The Second Mother-in-law
A woman in a cleaners robe quietly poked her head around the door of the proprietors office at Eclipse Aesthetics Clinic. Her name was Mabel Jenkins, and she did her best to speak as gently as possible, hoping not to vex her boss.
I heard theres a vacancy for a junior massage therapist, she murmured.
Arthur Grantham looked up, eyes hard with irritation. He was already in a foul mood, having just been told that crucial talks with investors had collapsed, and a headache throbbed behind his brow.
And what, you with your mop, planning to give massages to my clients?
Mabel hesitated but pressed on, cheeks flushing. No, but Ive done the online training. Andwrote a CV She held out a crumpled, dog-eared page shed extracted from her pocket.
At that very moment, Granthams deputy strode inPhilip Sedgwick. Rubbing his temples, Arthur lost his temper altogether. Phil! Why do we have cleaners lurking wherever and whenever they please? Get her outright now! Bleeding cleaner fancies herself a master therapist! Throw her out and make sure nobody tries anything that daft again!
Without waiting for a response, he snatched the paper, tore it into shreds and tossed the fragments at Mabels feet.
Biting her lips, Mabel crouched down to pick up the pitiful bits, tears stinging her eyes. Philip took her by the elbowno ceremony, no kindnessand hauled her past staff and waiting patients, unceremoniously dumping her into the dingy cleaning cupboard at the end of the corridor.
There, on the edge of the old, forgotten sand-filled fire box, Mabel sat heavily and sobbed her heart out.
Mabel had only started at Eclipse a few weeks ago. Shed never dreamt of mopping floors, but the pay here was better than anywhere else. Arthur Grantham, after all, was considered a man of stature, a real self-made success. They said he was a workaholic, built the clinic with his own hands.
And it was true. Grantham grew up in a childrens home, never knew his parents, had spent his adult life chasing echoes of family hed never find. But hed managed to become a surgeon and then a leading light in aesthetics. Celebrities, socialiteseveryone came, cash in hand. Each year he raised his prices and spared himself no expense.
Thats why Mabel dared to tryshed heard about the opening and wanted to see if she had a prayer.
She longed to be a massage therapist. Shed studied textbooks, completed an online vocational course as best she could. But with no official certificate, nowhere would hire her for the job. Shed been slowly saving for proper training, but then her husband disappeared with every penny, leaving Mabel and her little daughter, Lucy, not a pound to their name.
Afterwards she discovered Harold had a criminal record for petty offencesturned out hed simply invented his posh past. Divorce took ages; he never showed up for a single hearing. For Lucys sake, Mabel endured it all, and her troubles began in earnest.
No one wanted to employ a woman with a child. The three of themMabel, Lucy, and Mabels mother, Dorothysqueezed into a cramped council flat. They scraped by. Sometimes they lived for weeks on Dorothys pension. Dorothy was an irrepressible optimist: a retired gymnast, sharp-willed and stubborn. She took care of Lucy so Mabel could work anywhere she could find a job.
Later, reaching for her dream, Mabel did an inexpensive online course. The certificate was right there in the shreds Grantham had stomped on.
Wiping her eyes, Mabel stood and finished mopping the floors, enduring the sidelong glances and whispers. At least at home, Dorothy brought good news: Lucy had won the nurserys art competition. The child had talent, and Mabel made sure she had decent paints and paper. Lucy started beginners classes at the local school of arta tiny wonder Mabel cherished.
The bucket felt impossibly heavy now. When Mabel tried to drag it away, it was Albert Evans, the groundskeeperclinics sole humble heartwho took it from her.
Old Albert held no grudge. Hed bring her pasties on Sundays, comforted her, cheered her up. It was thanks to him Mabel dared to approach the clinics owner with that foolish CV.
Seeing Albert again, Mabels tears started afresh.
There, there, love. Things will turn round, he consoled.
I shouldnt have tried. Only made it worse, she gulped.
Mr. Granthams in a mood. Try another time, Albert suggested softly.
They said I oughtnt go near him again, replied Mabel bleakly. Why did I hope I could get ahead? I dreamed someone like Grantham would understand, but he just cares about his precious diploma.
Albert shrugged. Mabel stowed the cleaning kit away and trudged home, silently calculating if the months wages would stretch. Lucy wanted some expensive toyhow was Mabel to afford it?
Home felt different that evening. Dorothy sat quietly, eyes red with tears. Mabels heart dropped. Her mum was stronger than most, had lived through plenty. If she was crying, things were very wrong indeed.
Mum, whats happened? Mabel asked, voice tight.
Dorothy waved it off, but her hands shook. Its nothing, love.
Mum, please tell me.
Dorothy wept. I went to the GP, part of a routine check for the amateur dramatics lotthey made everyone go. They found…well, a nasty. Ill need an operation, otherwise, perhaps a year, at best. Theres a queue. Privates out of the question. Full assessments have to be in London, none of the equipments here. Trains, scans, all cost…well, looks like my numbers up.
Dont say that, Mum, Mabel leapt to her side. Well sort something.
On your cleaners wage and my state pension? Dorothys smile was bitter. But you know what they say: you cant cut trousers from scraps.
That night, sleep eluded Mabel as she turned over every possible option. By morning she knew: there was no other way. She had to risk one more attempt at speaking with Grantham.
But she never even made it past reception. Shed been made redundant. They gave her the statutory three weeks wages at minimum, offered her the door.
Old Albert insisted she scribble down his phone number before she left. She copied the digits, mind blank with worry. Maybe a months breathing room, then what?
Giving up wasnt in Mabels nature. She merely mentioned to her mother, in passing, that shed left the clinic of her own accord. Then she began trawling job listings. No qualifications meant miserable pay. Then, unexpectedly, she saw an ad: carer wanted. No medical certificate required, but youd have to cook, clean, and keep house.
Mabel sighedhardly more demeaning than cleaning a private clinic. She sent her details. The agency rang back within an hour. The posting was for a wealthy, lonely lady.
She was asked to bring along all documents for a meeting. Shortly, Mabel was sitting opposite Margaret, the head of the agency, for an interview.
Lets have no illusions, sniffed Margaret. This clients a difficult one. Youll be her tenth carer. No one lasts.
Mabel tensed but said nothing.
Youll have heard the name: Mrs. Elaine Blackwell. A stage name, of course. Changed her surname ages ago, keeps her real one secret. Former leading lady at the City Opera. Fabulously rich, monstrously temperamental. Rumour is she did very well by her wealthy admirers.
Mabel shrugged. Im not in a position to pick and choose.
If you have a child, listen: Blackwell cant stand children. Or pets. Moves about with a walker, but prefers being wheeled by her carer. Starting rate is quite soliddouble after three months trial, if you stay.
Mabel nodded silently. Even now the weekly wage outstripped anything shed known before. This might be her chance to save Mum. Shed not let it slip.
She was to start the very next morning. Workday began at seven.
That evening, Mabel Googled everything she could about Blackwell. She found a few old performance posters, ten-years faded. The woman in the pictures was stout, with black-as-night hair and a raptors gaze. None of it prepared her for what reality would be.
A security guard answered the door. Blackwells home was a magnificent Victorian mansion smack in the city centre. Mabel, dwarfed by the grandeur, stood hesitantly beside velvet chairs.
What are you gawping at? Sizing up what to pinch? barked a harsh voice.
A motorised chair whirred into the hall, revealing a tiny, snow-haired figure, all bones and sharp eyes, like a baby bird fallen from its nest.
Morning, Mrs. Blackwell, stammered Mabel.
Speak up. Dont mutter, snapped the lady. Keep your hands where I can see them. And shoe coversput those on, by the bucket. My floors original parquet.
Mabel quickly donned not the usual blue plastic hospital covers, but some odd soft oneslike surgeons caps for feet. Then hurried after her new employer.
Brush my hair. Carefully, barked Blackwell. No, not thosedear god, youre hopeless. Ditch the net. Now do the wig, comb that out too.
Sorry, your instructions werent clear, Mrs. Blackwell.
Ah, they send me another twit, Blackwell sneered. What factory churns out such fools? Teahot. Now!
Mabel retreated to the kitchen.
Quiet! You sound like an elephant! Blackwells voice echoed. Going to bring the whole house down, the way you stomp!
Blackwell inspected the tea against the light as if searching for poison, thenwithout warningsplashed it over Mabels face.
You nudged my arm. Your fault.
Mabel steeled her nerves. Where can I wash up?
Servants loo, first door, ground floor, left, Blackwell called, eyes shrewd. Wont even answer back?
What for? said Mabel evenly. Im more curious what other tricks youve got.
Hah. Go, thentowels are in there. Pyjamas in the guest room, put your clothes in the wash.
Mabel complied, and as the day wore on, endured Blackwells constant barragepetty tricks, insults, endless tests. Mabel, realising she was being tried, kept silent and endured, guessing the old womans spite would exhaust itself.
By nightfall, Blackwell did grow tired, and let Mabel give her a soothing massage. Once the house was quiet and Blackwell asleep, Mabel said goodnight to the bemused security man and went home.
Next morning, the day shift asked, What on earth did you do to Her Ladyship? She slept like a babyfirst time in ages! The housekeeper had told him so.
Nothing special, Mabel shrugged. Maybe she was just tired.
Blackwell was sharper than cut glass that morning, insisting Mabel dressed like a frump and would remain single for lack of lipstick. Mabel just nodded, readying everything for her toilet. Wigs were easier now.
Blackwell demanded a manicurist and a change into a fancy Japanese dressing gown, then wanted pushing to her boudoir.
It soon became clear who all this was for.
That afternoon, after nails and coffee, a distinguished, silver-haired gentleman called. Blackwell introduced him as my old friend, Hugh, and had Mabel make coffee.
Mabel feared mistakes with the high-end machine, but managed. In company, Blackwell behaved almost civilly.
That evening, after the guest left: What did you do to me last night?
Massage, Mabel replied quietly.
You a trained specialist? Blackwell asked.
Noself-taught.
Hmph. Well. Do it again, the lady said with a regal flick.
So Mabel saw out her probation as Blackwells carer. She worked six days a week, hardly saw Lucy, but could finally afford Dorothy to stop lifting costumes at the local theatre.
Gradually, things settled between them. Blackwell seemed to be weighing up Mabels mettle. One evening she asked, How do your family tolerate you being so little at home?
Ive only Mum and my girl. Not much choice, really.
And your girlhow old, whats she into?
Nearly six. Loves painting, replied Mabel, remembering the agencys warning.
Bring her round. Ill have a word with her, said Blackwell imperiously.
Thats how Lucy began to visit. Most of the time shed sit quietly with crayons; once she sketched Blackwell so well that Blackwell had it framed and hung in the hall.
They slowly grew closer. Mabel stopped fretting shed lose her place.
Blackwell suffered a rare joint condition no operation could fix. On bad days, Mabel would massage her for hours, which sometimes brought relief. Blackwell even asked if Lucy and Mabel might sleep over in the guest room.
That night, as Lucys soft breaths filled the darkness, Mabel imagined living here. Old homes carried their own magicthe air itself seemed tinged with music from the past.
Next morning, Blackwell felt stronger. She shared breakfast with Lucy, then sent Mabel to tidy her study, saying it was too important for the housekeeper.
While dusting trinkets, Mabel found a battered, gold-edged photo album. Once finished, she brought it to the sitting room.
May I look, Mrs. Blackwell?
There was a time with glory too, Blackwell smirked. Go on, lets see.
The three sat round the table. First were pictures from Elaines childhood. Then Lucy suddenly cried, Thats Granny! Weve got one like that at home!
Mabel stared in stunned disbelief. On the page, a young Dorothy beamed up at her.
How how do you have this, Mrs Blackwell?
Blackwell squinted and studied Mabels face.
Youare you Dorothys girl? she finally said. You daft bat, I wondered who you reminded me of.
Whys my mums photo here? Did you know each other? pressed Mabel.
Of course, love. Childhood mates. Didnt leave each others side. Shed bunk off gymnastics, Id skip music college. We lived on the same street. Began gymnastics togetherbut she had more talent. Didnt want to be the second horse in the cart, me.
Why dont you see each other now? Lucy prompted.
We grew up, Blackwell sighed. Your gran had a young coach, a real heart-throbwe quarrelled over him. I ended up with him, Dorothy lost her team place thanks to the heartbreak.
I had no idea Mabel whispered. But you had the same surname then?
Oh, no, Blackwell grinned wryly. I was a Sedgwick. Imagine! And his name, the coach, was Blackwellbecame my first husband. Lasted three months, but I kept the name ever after.
From then, Mabel longed to reunite the old friends. As luck would have it, the occasion soon arose.
Blackwell needed another sleepover, and Lucy had a nursery outing in the morning. Mabel asked Dorothy to collect her granddaughter.
Dorothy entered the house in her tatty, hand-darned coat. Blackwell was nearly ready for bed, but came gliding into the hall as Lucy packed up her paints.
Whos that? Im not expecting visitors, snapped Blackwell.
Hello, Elaine, Dorothy said coolly. Cant say Im happy to see you again.
Likewise, Blackwell sniffed. Looks like youve had a rough trot.
No more than anyone, Dorothy replied. At least Ive got a daughter and granddaughter. Who empties your chamberpot? Marriage after marriage didnt help much, eh?
You never managed that, Blackwell retorted. Still using your maiden name, arent you?
For a moment, Dorothys face softened with a knowing smile.
My dear Elaine you never did understand. I always kept track of you, was secretly proud a lass from our old flat became a star. Never once wronged you. Remember five years agoa certain phone call?
Blackwell paled.
You were being chat up by a smooth-talker from our old theatrea real rogue. You were about to sign him your house, but I overheard him bragging how he’d pack you off to a care home so he could move his fancywoman in. So, I rang you. Changed my voice, thats all.
That was you warning me? Blackwell gasped.
Never could hate you, Dorothy sighed. Always felt sorry for you. Knew an artists soul cant be measured by common yardsticks. But I had to act then.
Blackwell dropped her gaze.
You saved me, she said softly at last. That scoundrel twisted my head. After your call, I hired a detective.
Well done, said Dorothy. Anyway, wed better be off. Lucys yawning.
Wait, Dot tell me, how do you live these days? Blackwell asked.
Council flat, since our block got cleared out, Dorothy answered. Not your palace, but itll do.
Thats it then, Blackwell said abruptly. Enough living in the past. Move in heretheres too many rooms. Lucy needs a proper nursery, and we have a lot to settle. Who knows how long two old girls like us have.
Dorothy sank onto the bench. About eight months.
What do you mean? Blackwells face lost colour. Cancer?
No. Heart. No money for the operation anyway, Dorothy waved off. Cant buy health. Not in my case.
Right. Youre moving in tomorrow. And thats that. No arguing. I owe youalways did. Besides, I long regretted stealing your man.
Youd bring up that handsome Vance from school at this rate! Dorothy laughed. We’re off tonight, but well talk tomorrow.
My driver will take you home, Blackwell commanded. And hell fetch you and your things in the morning with Mabel.
That night, Blackwell couldnt sleep: she grilled Mabel about Dorothys illness, mused on the follies of her youth, her hard, lonely fortune. Her friends kindness thawed her iron heart.
Within a week, the mansion buzzed with activity: sample books, lists of fabrics, cheerful decorators. Blackwell managed the move like a royal project.
Evenings, Dorothy and Blackwell sat at the great oval table, swapping memories over English tea. When repairs finished, Blackwell made an announcement at dinner.
DorothyI showed your case to my consultant. Operations in two weeks. Surgeons a brilliant lad, son of a professor. Dont go flirting too much!
You got a surgery date? How? Why? Dorothy faltered.
No NHS queue. I paid for it all. Too late to refuse. Youre going to hospital, youre coming home fit for running after Lucy. Shell need a lively gran, as the other ones so decrepit!
Elaine, you shouldnt have spent Dorothy teared up.
What else am I to spend money on now? Not taking it with me to the grave, Blackwell huffed. Sorted. You get the op, Mabel looks after you, and Ill keep an eye on Lucy. Besidesbelieve it or not, my own healths been better since those massages.
Two weeks later, Dorothy rested in a private ward at the citys finest hospital. Her surgeon was Victor Simmonsa rising young heart specialist, son of a professor from London, but hed found his own path in life. He was friendly, warm. Watching Mabel tend her mother, Victor once said,
I rarely see such loving family ties. Your mums lucky. I reckon any husband or child would be.
I only have my girl, Mabel blushed. Shes the best in the world.
Im certain, Victor smiled. I married young, against my parents advice. My wife thought being a professors son meant easy money. Then I moved to a little town, lived in a shoebox flat. That was the end of love.
I think youll find your someone, Mabel said softly.
Maybe I already have, Victor replied under his breath, turning to the window.
Mabel noticed she looked at him differently, too. He wasnt dashingly handsomebut there was gentleness, capability, and warmth in his face.
Dorothys recovery took a week. Throughout, Blackwell tried to manage alonelooking after Lucy, marshalling the household. Lucy called her Grandma, wholly seeing her as family.
Blackwell kept up appearances, but at night, during her massage, Mabel could feel how tired and worn the old woman was. Even in her wheelchair, movement was painful now.
One bedtime, Blackwell said, Its time you stopped working for me.
You want a new carer? Mabel panicked.
No, silly. Why would I need a carer amidst family? Blackwell cackled. I want you to train as a real massage therapist. On a good course, diploma and all. Can you manage that?
Of course! Mabel beamed. But its so expensive
Think of me as your fairy godmother, Blackwell chuckled. And besides, having a private therapist is practical. Ill pay for rehab qualifications and extra courses. Just do your best, love.
Mabel agreed. Blackwell was supporting the whole family, but Mabel was determined to earn her keep, and was certain their investment would pay off.
The tutor, Simon Ashcroft, was a distinguished man, a master of his field. He singled Mabel out as gifted. On graduation day, he asked,
Know the Vanilla Spa?
Dream job, that is, said Mabel. Best in town, though its only just opened.
I own it, Simon smiled. Set up my own. Want to join? My thing is rehab after injury and surgeryhard work, but rewarding. Youve got just the touch I want.
Mabel could barely speak for joy.
From then on, she studied deeper. Simon paid for the next level of training himself, calling it a grant. Soon Mabel worked at Vanilla. Early-shifts meant afternoons were free for Dorothy and Blackwell, and to take Lucy to art class.
Within months, people booked especially for Mabel.
Meanwhile, Victor drew closer. It started as friendship, then went warmer, until weekends meant walks through the park, trips to the circus, theatre, adventures for Lucy.
Dorothy picked up work again, but Blackwell was now mostly confined to bed. Pain grew stronger, treatments failedbut Mabels massages gave fleeting comfort.
Victor started sending his own cardiac patients to Mabel for rehabilitation. She learned more and more about therapy for heart patients. The two of them had more and more to talk about.
Victor was often round at the housenow home to Mabel and Lucy as well. Even Blackwell, despite claiming to hate fuss, approved.
See here, lad, dont you dare mess my girls about! Blackwell declared with sharp pride, thin but strong as ever, the queen mother presiding, as fates bizarre story went on in the house brimming with history, laughter, and strange, surreal love.
