My mothers unwell and shell be staying with us. Youll need to look after her for a while, Tom announced as he stepped into the kitchen, arms folded across his chest.
Pardon? Emily slowly lowered the phone onto the table, where seconds earlier shed been checking her work messages.
Tom looked as if hed just delivered an order, not a requestone not up for debate.
I said, Mum will live with us for a while. She needs to be looked after. The doctor said itll be at least two or three months. Maybe longer.
Emily felt something slowly coil inside her, tightening without haste but with certainty.
When did you decide this? She tried to keep her voice measured.
I spoke to my sister this morning. And the doctor. Its settled.
I see. So the three of you had a discussion and Im simply to be brought up to speed and fall in line?
Tom frowned slightlyas if hed expected some pushback but was ill-prepared for it nonetheless.
Em, you do understand, dont you? Shes my mother. Who else can take her in? Claires up in Manchester with her little ones and that job of hers And weve space. You work from home most days
Tom, I work five days a week. Full days. Nine til seven, sometimes later. Dont pretend you dont know.
Yes, but He shrugged, as though the details were a minor inconvenience. Mums not demanding. She just needs someone about: give her medicine, warm up her food, help her to the loo, keep her company. Youll manage.
Emily stared at her husband, numbness weighing, not angerat least, not yet. Just a cold, clear understanding that to him all of this was normal. Her work, her exhaustion, her lifenone of it came before Mums needs.
Did either of you consider a carer? she asked quietly.
Tom grimaced. You know how expensive that is. A decent ones upwards of two and a half grand a month. Where are we meant to find that?
Did you consider taking unpaid leave? Or going part-time for a bit?
He looked at her like shed suggested jumping off Westminster Bridge.
Em, I hold a responsible position. They wont give me months off. And Im not trained. I cant give injections, check blood pressure, keep up with stricter routines
And I can? Her voice never rose. Calm, just a question.
He faltered. Perhaps for the first time that evening, it dawned on him the conversation wasnt going to script.
Youre a woman, he finally said, with such honest certainty that Emily might have laughed had she not felt so weary. Its instinctive Youre always good with ill people.
She nodded, once, more for herself.
Instinct.
Well yes.
Emily placed her phone face-down on the table, gazing down at her trembling fingers.
Fine she said. Lets do it like this. You take unpaid leave for two months. Ill keep my job. We look after your mother together. Ill help in the evenings and on weekends. Youre in charge during the day. Deal?
Tom opened his mouth, then shut it.
Em are you serious?
Completely.
But I already saidthey wont let me go!
Then we get a carer. Ill pay half, even sixty-forty if you think my salarys lower. But I will not take full responsibility for your mother alone. I wont.
A thick, sticky silence fell. The ticking of the clock on the kitchen wall rang clear.
Tom coughed.
So youre refusing?
No Emily looked him in the eye. Im refusing to be a free round-the-clock carer whilst holding down a job, without even being consulted. Not the same thing.
He stared at her a long while, as if trying to decide whether she was joking.
You do know shes my mother? he eventually asked, hurt and heavythe kind of injury that comes when a grown man is told he might be responsible for his own parent at last.
I do, Emily answered quietly. Thats precisely why Im offering ideas that keep everyones dignity and healthincluding your mothers.
Tom swung round and left the kitchen.
She heard the door to the spare room close. Not loudly, but firmly.
Emily sat with her cooling tea, thoughts circling quietly in her mind, distant and dispassionate: Well. Its begun.
She knew this was just the start.
She knew hed ring his sister now. Then his mother. Perhaps his sister again. That in an hour or so, his motherwho lived ten minutes walk awaywould probably appear on the doorstep, having heard everything, ready for a long, heated discussion in which Emily would be called cold, selfish, ungrateful, a woman forgetting the meaning of family.
But most of all, Emily realised a simple truth.
She would no longer apologise for wanting more than four hours sleep a night. Or for needing her job to be more than a hobby. Or for wanting a life not swallowed up by endless care.
Emily stood, opened the window.
A gust of chill night air swept in, clean with the faint tang of wet pavements and smoke from someones garden bonfire.
She drew a deep breath.
Let them say what they will, she thought. The main thing is, Ive finally spoken my first no.
And that no was the loudest thing shed uttered in her twelve years of marriage.
The next morning, Emily woke to the sound of the front door unlocking. The key turned twicecareful, almost guilty. Slow, scuffing footsteps and a thin cough followed.
She lay still, listening as a coat dropped in the hall, a bag thudded against the floor, shoes were untiedfamiliar rituals, now sounding like the beginning of a conflict, not a visit.
Tom? Mrs. Whitfields voice was weak, yet with its perennial air of command. Are you here?
Tom answered at once, perhaps having not slept at all.
Here, Mum. Kettles on; come through to the kitchen.
So he didnt even warn me hed bring her over today, Emily thought as she forced herself up, pulled on her dressing gown, and entered the hallway.
Mrs. Whitfield stood small and hunched, wrapped in her old navy coat, clinging to a plastic bag of pills and a battered thermos. When she saw Emily, she smiledthin, tired, with that hint of superiority.
Morning, Emily love. Sorry for calling so early. Doctor said the sooner I move, the better.
Emily nodded.
Morning, Mrs. Whitfield.
Tom appeared, bearing a tray: tea, biscuits, tablets on a saucer.
Mum, beds made up in the big room. Ive set out the sofa for you.
And wholl unpack my things? Mrs. Whitfield peered at Emily. Emily dear, will you help?
Emily felt the pulse throb at her temples.
Of course she answered. After work.
After work? Mrs. Whitfields tone sharpened. Whos staying with me today then?
Tom cleared his throat.
Im at work this morning, Mum. But Im coming home at lunch. Em he turned, could you maybe take a day off?
Emily looked at her husband a long while.
I have a client presentation today. No chance of cancelling.
Well, and after? Mrs. Whitfield shrugged off her coat. After the meeting, could you?
Ill be home as usual. Around seven, half past.
The silence thickened.
Mrs. Whitfield sunk onto the hall ottoman.
So Im to be alone the whole day?
Tom flashed his wife a helpless look.
Emily replied evenly, not raising her voice:
Mrs. Whitfield, Ill prep your food for the day. Set out your tablets, labelled by the hour. Everything will be ready. If anything happens, call me. Ill answer, even if Im in the presentation.
Mrs. Whitfield pursed her lips.
And if I fall? Or take the wrong pill?
Then call 999. Its safer than waiting for me to cross London.
Tom opened his mouth. Then shut it.
Mrs. Whitfield glanced at her son.
Tom did you hear that?
Mum, he said softly, Emilys right. Were not nurses. If its serious, we ring for help.
Emily was surprised. That was the first Emilys right shed heard in seven years, perhaps?
Mrs. Whitfield rose heavily.
Well then she said if thats the decision it shall be.
She shuffled off to her room, bag in tow. The door closed pointedly.
Tom turned to Emily.
You could have at least
No, Emily cut him off. I couldnt. And I wont.
She went to the kitchen, poured herself water, and drank in one go.
Tom hovered behind her.
Em I know its hard for you. But she is my mother.
I know.
And she really is unwell.
I believe you.
Then why
Emily turned to face him.
Because if I agree to take it all on myself now, itll become the rule. Forever. Do you understand?
He said nothing.
I love you, she went on. And I wont let our marriage fall apart just because one person believes the other doesnt deserve a life.
Tom lowered his head.
Ill speak to Claire again. Maybe, at least, she can come on weekends.
That would be good.
He looked up.
You wont hold it against me?
Emily almost smiledfor the first time in days.
Im already cross. But Im trying not to let it define our lives.
He nodded.
Ill try to do better.
Emily glanced at the clock.
I need to get ready. My presentations in two hours.
She left for the bedroom. Tom remained in the kitchen with his empty cup.
Oddly, the day unfolded with little drama. Emily aced her meeting; the client was delighted and even promised a bonus for her effort. She left the office at half-six, a strange relief in her chest.
In the Tube, she messaged Tom:
Hows your mum?
He replied almost straightaway:
Asleep. Ive been home since three. Cooked dinner. Waiting for you.
Emily gazed at the carriage window, black and glossy.
Waiting for you.
A phrase she hadnt heard said so warmly for years.
They truly were waiting for her at home.
The table was setsalad, roast cod, potatoes. Mrs. Whitfield sat in her armchair with a novel, and set it aside when Emily entered.
Emily, loveyoure back.
Back.
Sit; have something. Toms done the lot. Even washed up.
Emily glanced at Tom. He merely shrugged: nothing special.
She took her place.
Mrs. Whitfield coughed.
Ive been thinking perhaps we should find a carer. At least for the weekdays. Tom shouldnt have to beg for time off
Emily looked up.
That would be sensible.
Ill call Claire, added Tom. Shell pitch in. She promised to think it over.
Mrs. Whitfield sighed.
Never thought Id see the day someone whos not family would be changing me
No ones not family, Mum, Tom said softly. Were all family. We just need to respect each others boundaries now.
Emily met her mother-in-laws gaze.
After a quiet moment, Mrs. Whitfield nodded.
I suppose its about time I learnt.
Just then, Mrs. Whitfields phone rang.
She glanced at the screen, let out a sigh.
Its your sister Claire.
Tom answered.
Hi Yeah, home Look, we need your help. Not just money. Please come at the weekend. Well talk as a family.
He hung up.
Turned to Emily.
Shes coming.
Emily nodded.
Good.
For the first time in years, she realised she wasnt afraid to come home.
Not because it was silent.
But because, finally, the house was starting to listen.
Three weeks slipped by.
Mrs. Whitfield no longer coughed through the night. The tablets were working, the swelling in her legs had eased, and she even made it into the kitchen by herself on occasion. But, more importantly, the house had grown quietnot with dread, but with the gentle hush of people learning to live together.
That Saturday, Claire arrived from Manchester.
She stepped into the hall with two big bags, her little girl on her hip, an apologetic smile on her face.
Mum, hello Em, Tom Sorry its taken so long.
Mrs. Whitfield, seated in her chair by the window, looked up slowly, as though disbelieving.
Youve come then.
Of course, Mum, Claire put down the bags, passed her daughter to Tom, and crossed to her mother. Promised I would.
Emily watched from the kitchen doorway, quietly observing.
Claire crouched before her mother.
Mum, Tom and I spoke last night. We agreed on this.
She produced a slip of paper.
This ladys a qualified carer. She comes from nine to seven, Monday to Friday. Weekends, well take it in turns.
Mrs. Whitfield took the paper, hands shaking, read, then looked at her son.
And the cost?
Well split it three ways, Tom said calmly. Me, Claire, and Emily. Evenly.
Evenly Mrs. Whitfield tested the word.
Claire nodded.
None of us can give up our jobs. You need steady attention. Best to bring in someone trained.
For the first time, Emily added:
Weve already spoken to her. Her names Margaret Brown. Fifty-eight, two decades caring for the elderly. Shes coming tomorrow to meet you.
Mrs. Whitfield was silent for a long while.
Then she looked straight at Emily, without her usual reserved squint.
Emily you could have just said no and walked out. Plenty would.
Emily shrugged slightly.
I couldve. But then everyone wouldve suffered. You most of all.
Mrs. Whitfield looked down at her fingers.
I Ive done a lot of thinking these weeks, sat here alone. All my life, Ive just expectedbeing a mother meant everyone fit round me. Turns out I need to learn to fit round others now.
Claire reached for her hand.
You dont need to do anything you cant, Mum. Were just trying to make it workfor everyones sake.
Mrs. Whitfield glanced from her daughter, to her son, to Emily.
Im sorry, Emily, she whispered. I truly believed I had the right to demand.
Emily felt something loosen inside, a place long knotted and sore.
I accept your apology, Mrs. Whitfield.
For the first time in years, she smiled without a trace of pride.
Well then I suppose Id best meet this Margaret of yours. Since Im no longer queen of the manor.
Tom laughedgenuine levity after so many weeks.
Not queen, not saint. Just our mother. We all love you. And we will care for youas best we can.
That evening, long after Claire and her child had gone back to the train, Mrs. Whitfield slept peacefully in her room. Emily and Tom sat in the kitchen, light soft and low.
He poured her a glass of wine. One for himself as well.
You know, he said quietly, I thought youd leave.
Emily regarded him.
Did you?
I did. That first night you said no I thought that was it. I thought youd pack up and tell us to sort ourselves.
She twirled her glass, thoughtful.
I did think about it. Ill admit.
And what stopped you?
Emily didnt speak at once.
I realised if I left then, Id never find out whether you could really be the sort of man who shoulders responsibility.
Tom lowered his eyes.
Ive learned a lot these last weeks. Still learning.
I see, she said quietly.
He looked up.
Thank you for giving me a chance.
Emilys smile, at last, was gentle, unburdened.
Thank you for taking it.
They clinked their glassesquietly, almost solemnly.
Snow fell outsidethe first real snow of winter. The flakes drifted down in the light from the streetlamps, laying a thick white blanket upon the road.
In Mrs. Whitfields room, a small lamp glowed.
And for the first time in ages, there was no scent of medicine or fear in their bedroomjust home. Their home.
