Let her go alone, then. Perhaps shell get herself kidnapped, muttered the mother-in-law darkly.
A sultry evening hung over the impending holidaya time that should have been light and filled with pleasant anticipation.
Instead, in the small London flat of Anthony and Emily, the air was taut and heavy. In the middle of the living room, polarising the quiet with her presence, stood Mrs. Margaret Robinson, clutching the TV remote like a sceptre.
I simply wont allow it! Have you both lost your senses?! Her voice, sharpened after decades commanding unruly schoolchildren, rang with iron.
Frozen on the TV was the image of an anxious newsreader, tracing bold red arrows across a map of the Far East, gravely warning of distant threats.
Emily calmly packed her suitcase, her serenity more confounding than any shouting could have been.
Shed done this battle before. Anthony, his face drawn with weary patience, attempted to broker peace.
Mum, thats enough. Its all nonsense. Were staying in a perfectly safe hotelweve booked with an accredited travel company
Nonsense? Mrs. Robinson nearly hurled the remote at the wall. Anthony, open your eyes! Shes dragging you to your doom! Out there in Thailand! Its riddled with human traffickers! Youll be lucky to survive a stroll for a pintnext thing, youll wake up in an ice bath short a kidney! And her she pointed at Emily with melodramatic flourish theyll sell off to a brothel! They showed it on BBC, for heavens sake!
Emily paused, suitcase half-zipped, and turned her wide-eyed gaze on Margaret. She managed a silence neither television nor Anthony could maintain for long.
Mrs. Robinson, she said, her voice soft but unwavering, do you really believe all that? That every Thai is part organ surgeon, part crime boss?
Dont be sarcastic! You cant argue with facts. Its on the telly! Innocent people go there for cheap thrills and their families receive nothing but their bits in a jar!
Anthony wiped a hand over his face.
Mum, they make that stuff for pensioners who need a jolt. Millions of tourists go every year, nothing happens
And thousands vanish! Margaret snapped. Emily, youve already bought the tickets, I suppose? Not going to return them?
Bought and paid for. And Im not changing my mind, Emily replied simply. Weve saved for two years. I checked hundreds of reviews, used the best tour operator. We arent planning any late-night strolls down back alleys. Therell be museums, beaches at Pattaya, tom yum soup
Theyll poison you. Their soups, God knows what goes in them… Margaret muttered. Anthony, loveplease, listen to reason. Let her go if she wont be told. If something happens, its her look-out. At least youll be safe and sound. A mother can sense disaster.
The silence that followed pressed on their chests like a weight. Then Emily spoke, the words perhaps long overdue.
Fine, she said, snapping the suitcase shut. You win, Mrs. Robinson. If its so risky, Ill go alone.
Emily! Dont be daft Anthony looked stricken.
You heard your mother. Her intuition says theres trouble. I cant take responsibility for your kidneys. Or you getting sold into slavery. Stay home, have tea and watch conspiracy documentaries with your mum. Ill venture to the darkest corners alone.
Mrs. Robinson managed a thin-lipped, victorious smile, mixed with something unsettled. The battle was won, but her daughter-in-laws stoic courage was clearly unwelcome.
Good riddance, then, she muttered, her fire cooling.
Anthony tried pleading, but Emily was resolute. The night before her flight, they lay back to back in bed, silence as cold as the moonlight.
Still time to reconsider? he asked quietly.
No, said Emily, short and final.
*****
The plane touched down at Bangkok, and a wave of humid, exotic heat cloaked Emily like a waking dream.
Fear? None at all. Only fatigue and a bright, stinging curiosity. She spent the first days tracing vibrant, bustling streets, marvelling at brilliant temples and devouring street food of flavours shed only imagined.
No one even tried to nick her purse, let alone abduct her. Market vendors simply grinned and playfully bartered over a few bahtbarely a pound.
Emily posted to the family WhatsApp groupMargaret had demanded being added: a smiling selfie clutching a fruity cocktail by the turquoise sea. Caption: All organs present. No slave contracts yet. Stay tuned.
Anthony sent back a string of hearts. Margaret read every word, scrolled every photo, kept her silence.
Further north, in Chiang Mai, everything changed. At a tiny family-run guesthouse, the elderly Thai landlady, Nok, took Emily under her wing, teaching her to make proper pad thai.
Nok, with muddled English and motherly fret, reminded Emily uncannily of Margaret.
My daughter, shes in Seoul all alone, Nok bemoaned, vigorously tossing noodles in the wok. Its cold there. They dont smile. Food is odd. TV says theres radiation in the aireveryones cross!
Emily watched Noks anxious face and burst out laughing, tears running down her cheeks.
Nok stared, puzzled. So Emily mimed and scrolled through her phone, showing Nok photos and Google Translate, unwinding Margarets warningsabout TV, organs, slavery.
Noks eyes went widethen she cackled, the sound clear as a bell.
Mothers! Nok declared. Everywhere the same. We fear what we dont know. Television talks nonsense in Thailand too!
That evening, Emily sat out under the stars, and for the first time called Margaret directly by video.
Margaret was pale, drawn, defensive.
So. Still alive, then?
Completely in one piece, Margaret. Look.
Emily swung the camera: Nok, beaming, carried a tray of tea and fruit onto the veranda.
Hello! Nok cried, delighted. Proper cook, your daughter! Don’t worryno slavery here! and, laughing, pulled Emily into a hug.
Margaret watched, silent, at the sight of the cheerful Thai woman and Emilys sunlit, peaceful face.
And… organs? Margaret finally managed, faltering.
All where they belong, Emily smiled. Ive even got an appetite. Margaret, its beautiful here, and people are so kind. Nok says her daughters in Korea, and she worries toothey say on the telly its fierce and freezing. Same everywhere, isnt it?
A long pause.
Let me speak to Nok, Margaret declared, to everyones surprise.
Emily handed over the phone. The two women, united by nothing but motherly love and thousands of miles of ocean, exchanged words neither truly understood. Nok nodded, giggled; Margarets frown slowly unfurled.
At last, Margaret gave a stiff but honest smilea pale ghost of one, but a peace offering all the same.
Later, Anthony texted: Mums just switched off the TV. Had enough of all that panic, she said, and asked when youre back.
Emily looked up at the Chiang Mai stars before composing a reply. She snapped a photoher and Nok, laughing, arms entwinedand sent it to the group:
Found an ally. Paragliding tomorrow. All organs intact. Love you.
Her flight home was light as a feather.
At Heathrow, Anthony was waiting. A few paces back, clutching a messy bunch of dazzling asters, stood Margaret.
She didnt run to embrace Emily, nor scold. Instead, she coughed, pressed the flowers into Emilys hands.
So, still alive?
As you can see. And not a slave, Emily replied.
Fair enough, Margaret huffed, gesturing vaguely. Tell me about… that Nok woman.
Emily filled the car ride with storiestemples, spicy broths, outstretched hands of strangers, and the endless laughter.
Margaret listened, only interjecting to clarifyno television blaring in the lounge, just the three of them, reflected in the blank TV, finally close.
That evening, over tea and biscuits, Margaret, quietly, almost shy, said, Next year… perhaps, if you want, I might come too. Not anywhere too wild, though.
Anthony and Emily exchanged a look, smiles caught between surprise and hope. Margaret, transformed, willing at last to see the world through their eyes.
Yet a few days later, Margaret burst in, cheeks flushed, brimming with a renewed sense of dread.
I wont go anywhere with you, after all! You just got lucky, Emily. They rescued a load of people from captivity on the news just now. Not for me!
As you wish, Emily shrugged, unconcerned.
Anthony, youve no business traipsing about either. Theres plenty to see in England, if you ask me! Margaret declared, full of self-importance.
Her son just shook his head, wisely refusing to argue, knowing some battles are best surrendered to love.
