No, Mum. You wont be seeing us any more. Not today, not tomorrow, not even next year, I recollect saying, the words that marked the final snapping of my patience.
I had wrestled for ages with how to begin this tale, yet only two notions kept surfacing: arrogance and silent acquiescenceone belonging to my motherinlaw, the other to my husband. Between them stood me, a woman striving to be kind, restrained, courteous. One day I realised that if I kept my peace, the house we shared would become nothing but an empty shell.
It baffled me how one could waltz into anothers home and claim what was not theirs, as if everything were owed to them. My motherinlaw behaved exactly that way, all for the sake of her daughtermy husbands sister, whom she adored.
Every visit ended with something missing: a joint of beef vanished from the freezer, a pot of meatballs lifted from the stove, even my brandnew curling iron. I had never used it; she simply walked off with it, saying, Millys hair is so curly, and youll be at home anyway.
I endured it. Until the last test of my endurance came just before our fifth wedding anniversary. We planned to mark the day specially, at a quaint restaurant in town, as we had done in younger years. I had already chosen a dress, but still lacked the shoes Id dreamed of since the previous summerelegant, costly, a pair I kept boxed in the bedroom for the celebration.
Then everything went awry.
That morning I was kept at the office longer than expected, so I asked Thomas to collect our little girl, Poppy, from nursery. He agreed, but then realised he had a errand himself and rang his mother, Agnes, asking her to look after Poppy. He handed her the spare key, trusting she would bring the child back later.
When I returned home, I went straight to the bedroom and froze. The shoe box was gone.
Thomas, where are my new shoes? I asked, half expecting the answer.
How should I know? he shrugged.
Did your mother come by?
Yes, she fetched Poppy and stayed a while.
And the key?
I gave it to her. What else could I have done?
I lifted the receiver and dialled Agnes. She answered instantly.
Good evening, I began, keeping my voice steady. Im sure you know why Im calling.
No, I havent a clue, she replied, not a hint of shame.
Where are my new shoes?
I gave them to Milly. You have far too many shoes anyway, and she has nothing for her school dance.
She hung up without an apology, without remorsejust a click.
Thomas, as always, said, Well buy you another pair, dont get upset. Its only Mum.
I took his arm and we walked to the town centre shopping precinct. I pointed at the exact pair I had admired online for months, the ones that made his face go pale at the price tag.
Emily, thats half my wages! he blurted, eyes wide at the label.
You said wed buy them, so we shall, I replied calmly.
He bought them, paying, in a sense, for his silence.
The story did not end there. On the way home his phone buzzed with a message from Agnes:
Im coming over today with bags of veg. No room left in the freezer. Ill leave them with you and collect them in a month or two.
I watched Thomas stare at the screen, his lips pressed together. For the first time, he dialled his mothers number himself and said, firmly:
Mum, you wont be coming back. Not today, not tomorrow, not next year. Your last help has cost us far too much.
He hung up. As I looked at him, I felt, after many years, that we truly were a familya family whose doors were not left open for thieves, but only for those who earned respect.
