**Diary Entry 12th March**
The doorbell rang with that shrill, grating sound that always meant unexpected company. Louise set down her apron, wiped her hands, and went to answer it. There stood her daughter, Emily, with some lad Id never seen before. She ushered them inside.
“Hello, Mum,” Emily said, kissing her cheek. “This is Davehes moving in with us.”
“Pleasure,” the bloke muttered, polite enough.
“And this is my mum, Auntie Louise.”
“Louise Whitmore,” she corrected.
“Mum, whats for dinner?”
“Mashed peas and bangers,” Louise replied.
“I dont eat mashed peas,” Dave announced, kicking off his trainers and striding into the lounge.
“But Mum, Dave doesnt like peas,” Emily said, wide-eyed.
He plonked himself on the sofa and tossed his rucksack on the floor.
“Thats *my* spot, actually,” Louise said.
“Dave, come onIll show you where well stay,” Emily chirped.
“I like it right here,” he grumbled, reluctantly standing.
“Mum, think of something else for Dave to eat.”
“Dunno. Theres half a pack of sausages left,” Louise shrugged.
“Thatll dowith mustard, ketchup, and bread,” he declared.
“Fine,” Louise sighed, heading to the kitchen. “First, she dragged in stray cats, now this. And Im meant to feed him too?”
She dished herself some mushy peas, piled two fried sausages beside them, and dug in.
“Mum, whyre you eating alone?” Emily asked, appearing in the doorway.
“Because I just got home from work, and Im starving,” Louise said between bites. “If anyone else wants food, they can help themselves. And while were at itwhy *is* Dave moving in?”
“What dyou mean? Hes my *husband*.”
“Your *what*?”
“Yeah. Your daughters a grown womanshe can marry if she likes. Im nineteen, for heavens sake.”
“But you didnt even *invite* me to the wedding.”
“There wasnt one. Just a registry office. Were married now, so were living together,” Emily said, watching her mother chew.
“Well, congratulations. But why skip the wedding?”
“If youve got money for a big do, hand it overwell put it to better use.”
“Right,” Louise said dryly. “And why *here*?”
“His flats packedfour of them in one room.”
“So renting wasnt an option?”
“Why waste money when Ive got a room here?” Emily huffed.
“Fair enough.”
“Can you give us something to eat?”
“Emily, the peas are on the hob, sausages in the pan. If thats not enough, theres half a pack in the fridge. Help yourselves.”
“Mum, youre missing the pointyouve got a *SON-IN-LAW* now,” Emily stressed.
“And? Should I throw a party? Emily, Ive just got home, Im knackered. No fanfare. Youve got handssort yourselves out.”
“No wonder youre still single!” Emily glared, stormed off, and slammed her bedroom door. Louise finished eating, washed up, wiped the table, and changed into her gym gear. Most evenings, she hit the pool or treadmilltonight was no different.
By ten, she was back, craving a cuppa. The kitchen was a disaster. Someone had attempted cookingbadly. The pot lid was gone, the peas dried and cracked. Sausage wrappers littered the table beside a rock-hard crust of bread. The pan was scorched, scraped with a fork. Dirty dishes filled the sink, and something sticky pooled on the floor. The flat reeked of fags.
“New development. Emily never pulled this before.”
Louise pushed open her daughters door. The pair were drinking wine, smoke hanging thick.
“Emily, clean the kitchen. And youre buying a new pan tomorrow,” Louise said, leaving the door ajar.
Emily leapt up, chasing after her.
“Why should *we* clean? And where am I supposed to get money for a pan? Im a student, not working! Is crockery more important than *me*?”
“You know the rules: Clean up after yourself. Replace what you break. And yesthat pan wasnt cheap, and now its ruined.”
“You dont *want* us here,” Emily accused.
“No,” Louise said calmly.
She wasnt in the mood for a row, and Emily had never been this difficult before.
“But I *own* part of this place!”
“No, you dont. I worked for this flat. Youre just registered here. Solve your own problems. If you stay, follow the rules.”
“Ive lived by *your* rules my whole life! Im married nowyou dont get to boss me around!” Emily snapped. “Besides, youve had your turnhand the flat over to *us*.”
“Youre welcome to the hallway bench. Married, are you? Didnt ask. Either you stay alone, or you *both* leave.”
“Keep your stupid flat. Dave, were *going*!” Emily yelled, shoving clothes into a bag.
Five minutes later, the so-called son-in-law staggered into Louises room.
“Chill, *Mum*,” he slurred, swaying. “Were not bailing at midnight. Play nice, and well keep it down.”
“What *mum*? Your parents are alivego *home*, and take your wife with you.”
“Yeah, Ill” He raised a fist.
“Go on, then.”
Louise grabbed his wrist, nails digging in.
“Owlet go, you nutter!”
“Mum, *stop*!” Emily screeched, trying to pull her off.
Louise shoved her aside, kneed Dave where it hurt, then elbowed his throat.
“Ill document these injuries!” he whined. “Ill sue!”
“Let me call the policemake it easier,” Louise shot back.
The pair fled the cosy two-bed flat.
“Youre *not* my mother anymore!” Emily screamed. “Youll *never* see your grandkids!”
“What a loss,” Louise muttered. “Finally, peace.”
She inspected her handstwo nails broken. “Nothing but trouble.”
After theyd gone, she scrubbed the kitchen, binned the ruined pan, and changed the locks.
Three months later, she bumped into Emily at work. The girl looked hollowcheeks sunken, misery in her eyes.
“Mum whats for dinner?” she asked.
“Dunno. Havent decided yet. What dyou fancy?”
“Roast chicken and rice,” Emily whispered. “And a prawn cocktail salad.”
“Lets get chicken, then,” Louise said. “You make the salad.”
**Lesson learned:** Sometimes, the hardest boundaries are the kindest. Blood doesnt mean blind toleranceand self-respect isnt selfish.
