The bell rang, sharp and unpleasant, announcing visitors. Margaret set aside her apron, wiped her hands, and went to the door. Her daughter stood on the threshold with a young man. Margaret let them into the flat.
“Hello, Mum,” her daughter said, kissing her cheek. “This is Jamie. Hell be living with us now.”
“Good evening,” the young man greeted politely.
“And this is my mum, Auntie Margaret.”
“Margaret Whitmore,” she corrected her daughter.
“Mum, whats for dinner?”
“Mashed peas and bangers.”
“I dont eat mashed peas,” Jamie replied, kicking off his shoes and walking into the sitting room.
“But Mum, Jamie wont eat peas,” her daughter said, wide-eyed.
Jamie flopped onto the sofa and tossed his rucksack onto the floor.
“This is actually my room,” Margaret remarked.
“Jamie, come on, Ill show you where well stay,” called Emily.
“I like it here,” he grumbled, getting up from the sofa.
“Mum, think about what Jamie can eat.”
“I dont know, weve half a pack of sausages left,” Margaret shrugged.
“Thatll dowith mustard, ketchup, and some bread,” he declared.
“Fine,” was all Margaret could say as she headed to the kitchen. “First she dragged in kittens and puppies, now she brings this, and Im meant to feed him too?”
She served herself mashed peas, laid two fried sausages on her plate, added a bit of salad, and began eating with relish.
“Mum, why are you eating alone?” her daughter asked when she entered the kitchen.
“Because Ive just come home from work and Im hungry,” Margaret replied, chewing a bite of sausage. “If anyone wants food, they can help themselves or cook. And another thingwhy is Jamie moving in?”
“What do you mean why? Hes my husband.”
“Your what?!”
“Yes, exactly. Your daughters grown now and can decide whether to marry or not. Im nineteen, after all.”
“But you didnt even invite me to the wedding.”
“There wasnt a weddingjust a registry office ceremony. Now were married, well live together,” Emily said, watching her mother chew.
“Well, congratulations. But why no proper wedding?”
“If youve got money for a wedding, you can give it to uswell know what to do with it.”
“I see,” Margaret said, continuing her meal. “But why live here, of all places?”
“Because theyre packed four to a room in his tiny flat.”
“So you didnt even consider renting somewhere?”
“Why rent when Ive got a room here?” Emily said, incredulous.
“Right.”
“Can you give us something to eat?”
“Emily, the mashed peas are on the stove, the sausages in the pan. If thats not enough, theres half a pack in the fridge. Take what you need.”
“Mum, you dont understandyouve got a SON-IN-LAW now,” Emily stressed the last words.
“And? Shall I dance a jig? Emily, Ive just come home from work, Im tiredno celebrations, please. Youve got hands and feet; look after yourselves.”
“This is why youre not married!” Emily shot her mother a glare and stormed off, slamming her bedroom door. Margaret finished eating, washed her dishes, wiped the table, and retreated. She changed, grabbed her gym bag, and left for the fitness centre. Most evenings, she spent time at the gym or swimming.
By ten, she returned home. Hoping for a warm cup of tea, she instead found the kitchen in chaossomeone had attempted cooking. The saucepan lid was missing, the food inside dried and cracked. Sausage packaging lay on the table beside a hardened piece of bread. The frying pan was burnt, scraped with a fork. Dishes piled in the sink, and a sticky puddle stained the floor. The flat reeked of cigarettes.
“Well, this is new. Emily never did this before.”
Margaret opened her daughters door. The young couple were drinking wine and smoking.
“Emily, clean the kitchen. And tomorrow, buy a new frying pan,” her mother said, leaving the door ajar.
Emily leapt up and chased after her.
“Why should we clean? And where am I supposed to get money for a pan? I dont work; Im at uni. Are plates more important to you?”
“Emily, you know the rules herewhoever eats, cleans; whoever makes a mess, tidies; what gets broken, gets replaced. Everyone looks after themselves. And yes, the pan mattersit wasnt cheap, and now its ruined.”
“You dont want us here,” her daughter accused.
“No,” Margaret replied calmly.
She wasnt in the mood for a row, and Emily had never behaved like this before.
“But part of this place is mine.”
“No, the flats entirely mine. I worked for it. Youre just registered here. Solving your problems at my expense? No. If you want to stay, follow the rules,” Margaret said evenly.
“Ive lived by your rules my whole life. Im married nowyou dont tell me what to do anymore,” Emily retorted. “Besides, youve had your life; you should hand the flat over to us.”
“Ill gladly give you the hallway bench outside. So, my dear, youre married? Didnt ask. You stay here alone or with your husband elsewhere. Hes not staying,” Margaret said firmly.
“Keep your flat, then. Jamie, were leaving,” Emily snapped, packing her things.
Five minutes later, the newlywed son-in-law barged into Margarets room.
“Hey, Mum, no need for dramawell sort it,” he slurred, swaying slightly. “We wont vanish at midnight. Be nice, and well keep quiet, even at night.”
“What sort of Mum would I be to you?” Margaret scoffed. “Your parents are homego to them, and dont forget your wife.”
“Yeah, Ill” The boy raised a fist, holding it under her nose.
“Go on, then.”
Margaret gripped his fist with her manicured fingers, using all her strength.
“Owlet go, you madwoman!”
“Mum, what are you doing?” Emily shrieked, trying to pull her mother away.
Margaret shoved her aside, kneed Jamie between the legs, then elbowed him in the throat.
“Ill document the injuries!” he yelped. “Ill sue you!”
“Wait, Ill call the policemake it easier,” Margaret shot back.
The youngsters fled the cosy two-bedroom flat.
“Youre not my mother anymore!” Emily shouted. “Youll never see your grandchildren!”
“What a loss,” Margaret said dryly. “At last, I can enjoy my life.”
She glanced at her handsa few nails were broken.
“Nothing but trouble,” she muttered.
Once theyd gone, she cleaned the kitchen, tossed the ruined peas and frying pan, and changed the locks. Three months later, she bumped into Emily at work. Her daughter looked gaunt, her cheeks hollow, her eyes miserable.
“Mum, whats for dinner?” she asked.
“Dont know,” Margaret shrugged. “Havent planned yet. What do you fancy?”
“Roast chicken and rice,” Emily swallowed. “And a coronation salad.”
“Then lets get chicken,” Margaret said. “You make the salad.”
