Many years have passed since that afternoon my mother-in-law invited me over, breezily promising it would be just a couple of hours to help prepare for an anniversary do, expecting unquestioning compliance.
Her tone over the phone was surprisingly gentle:
Come over, will you? Just need a hand, nothing much, two hours tops.
I suspected nothingassumed it would be a bit of veg chopping, a spot of salad, and the kettles whistle for a cuppa. But as soon as I crossed the threshold and saw the size of the saucepans, the penned menus, and heard, Guests are arriving in four hours, the plan unravelled. I wasnt experiencing a visitId arrived for a shift.
She stood at the stove, stirring a vast pot, turning to me with a smile I now realised was hollow.
Ah, there you are! Brilliant, you made it. Listen, it turns out therell be more guests than we thoughtaround twenty. Well need to bake fish, make three sorts of salads, serve up beef, lay the table
I stood frozen in the doorway, still in my coat.
Twenty guests? You said it was just a bit of help, a couple of hours.
Yes, two hours! Well crack on together. The aprons by the sink. We need to sort the salads first
Just a moment, I said, setting down my handbag but not removing my coat, I thought itd be something simple. I already have plans for this evening.
She met my gaze, the softness gone.
What plans? Your plans are your family. Were preparing for an anniversary, and youre on about your personal matters?
That tone againthe one that tells me my opinion doesnt count, and Im simply expected to fall in.
Id gladly helpif Id known. But you told me otherwise.
Sorry I didnt spell out every little detail! she huffed, turning back to the bubbling pot. Surely you understood a proper do takes effort. Or am I to break my back alone at my age?
I bit my lip. I recognised the game: guilt, pressure, accusation.
You could have asked othersor at least warned me?
She spun around.
Why ask outsiders when I have a daughter-in-law? Or have you forgotten what loyalty to family means?
Meanwhile, my husband lounged in the sitting room, mobile in hand, telly blaring. He heard everything, but did nothing.
Im not refusing to help, I said, But you misled me. Thats not on.
Misled! Listen to her! I ask for help and she makes a scene. Thats the modern generation for you, expecting everything, lacking any sense of duty.
Something in me curled up. If I leftfamily row. If I stayedId be slogging and listening to barbs.
Alright, I sighed. Ill sort the salads. Im not waiting on or serving guests, though.
She visibly winced.
So Im left running around with the trays alone?
Im just saying, you could have organised things differently. Asked your son for help, as well.
Hes a man! she exclaimed. The kitchens no business of hishe has other duties!
What duties? Staring at his phone?
Dont you cheek me! Youre here to help, not to quibble.
I shed my coat, put on the apron, and started chopping vegetables. She nodded, satisfied, and returned to her cauldron.
After a while, she spoke again:
When the guests arrive, youll change, wont you?
Im not staying. Ill help, then Im off.
She put down the ladle.
What do you mean, off? Wholl greet the guests? Wholl bring out the food?
You. Or your son.
Hell entertain the guests. Hes the host.
A host whod never carried a plate in his life.
So, the men entertain, women do all the serving?
Well, of course! You turned feminist on me?
I simply fail to see why I should be unpaid labour.
UNPAID? Youre family! Or do you forget who helped you with your mortgage?
Ah, her trump cardthe money wed long since repaid, but, in her mind, remained an eternal debt.
We paid it back, I replied calmly.
And what about moral debt? Gratitude?
I put down the knife.
Are you trying to make me feel beholden for life?
I want you to act like family, not like a paid helper.
Yet thats precisely how youre treating me. Only without the wage.
She flung down the tea towel.
Enough! Do as you wishbut dont even think of leaving before the tables set!
I looked at her, and suddenly realised: no matter how much I yielded, things would never change.
No, I whispered. I shant.
What did you say?
I said no. Im leaving.
I took off the apron, grabbed my bag, pulled on my coat.
You wouldnt dare! Her voice was trembling.
My husband emerged from the sitting room.
Whats going on?
Shes leaving! his mother declared.
What are you doing? he asked me.
Ask your mother why she asked me here for two hours and expects me to do all the work for twenty guests.
But Mum said it was just a quick
She means help in a very different way, I interrupted. An hour in the salad bowl and nothing more!
This happens every time, I said. And every time, you bring up the money.
Just help, he waved it off.
And you? Why dont you chop? Why dont you set the table?
Thats not a mans job.
I laughedhalf-exhausted, half in pain.
Very well. Get on without me.
I walked for the door.
If you go, dont bother coming back! she shouted.
Alright.
And out I went.
My hands shook as I sat in the car. The phone rang and rangI ignored it.
Later, I received a message:
Come back at once.
I replied simply:
Im not free domestic help.
That evening, I sat at home with my tea. I couldnt care less what stories would be spun about me.
My husband returned late.
Well? Are you satisfied? Everyone thinks poorly of you.
What do you think? I asked.
He said nothing.
I needed you to take my side, I told him. But you didnt.
The house was silent after that.
For a fortnight, not a soul called. Then I understood one clear truth:
Sometimes, walking away matters more than staying.
Even when gossip rings behind your back, accusing you of being wrong.
