Hey love, you wont believe the drama that went down over a few tomato seedlings and my brandnew car.
So, Id finally saved up for three years, skipped a pricey holiday, wore my old coat a bit longer and splashed out on a shiny new Ford Kuga. No loan, no help from James it was all mine. The interior is this lightcream colour, practically milkwhite, and I was buzzing with pride every time I slid my hand over the smooth steering wheel that still smelled like the factory.
Four days after I drove it home, James drops a bomb: his mum, Dorothy Baker, needs a whole load of seedlings taken to her cottage. Hes all like, Come on, love, its just tomatoes, they wont bite. I took a deep breath, tried to stay calm, but inside I was a kettle ready to whistle.
James, look at the boot, I said, pointing at the beige carpet. Those seedlings are in soil, water and old yoghurt containers that always leak. Im not putting that in here.
He begged, Well be careful! Mum packed everything. We can line the boot with old newspapers, slip the boxes in. We cant order a van for ten boxes, will she get upset? You know how Dorothy treats those tomatoes like her own children shes been fussing over them since February.
I slammed the door shut not too hard, just enough to make a sound. The sun glittered off the white hood.
Ten boxes? I asked, confused. Last weekend you said it was only a couple of cartons. Where did ten come from?
He stammered, Well there are peppers, aubergines, some petunias My cars generators gone, you know its in the garage, and the seasons on. Mums losing her mind, saying the seedlings will outgrow if we dont get them today. If we dont, therell be a monthlong row.
I snapped back, If I dirty my new car, therell be a row. Call a taxi, a van, whatever Ill pay for it.
He lowered his voice, You dont get it, love. Mum wont trust a taxi driver. Shell think hell shake the crates and break them. She wants us, with love, to do it.
James was thirtyeight, but at that moment he looked like a schoolboy terrified of his mothers wrath.
Fine, I relented, feeling the mistake already bubbling. One condition: everything must go in the boot. No pots in the passenger area. Ill check each box myself to make sure the bottoms dry. Got that?
Got it! Youre brilliant! he kissed my cheek and sprinted to the driveway. Ill be quick!
I waited by the car, heart thudding. Id known Dorothy for seven years shes a force of nature wrapped in goodwill. She can overindulge you with rich scones, knit a scratchy jumper that youre not allowed to wear, and guard her cottage like a sacred temple.
About ten minutes later the blocks entrance door swung open. First came James, dragging a huge, waterswollen bananabox that sagged with tomato stems tied up in rags. Right behind him was Dorothy, lugging two plastic buckets full of greenery.
Careful, love, dont tilt it! she scolded, waving a hand at the boxes. Those are Bullheart tomatoes, top variety! Mabel, dear, open the boot, James has his hands full!
I pressed the key fob and the boot lid rose smoothly.
Good afternoon, Dorothy, I said, pointing at the soggy box. The bottoms wet.
She waved it off, Oh, nonsense! I gave them a light sprinkle this morning so they wouldnt dry out on the way. Its scorching outside!
James tried to lift the box into the boot. The dark wet patch immediately spread across the brandnew plush mat Id bought just to protect the carpet.
Stop! I shouted, pulling him back. James, get it out!
Whats happened? Dorothy froze, a pot in each hand.
Its leaking! I asked for a dry bottom. Look, the soils soaked!
Dorothy sighed, Its just a few drops, love. Its soil, not oil. Itll dry, youll shake it off. A cars for hauling, not for cleaning up every speck. We used to haul manure and potatoes in our old Escort, remember?
This isnt an Escort, I said, keeping my voice level. And I wont be hauling manure in my Kuga. James, get it out. We need a proper sheet.
Sheet? I thought newspapers would do
Newspapers soak in a minute! We need a thick plastic sheet or a tarpaulin.
Dorothy pouted, I dont have any tarpaulin. All Ive got is the shed curtain. Mabel, lets be careful. Itll be fine, just a little spill from the edge.
At that moment our neighbour, Mrs. Walsh, appeared with her little beagle, Oh, Dorothy! Off to the farm? she laughed. Is that your daughterinlaw? Bought a fancy car? How posh
Dorothy puffed up, Yes, were heading out, love. The cars brand new, but its useless if the daughterinlaw wont put a tomato in the boot.
I felt my cheeks flush classic motherinlaw move: bring the whole block into it.
James, go buy a roll of heavyduty plastic from the builders shop, I muttered through clenched teeth.
Whats the point of spending money? she snapped. I have an old shower curtain, Ill bring it.
She disappeared to fetch the curtain while James shifted from foot to foot, looking guilty.
Love, bear with me. Well line it and be off. Its only a fortyminute drive.
I glanced at the mountain of boxes piled outside. Those wont all fit in the boot, even if we crush them with our feet.
James suggested, We could stash some in the rear seat, on the floor.
No, I said firmly. The interior is beige carpet, remember?
Dorothy returned with the grimy yellow shower curtain, Here, this will do. Lay it down, James.
We finally managed to jam five boxes into the boot, each one a soggy, misshapen rectangle. The rest more boxes, buckets, a couple of small spades wrapped in rags, and a massive bag of Dorothys own stuff were left on the pavement.
Dorothy wiped sweat from her forehead, The rest goes in the cabin. Open the back door, love.
The cabin is offlimits, I said, closing the rear door.
She huffed, How am I supposed to get them inside? I grew those peppers for three months! Do you know how much the seeds cost?
I repeated my suggestion, A van. Itll get everything inside.
She shrieked, A van! Theyll overprice you! And a stranger wont treat the seedlings right theyll just drop them. Ill sit on them, hold them for the whole journey.
James tried to intervene, Mabel, she just said the cabin must stay clean
Dorothy snapped at him, And you think youre any better? Youve been coddling her car more than I ever did.
She grabbed one of the banana boxes, ripped it open and the wet earth sloshed straight onto Jamess white sneakers, then splattered onto the boot lip and onto my lightgrey trousers. A stunned silence fell.
I stared at the mudstained fabric, then at Dorothy, who could only manage, Well, thats that. All because you didnt let us in earlier.
I whispered, Okay.
I walked around, got into the drivers seat, turned the key and said, Im heading to the car wash. Through the open window I called out, You sort out a van or a courier, Im not taking any more seedlings.
Dorothy howled, Youll abandon us with all our stuff? I heard James mutter, Come on, Mabel, lets not make a scene.
Im serious, I said, voice icy. I offered to pay for delivery. You turned it down. Deal with it yourselves.
I slipped into gear and drove off, leaving James and Dorothy kneedeep in boxes, mud, and a lingering smell of earth. In the rearview mirror I saw Dorothy waving frantically, James slumping his shoulders.
I felt a mix of shame and anger. All my life Id been taught to be the good girl, to respect elders, to put the family first. My mums favourite saying, A gentle world is better than a harsh quarrel, echoed in my mind. Yet as the mud stain stared back at me from my dream cars boot, an angry, cleansing fury rose. Why should my no mean nothing? Why should my hardearned effort be trampled for a temper? A simple taxi would have solved it this wasnt life or death, just seedlings.
At the wash, the young attendant gave a sympathetic grin, Gardeners, huh?
I sighed, Almost.
Phones buzzed nonstop while the car was being cleaned James, Dorothy, everyone. I flipped mine to silent.
When I got home, I made a tea and settled by the window. James hadnt been back for four hours. I imagined them still in the driveway, scrambling to clean the earth, calling a van, Dorothy scolding James for his choices.
James finally trudged in late, covered in soil, eyes tired. He poured himself a glass of water and downed it in one gulp.
Whats the verdict? he asked, not meeting my eyes. Mum was a wreck, her blood pressure spiked. She had to take some medication.
Did you get a taxi? I asked calmly.
We did. AnyVan showed up in twenty minutes. They loaded everything and drove it off without a hitch.
So you see? No one died, and the cars spotless.
Mabel, its not about the car! James slammed his glass on the table. Its about respect! You made it look like the car mattered more than my mum. She said she wont set foot in our house again.
Thats her choice, James. I offered the taxi from the start, I even said Id pay. She wanted me to lug soil in a beigelined boot just to prove a point. Why? To show whos boss?
Shes old, she has her quirks! She could have been more sensible.
Im not about to compromise my own space for that, I said, standing. I respect your mum, but I also need respect for myself and my things. If she asked me to drive her to the doctor, Id be there in a heartbeat. But hauling manure and soggy seedlings when a van is a call away? Thats absurd, and I wont do it.
James stared out the window, then sighed heavily. Half the seedlings died when they fell. One box tipped over in the boot while we were pulling it out. I wiped it, but I think itll need a dryclean.
I closed my eyes. I told you.
He nodded, Right should I call her tomorrow? Apologise? Its her birthday soon, maybe we could go together?
No, James. I have nothing to apologise for. I was protecting my boundaries. If she wants to chat, Im open. But I wont be the one hauling soil and old furniture in my new car. End of story.
The next two weeks were a cold silence. Dorothy didnt call, and she even complained to James about the snake hes kept warm. I kept my cool. Every time I slipped into the bright, clean cabin of my Kuga, I reminded myself Id done the right thing.
One Saturday James was heading to the cottage.
Going? he asked, a bit hopeful. The strawberries are ready. Mum seemed less angry today, asked why I wasnt coming.
I thought it over. Hiding forever felt stupid.
Ill go, but in my own car. If anyone asks me to haul rubbish or manure, Ill turn round and drive off.
Deal, James grinned crookedly. No manure.
At the cottage the silence was almost comforting. Dorothy was busy in the beds. When she saw me, she straightened, brushed off her hands, and gave a tentative smile.
Hello, she said, eyeing my gleaming car parked by the gate.
Hello, Dorothy, I replied.
She glanced at the car, then at a neighbour, Molly says your car is a laugh for the chickens. Says its not for our kind of life.
I smiled, I like it.
She hesitated, then waved, Alright then, come in for tea. Ive baked a strawberry cake.
The tea didnt spark any fireworks, but the tension eased. James tried a joke, Dorothy slipped the best slices of cake to him. When we were about to leave, Dorothy walked around my car, circled it, and peered inside at the light seats.
Clean, she noted.
Trying to keep it that way, I answered.
She muttered, The driver of the van that helped earlier he was a bit of a lout, but he got the boxes right to the greenhouse. Charged an extra £5 on top.
Thats handy, she admitted. James cant lift heavy things his backs giving him grief. A strong bloke would have helped.
She gave me a long, assessing look, then said, Youre a firecracker, Mabel. I never let anyone sit on my lap. My late husband was a right pain, always moaning about me being stubborn. I just guarded what was mine.
I raised an eyebrow at the unexpected confession.
Alright, off you go before the traffic builds up, she said, handing James a bundle of fresh herbs in a triplelayered bag. Everythings washed, nothing will leak.
Thanks, I took the bag it was dry and tidy.
She added, And could you pass me the number of that van company? Well need a truck for the pumpkins in autumn and the apples that turned out this year. Not in your boot, of course.
I laughed, Will do, Dorothy. Ive got some points on my account now, might even get a discount.
We drove home as the sun set, bathing the interior in a warm golden glow. James exhaled, Looks like we made it through.
People learn the power of boundaries, James, I said. When you say no clearly, they start to respect you. Trying to please everyone just gets you stepped on.
He thought for a moment. Maybe youre right. I dont think I could have left your mum with the boxes.
Probably not. Thats why your shoes are muddy and mine stay spotless. To each their own.
I turned up the music, feeling on top of the world. I wasnt the bad daughterinlaw after all I was the daughterinlaw who knows her limits, and that feels far better than being the good one who ends up cleaning other peoples messes from her dream car.
Take care, and remember sometimes saying no is the kindest thing you can do.
