Late-night calls always set my teeth on edge. Decent folk wouldn’t disturb anyone at such an hour unless something dreadful had happened. So whenever the phone rang after dark, my stomach clenched, bracing for bad news.
I was nearly asleep when my husband’s mobile trilled through the quiet bedroom. He sighed and grabbed it.
“Number’s unfamiliar,” he muttered, glancing at me over his shoulder.
“Just silence it. If it’s important, they’ll call back in the morning,” I grumbled, burrowing under the duvet.
But the phone kept ringing. I exhaled sharply and flung the covers off.
“Oh, answer it already!” I snapped, knowing sleep was lost.
He listened for a long moment, then said he’d leave at first light.
“What?” I sat up, fully awake now. “Where are you off to?”
“Geoff’s dead. Heart attack. His wife rang—asked me to come. I’ll take leave from work tomorrow and drive up. Bloody hell, Geoff… Not even fifty…” Tom rose and shuffled to the kitchen.
At dawn, I saw him off with a fresh shirt and razor tucked in his bag. I hardly knew Geoff, so I stayed behind.
Over coffee, I weighed my day: dusting or washing the curtains? A woman’s work is never done. I decided against cooking. Three days without proper meals might do me good. Eggs in a pinch. For Tom’s return, I’d make something proper.
But fate had other plans. No sooner had I dressed than the doorbell chimed. Assuming it was the neighbour, I swung the door open—only to freeze.
There stood my mother-in-law, Audrey, with her second husband, Simon, looming behind her.
“You don’t look pleased. We were in the neighbourhood, thought we’d pop by. But if you’re busy…” She said this without budging, her sharp eyes dissecting my face.
As if she’d ever announced a visit in advance.
“Don’t be silly—come in!” I forced a smile, stepping aside.
“We shan’t stay long, isn’t that right, Simon?” Audrey shrugged off her mink coat. Simon caught it mid-air before it could graze the floor.
“Keep your shoes on—I haven’t hoovered yet. Always lovely to see you, Audrey. You look well,” I chirped.
“And where’s Tommy? Working? It’s Saturday. He’ll run himself ragged. You ought to find a job too. Then he wouldn’t need to grind weekends away.” Her tone wasn’t chastising—it was an outright indictment of my idleness.
“I do work—from home—” I began.
Pointless. She’d developed selective deafness whenever I mentioned remote work.
Audrey’s gaze swept the room, snagging on dust atop the bookcase and Tom’s shirt flung over a chair—I’d forgotten to toss it in the wash.
“New curtains? Pretty, but the old ones were fine. You’re living beyond your means. New sofa too? What was wrong with the last?” She settled onto it without waiting for answers, testing the cushions. “Bit pale, isn’t it?”
They say memory fades with age. Hers had sharpened. Fancy recalling our curtains from months ago.
I left her to judge the sofa and bolted to the kitchen, mentally inventorying the fridge. Tea alone wouldn’t suffice. By nightfall, she’d ring every friend to moan about my poor hospitality—and how I starved “her Tommy.” Not on my watch.
The fridge yielded vegetables for salad—good start. I thawed a steak in the microwave and whipped up a quick sponge cake.
Cake in the oven, steak sizzling, I chopped veggies. The scent of baking wafted through the flat. I expected Audrey to appear—vain hope.
A shriek—indignant? delighted?—sent me rushing to the lounge. She stood by the china cabinet, clutching a vase from the Royal Doulton collection.
“An antique! Is this how you spend my son’s earnings?” She glared as if I’d sprouted horns.
I babbled excuses—my gran’s gift two months prior—then remembered the cake. I dashed back, rescuing it just shy of burnt. Thank heavens. Flipped the steak, covered the pan, then finished the salad.
Dinner served on the good china, I summoned them.
“We didn’t come to eat,” Audrey said, seating herself. Yet her eyes darted between steak, salad, and cake.
Simon speared a crispy slice. I’d laid out knives, but he was a straightforward man—he bit straight in, eyes closing in bliss. My heart swelled—until Audrey’s voice iced it over.
“Simon! It’s Lent.”
He choked, face contorting as if chewing poison. I stiffened, fearing he’d choke or spit it out. But he swallowed.
Horror prickled my skin—I’d forgotten Lent entirely. Steeling myself, I ploughed on.
With penitent charm, I explained “dear Tom” adored my steaks—hence the fridge always held good cuts. The local shops only had cod and haddock. Was I to serve our guests frozen fish?
“Had you called ahead, I’d have bought proper salmon,” I trilled.
Simon was already eyeing another slice.
“Salad, Audrey?” My smile was saccharine. At least I’d skipped mayo—she loathed it.
She permitted a spoonful, nibbled a cucumber slice, and—miracle of miracles—said nothing.
Bolstered, Simon reached for more meat but froze under her glare.
“Enough. Your cholesterol’s high enough. Give him cake—if it doesn’t give him heartburn,” she sniffed.
Simon mourned the steak. I slid him cake instead.
“Audrey, I’ll brew green tea—” I sprang up.
“Trying to poison me? Bagged tea’s full of microplastics.” She scowled. “Sit. One cup of black tea won’t kill me—I hope.”
She sipped—didn’t even wince.
They drank while I sat statue-still, terrified of another misstep. Finally, Audrey set down her empty cup, cheeks flushed.
“Where is Tommy? He ought to be home by now.”
Calling a grown man “Tommy” baffled me—Tom hated it. Notice she never used my name.
“Didn’t I say? He’s gone to a funeral. His university mate Geoff—widow rang last night. He’ll be back tomorrow.”
“Did you? Must’ve missed it. Pity.” Her lips pinched—whether over missing Tom or Geoff’s poor timing, I couldn’t say.
Silence stretched.
“Well, we won’t keep you from your chores. Simon—we’re leaving.” She didn’t move.
Chores? I’d sooner scrub the windows, floors, and stairwell than dance attendance—not that she’d notice.
“Don’t be silly! Delighted to have you,” I cooed, relieved this reality show—*Surprise Mother-in-Law*—was ending.
Audrey rose. One look sent Simon scrambling for her coat.
“When Tommy returns, tell him we called.” Her gaze lingered on the barely touched food.
“Margaret!” Simon called from the hall, coat ready.
Audrey took ages dressing, then prolonged farewells at the door.
“Meat during Lent, really.” Her parting shot.
Since when was she pious? We air-kissed. Simon and I exchanged a glance of shared suffering.
Door shut, I collapsed onto the new sofa. *Man plans, God laughs.*
Cleared the table, sighed over the wasted steak (Tom would’ve devoured it), washed up, then cleaned the flat. Peace until next time.
Two days later, Tom returned. How I’d missed him!
“You look rough. Overworked?” he asked after recounting the funeral.
“Yep,” I admitted. “Your mum dropped by. Sorry she missed you.”
“How’d it go?” He said it as if asking after the Queen.
“Smashing. We parted quite pleased with each other.” My smile was angelic.
He eyed me skeptically. Part of me wished he’d seen the spectacle. But a mother’s a mother—I’d never complain, knowing I’d won a gem of a husband (her doing too). If she deemed me unworthy—well, she wasn’t wrong. Six years married, no children.
We dined on steak and potatoes—strangely, last week’s was better—then sipped “harmful” black tea.
“Did Mum eat the steak?” Tom asked.
“Course not,” I sighed. “But Simon made up for it.”
Tom leaned back, laughing.
How I loved him! He understood me. For him, I’d endure Audrey weekly. Truth told, I was grateful to her—for him. Her disdain? A fair trade. I’m no prize either. What mattered was the peace between us.
Happy nearly-spring, everyone!
Love and clear skies.
