It was as if I had become a stranger in my own family.
Whats this? the voice of my motherinlaw rang through the kitchen. She held a cracked porcelain teacup from the set her late husband had given her. Did you break it?
I froze, unsure how to answer. It certainly hadnt been me. Most likely little Lucy, my motherinlaws fiveyearold granddaughter, who had been playing in the kitchen that morning. Yet to tell the truth would expose the child to her grandmothers wrath.
Im not sure, Eleanor Whitaker, I said softly. Perhaps I knocked it over while washing up.
Eleanor pursed her lips, a thin smile flickering in her eyes.
Of course! Always the same excuse. Twenty years you have lived under this roof and you show me no respect. Do you know what that tea set meant to me?
I could glue it, I offered. It would be barely noticeable.
Dont touch it! Youll only make it worse.
Victor, my husband, entered the kitchen, rubbing his forehead. He had just finished a night shift as head of security at the town shopping centre, and the constant hum of the building left him with a splitting headache.
Whats happened? he asked, looking from his mother to his wife.
Your blessed wife has broken my tea set, Eleanor said, wrapping the cracked cup carefully in a towel. The very one my husband gave me.
I waited for Victor to defend me, or at least to shrug it off as a mere cup. He only sighed.
Grace, how many times have I asked you to be careful with my things? he said.
But I didnt I began, but stopped. Arguing was futile.
Victor fetched a bottle of buttermilk from the fridge and retreated to the back room. I was left alone with Eleanor, who dabbed at a tear with a decorative handkerchief.
Why must I endure this? Eleanor wailed. All my life I have kept a home, raised a son. And now this
I wiped my hands on the towel, feeling the urge to weep, but I knew tears would only please her. In twenty years under her roof I had learned to hold my emotions in check; here, in Eleanors house, my tears meant nothing.
Ill go hang the washing, I said, and hurried out to the garden.
That evening, when my daughter Emily returned from sixthform college, I was sitting on the veranda sorting beans. She dropped her bag on the bench and sat beside me.
Mum, why so glum? she asked.
Just tired, I replied, forcing a smile.
Emily was perceptive. At eighteen she already understood the strained dynamics of our family.
Grandma again? she said bluntly.
I said nothing, and that was enough.
Mum, how long will you put up with this? Why do you never stand up for yourself? You know Lucy was the one playing with the set this morning. I saw it myself.
Quiet, I whispered, startled. Dont make a fuss. Shes only a child; she doesnt need to hear your grandmothers lectures.
And you want to hear yours, then? Emily snapped, brushing a long chestnut curl from her face. Sometimes it feels as if youre a servant in your own home.
Her words hit a sore spot I had carried for years. I was a stranger, not a daughterinlaw, despite twenty years of marriage.
Dont speak nonsense, I said sharply. We are family. It just happens that we live in Eleanors house. She is an elderly lady who needs our care.
And you dont need any? Emily retorted, rising. Ill go change.
When she left, I set the beans aside and stared at my hands, roughened by endless chores, skin cracked from washing. I had once been a nurse at the local infirmary, dreaming of a medical career. Then I met Victor, fell in love, became pregnant After my maternity leave, Eleanor insisted I stay at home. Your son has a good job, why waste your talents in a hospital? Theres plenty to do here, and the baby needs a watchful eye, she had said. Victor agreed. When our son Alistair was born, the question of work vanished.
That night at dinner the house was quiet, save for Lucy, Eleanors granddaughter, chattering with her cousin, the daughter of Victors brother Henry and his wife Claire, who lived elsewhere but often left Lucy with Eleanor.
Claire bought me a new dress today, Lucy announced proudly. Its pink with lace! I feel like a princess.
Of course, my dear, Eleanor cooed. You are the prettiest princess.
Grandma, why does Aunt Grace never wear nice dresses? Shes always in the same old thing, Lucy asked innocently.
Eleanors voice softened, not with reprimand but with a hint of satisfaction.
Grace has other worries, she said. She doesnt have time for fancy clothes.
Later, Emily suggested, Mum, lets go to the shop tomorrow after my classes. Ill buy you a new dress. Ive got a scholarship stipend.
I shook my head. No need to spend money. I have enough to wear.
Victor muttered, Better spend it on textbooks. Exams are coming, and youre still fussing over rags.
Emily shot him a scowl. I have all my books. Why does mum never buy anything for herself? She always worries about everyone else.
Dont start, love, I said, trying to keep the peace. Lets just eat.
Emily pressed on, I want to know why Grandma has a new television, why you have a new phone, why Lucy has a mountain of toys, and why mum doesnt even have a decent dress.
Victor snapped, Watch your tongue. How you speak to your father?
And how you speak to mum? Emily retorted. She lives here like a servant!
Victors face flushed. Apologise to your grandmother at once! This is her house, and she lets us stay.
Enough! I rose, my voice shaking. Emily, go to your room, please.
But mum
Go, I repeated firmly.
When she left, Eleanor shook her head. Shes become a spoiled girl. No respect for elders.
I cleared the table mechanically, feeling a weight grow heavier inside. Twenty years in this house and I still felt like Cinderella, never becoming the princess.
That night, lying beside Victors snoring form, I thought back to my youthhow I had fallen for Victor, tall and disciplined, how he had courted me with flowers and protected me from bullies. I had lived with my parents in a nearby village, a modest girl from a teaching family. Our wedding had been held in Eleanors drawingroom. Victors father, Peter Whitaker, was still alive then and welcomed me warmly. I always wanted a daughter, he had said, and now I have one.
In those early years, while Peter was still around, I felt happy in this house. He defended me from his wifes criticisms, often telling Victor, Grace is a good wife; youll never find a better one.
After Peters death, Eleanor seemed to gain free rein. The constant nagging, the hints that I was not right for her son, began. At first Victor stood up for me, but over time he grew weary of the clashes and withdrew.
I turned onto my side, staring into the darkness. Perhaps Emily was right. Perhaps I truly had become a stranger in this family. But where could I go? I had no job, no savings. My parents were long gone, leaving a tiny cottage which Victor had sold at my urging, the money going to refurbish Eleanors home.
Morning came with a resolve. I would speak to Victor alone, without Eleanor, and try once more to explain how hard it had become.
At breakfast, Eleanor announced, Irene called. Theres an emergency at work and she asked to leave Lucy with us for a week. Ill put her in my bedroom.
Maybe she could stay with Emily? I suggested. The girls would keep each other company.
No! Eleanor snapped. Emily is buried in her textbooks, preparing for exams
