.
You dont want us here, Poppy snapped.
No, I replied evenly.
I didnt want to argue with her; Id never had such trouble with Poppy before.
But I have a stake in this, she insisted.
This flat is mine, paid for with my own sweat. Youre only on the lease. Dont expect me to solve your problems. If you want to live here, follow the rules, I said in a measured tone.
Ive lived my whole life under your rules. Im married now, and you cant tell me what to do, Poppy shrieked. Besides, youre old enough to give us the flat.
Ill give you the hallway outside the building and a bench in the park. Happy marriage, love? You never asked me. Youll stay here alone or with your husband somewhere else. He wont be moving in, I responded firmly.
Fine, take your flat and shove it. Victor, were leaving, Poppy yelled, gathering her things.
Within minutes Victor barreled into the hallway, slurring.
Come on, Mum, dont be a pain, everythingll be grand. We wont disappear overnight. If you behave, maybe we can… be affectionate later, he slurred.
What am I to you, Mum? Victor snarled, pushing me. Your mum and dad are still here, so go back to them. And dont forget your brandnew wife.
Get your hands off me, I hissed, grabbing his knuckles with my manicured fingers.
Let go, you lunatic! he roared.
Mom, what are you doing? Poppy screamed, trying to pull me away.
I shoved her aside, kicked Victor in the groin, then elbowed him in the neck.
Ill document the assault, he threatened. Ill take you to court.
Ill call the police right now so the evidence is proper, I warned.
The two youngsters fled the tidy twobed flat.
Youre no longer my mother, Poppy shouted as she left, and youll never see your grandchildren.
Tragic, I said dryly, eyeing my broken nails. At least Ill live my own way.
I washed the kitchen, tossed the ruined mash and the busted pan, and changed the locks. Three months later, Poppy appeared at work, gaunt, cheeks hollow, a shadow of herself.
Mum, whats for dinner? she asked.
I havent decided yet, I shrugged. What do you want?
Chicken and rice, she whispered, eyes brightening. And a bit of salad.
Then lets get a chicken, I said. Make the salad yourself.
She didnt ask anything else, and Victor never turned up in our lives again.
