You wont believe what happened after my husbands birthday party last night. Honestly, its one for the books. So, you know Sam turned thirty-five, and he wanted a proper do friends, his mum, the works. I decided to go all out, treating myself with a generous work bonus and splurged. Honestly, my shopping was a feast: ripe red peppers, a pot of caviar with a golden lid, a slab of parmesan, some decent wine. The kitchen smelled of fresh bread and smoked meats.
Sam hovered by the fridge, eyeing a pack of carved ham I’d bought from Waitrose, staring at the price tag like it was a warning from the Grim Reaper. Are you sure we need THIS much charcuterie? This ham, Emma could be the price of a short flight! He sounded half horrified, half impressed.
I just kept unloading the bags, setting everything on the kitchen table. Sam, its your birthday proper milestone. Your mates are coming, your mums popping round do you want to feed them just boiled potatoes and a sad herring salad? I put the milk away. Let me do this just once. I got a nice bonus, Id rather spend it on a decent spread than hide behind the classic British understatement.
He grumbled about being fine with potatoes, but tucked the ham away in the fridge like it was a treasure. Its not about shame, but Mums going to start lamenting, you know: Should’ve saved, paid off that mortgage, blah-di-blah.
Shell find fault no matter what, I sighed, laying out the salad bowl. If we buy posh stuff, were show-offs. If its budget, were penny-pinchers. I stopped trying to please Susan years ago. What matters is you and our guests enjoying it. And I hunted everywhere for this cured ham the exact one you loved on our Spain trip. Remember?
He actually smiled at that, softening. That was bloody delicious Alright, you win. Lets do this. Just rip off the price stickers Id rather not give Mum a heart attack.
Soon I got busy cooking, secretly dreading Susan arriving early under the guise of helping the girl. Her help always meant parking herself in the middle of the kitchen, critiquing my every move, blocking the bin, and dissecting everything from my onion chopping to the shade of my curtains.
Right on cue, at two, the doorbell rang. While Sam went to open up, I steeled myself and flashed my best hostess smile.
Down the hall came Susan, stomping in like HMS Queen Elizabeth on a mission. Theres the birthday boy! Come here for a mum cuddle. You look thin as a rake, Sam no wonder, living off ready meals.
Mum, really, Emma cooks properly, Sam insisted, trying to help her out of her heavy wool coat.
Oh, dont argue with your mother. I see those hollow cheeks. She swept into the kitchen, lugging that enormous tote bag she brings everywhere.
Lovely to see you, Susan. Have a seat the kettles just boiled.
Tea after, dear, she brushed me off, plopping her bag down. Ive brought some bits thought you could use a little help. Young people these days, never anything in the fridge. Honestly, its a miracle you dont starve.
She started unloading: a gigantic jar of pickled cucumbers from her larder, a bag of bruised apples from the garden, and a clutch of Rosebud boiled sweets that might well have survived Brexit.
My own cucumbers, no chemicals! she announced proudly. The apples are pure vitamins cut off the bad bits, perfect for a stewed fruit. Cant just bin good food.
Thank you, Susan, well give them a try, I said, trying not to eyeball the murky pickle juice.
Before Id finished speaking, shed already flung open the fridge for her regular ‘inspection’ just checking for space, she always said. I knew better: it was her low-key audit.
She clocked the bounty straight away. Blimeycaviar? Red? Two pots?! Sam, have you struck gold, or has Emma knocked over a cashpoint?
Got a bonus at work, Mum, Sam mumbled, snatching a piece of cheese from the board.
A bonus, right Susan pursed her lips. Instead of helping your mother whose garden walls falling over, youre spooning caviar! Well, its your life. Im not greedy. She slammed the fridge, taking up the prime kitchen seat and blocking the sink.
Go on then, Emma, show me what youve whipped up. My feet are killing, and my blood pressures up, but I had to come and celebrate my boy. Thats real dedication, you know.
The next three hours were a circus. I raced around, cooking, while Susan threw in her two pence every thirty seconds.
Far too much mayo. Itll clog your arteries.
Why expensive bread? Theres a nice white loaf at Tesco for a quid.
You shouldve tenderised that beef moregoing to be tough as old boots.
I ignored it all, let the comments slide. White noise, really. Just had to get through to evening.
By six, Sams mates turned up, all loud, cracking jokes, filling the flat with banter and aftershave. The spread was fit for royalty roast pork, aubergine rolls, caviar tartlets, three types of cheese, that special ham, salads, the works.
Once everyone settled and the first toast went up, Susan took centre stage without missing a beat.
Sam, my boy, she began, dabbing at her eyes. I remember when you were born. Two days of agony
Everyone politely endured the birth story for the fifteenth time. I took advantage of the lull to get my salad.
And now look at you, married, she continued, throwing me a sidelong glance. As it happened, it happened. All I want is for you to be happy. The food, well, its just food. Emmas tried, bought all sorts of expensive things. Feeling a bit more frugals not a bad thing, gives more heart. But these days, everyone likes to show off.
She forked up a huge wedge of smoked eel Id paid a fortune for, chewing loudly. Hmmm Fish is fish. Bit salty. Too oily, really. I remember when a simple sprat was tastier.
Susan may have grumbled, but she ate heartily. Miraculously, her plate was always stacked with the choicest bits. The ham vanished at warp speed, tartlets went down like peanuts. This caviars a bit small, dont you think? Probably synthetic. You cant find the real thing these days. Emma, bring me the jar laterI want to read the ingredients. Dont want us getting poisoned now.
I just kept up the hostess routine, pouring more wine. I could see Sam blushing but staying silent, as always.
Eventually, it was time to wrap up. The guests praised my cooking, Sams best pal Tom even told me, That eel is unreal, Emma. Thank you!
I smiled genuinely. Loved that someone appreciated the meal.
With the laughter dying down, Susan leapt into cleanup mode. Ill help tidy up otherwise youll be here till morning. Sam, take out the bins, please. Emma, sort the leftovers.
I was shattered head pounding, vision hazy. Susan, thats kind. But its alright, I’ll finish up. Shall I call a cab?
A cab?! Spare the cash. Buses are still running. Dont argue, Ill help. Honestly, you look white as a sheet. Go freshen up, take a painkiller. Im just here to give a hand.
Feeling ill and worn out, I retreated to the bedroom for some paracetamol, splashed cold water on my face, and thought, This is the worst time to leave her alone but I need a minute. Shell probably mistake my facial cleanser for washing up liquid or rearrange all the pans.
Quietly I tiptoed back, only to freeze at the kitchen door.
From behind, Susan was at the fridge, her huge tote opened wide on a stool next to her. She was the picture of a magician in action.
She gathered up the leftover charcuteriea hefty heap of expensive ham, roast pork, and salamiswept it all into a plastic bag, tied it, and lowered it straight into her bag.
I blinked, wondering if I was seeing things.
Next, she reached for a Tupperware with a generous chunk of smoked salmon I’d set aside for breakfast, easily three hundred grams. Bag, tote.
Then half of the homemade Napoleon cake Id baked until the early hours, bundled carelessly in foil, the delicate layers squashed flat.
Mmm, whats next she mumbled, rifling. Ah! Parmesan. Can’t let that sit and go hard! The wedge, worth its weight in gold, followed the rest. The olives too. And finallythe kickera nearly full bottle of Cognac, gifted to Sam by his work colleagues, unopened all evening.
I was stunned. Should I shout, confront, call her out as a thief? The thought of accusing Mum of stealing froze on my tongue.
Just then, the front door slammed. Sams voice echoed. Brr, its freezing out. Mum, ready? Ill walk you to the bus.
Susan jerked, zipped her bag shut and spun round. She met my gaze for one awkward second before collecting herself.
Oh Emma, youre back? Just straightening up. Sam, perfect, Im nearly off. She hefted the bag, now bulging, grunted slightly from the weight.
Sam poked his head in. Let me help, whatve you got, bricks in there?
Leave it! she screeched, clutching the bag defensively. Ive just got empty jars, thats alltook my jar home. Nothing else. And personal bits. Hands off!
Sam shot me a confused look. Mum, you brought one jar. Its right there, untouched.
Other jars! Dont fuss, I want to go home. Exhausted from all this hard work for you.
I stepped forward, feeling remarkably calm. Susan, I said quietly but clearly, put the bag on the table.
What? She glared, affronted. How dare you! Planning to frisk me? Sam, do you hear what shes saying? Your wife thinks Im a thief!
Emma, seriously? Sam shuffled, caught between us. Mum was only
I cut him off, staring straight at Susan. In that bag is our breakfast. And lunch. And dinner for two days. The salmon cost thirty quid. Its got your favourite ham, that Cognac, the cake
Youre delusional! Susan shrieked, backing away. How dare you! Im a retired teacher, a grandmother I havent taken as much as a crumb! Choke on your overpriced food!
She tried to slip past Sam but the strap snagged, tearing spectacularly. The contents emptied out in theatrical glory.
Salami rolled across the floor. The salmon flopped right onto Sams slipper. Foil peeled back from the cake, squashing what was left. The Cognac bottle clinked against a chair leg thank goodness it didnt smash. All topped off absurdly by a lump of parmesan and a handful of boiled sweets.
An icy silence filled the kitchen. Only the fridge hummed and Susan panted.
Sam looked from the scattered treats to his foot to his mortified mother. His face shifted confusion, then realisation, then thick, hot embarrassment.
Mum? he whispered. What
Susan straightened, switching straight to attack mode. So what! Yes, I took it. You have loads, youd throw it out! Youre greedy! Your fridge is bursting while your mother survives on a pittance. I only see ham like that on telly! Am I not allowed a treat after all I sacrificed for you? You begrudge me a bit of salami?
I stayed silent, waiting for Sams response. Normally, hed mumble Go on, Mum, take whatever you want, we dont mind, just to keep the peace.
But this time, Sam slowly picked up the salmon, placed it back on the table, and set the Cognac upright.
Mum, he said softly. You could have just asked. We ALWAYS pack a bag for you when you leave. Every time.
Oh, so now Im supposed to BEG? Your own mother?! Not on, you should OFFER. Selfish!
You didnt ask, Sam shook his head. You just nicked it. Waited for Emma to leave, and swiped the lot. Like like a rat.
How DARE you! Susan clutched her chest. My heart! Get my tablets! Youll be the death of me!
No need for the drama, Susan, I said coolly. Your tablets are in your left coat pocket. I saw you put them there.
She froze, the act deflated.
Sam, I nodded to my husband, can you gather what dropped into a bag.
Why? he asked, bewildered.
Give it to her. Let her take everything. I wont touch any of it its all tainted. Let it be her birthday present from us. And payment for a month of peaceI dont want her back here for that long.
Susan spluttered, gasping.
Sam silently bagged all the food from the floor. He hesitated over the Cognac, then put it back on the table. Leaving the brandy. I need a drink now.
He handed the sack over. Take it, Mum. And go. The cabs booked, will be out front in two.
Youre throwing me out? Your own mother? Over food?
No, Mum. Because you lied. Because you disrespected our home and my wife.
Susan snatched the bag, eyes burning. Youll regret this, you middle-class snobs! May that meat get stuck in your throat! She turned and stormed out, slamming the door so hard the paint cracked.
I collapsed into a chair, trembling.
Sam fetched two glasses, poured the Cognac. Drink this. You need it.
He looked about ten years older, sat beside me, squeezed my hand.
Im sorry, Em.
For what? You didnt know.
For not noticing before. For letting her act like that. Always thought: shes Mum, shes quirky, but good-hearted. Now I feel ashamed. Like I was the one pinching food.
The Cognac burned, oddly comforting.
You know, I said, finally able to laugh, I bought her another sausage roll and a block of cheddar, set aside in the bottom fridge drawer. She just missed them in the raid.
Sam burst out laughing. Really?
Really. I knew shed moan about being hard up. Wanted to give it kindly.
Well, apparently kindness doesnt work. Tomorrow Im changing the locks. She begged for a spare key months ago just in case. Next thing, shell be swapping our telly for a bigger screen down the estate.
I looked at him, impressed. For the first time in seven years, he spoke about his mum without making excuses. The whole deli drama finally broke something in him.
What do we eat tomorrow? I asked, eyeing the empty table. She cleared us out.
Sam peered into the fridge. Weve got one untouched pot of caviar. Eggs, milkwere dining on omelette and caviar like lords!
I actually laughed, feeling the tension ebb.
And dont forget her bruised apples, I teased. We could stew them.
Oh God, no, Sam pulled a face. Theyre going straight in the bin, along with those radioactive cucumbers. Enough hand-me-downs for a lifetime.
We sat up late, finishing the brandy, talking about things we’d tiptoed around for ages boundaries, that loving your parents doesnt mean letting them walk all over you, and that a family starts with the two of us.
Next morning, I woke to fresh coffee. Sam leaned in with a kiss. Got any bonus left?
A little. Why?
Lets skip town this weekend country hotel, or even dart up to York. Phones off, just us. Put some distance between us and all this.
What about your mum? I asked, half-joking. Shell call every relative in England, tell them were monsters.
She can call whoever she likes. Thats her choice. Our choice is omelette with caviar and a bit of piece.
Breakfast was glorious. Not because the caviar was posh, but because there was no guilt, no grudgeseven if the fridge was half empty.
Of course Susan rang two days later. Sam glanced at his phone, sighed, and flipped it facedown.
Not going to answer? I asked.
Nope. Let her enjoy her ill-gotten ham. Maybe well speak in a month. For now, Ive got more important things to do taking my wife to the movies.
I grinned and went to get ready. The fridge was bare but my heart felt light worth far more than any leftover deli tray in the world.
