My Mother-in-law Demanded a Spare Set of KeysBut My Husband Finally Stood with Me
Is this lock really as sturdy as it looks? she asked, tapping the new brass handle with a manicured finger. You hear stories nowadaysthieves just waltz in. Youve put so much into this place, and the decorators have only just finished. Are you certain youre safe?
I took a slow, steadying breath, careful not to come across as annoyed. I glanced towards my husbandHenrywho was busy, as ever, with some last fix; this time, nervously picking at the protective film clinging to the spyhole of our freshly installed front door. Henry felt my look, offered the faintest of shrugsits only my mum, what can we do.
Mrs. Hamilton, the lock is top-of-the-range. British made, three stars for anti-theft. We did our researchand next month well be fitting an alarm as well, I replied, inviting her in from the chilly Brighton breeze. Do come ondont get caught in a draught.
This was Mrs. Hamiltons first visit to our new home. It had taken us five long yearsfive years of grotty shared houses, where even putting up a painting required written permission, five years of penny-pinching, from forgoing holidays to skipping coffees out, just to save. The day the mortgage was approved and the keys handed over felt like a liberation. This small flat was our sanctuary the place where every tile, every wall colour, was fiercely debated and lovingly chosen by us and no one else.
Mrs. Hamilton took in the hall, her eyes pausing on the new built-in wardrobe before her lips pursed.
Oh, such a pale colour on these walls. Youll be forever scrubbing away marks, Alice. I told you floral wallpaper would be more forgiving. But, of course the homeowner is the king. She handed Henry her sand-coloured trench coat, mouth tight.
I stayed silent, knowing there was no point arguing. Mrs. Hamilton was of the firm belief that only her opinion could hold against the chaos of the worldand any deviation was either a folly or an insult.
The inspection took almost an hour. She tested the water pressure, pinched at the curtains in the bedroom (syntheticwont let a thing breathe), opened and closed the fridge with the air of a stern public health officer. Henry trailed behind, agreeing and smoothing, while I set the table for tea, anxiety pricking beneath my skin. I knew tea and cake wouldnt be the end of this. After years of marriage, I could sense when a storm was coming.
Once we sat around the little round kitchen table, Henry poured the Earl Grey, and Mrs. Hamilton nibbled at her slice of Victoria sponge, she set her napkin down, ready to declare her purpose.
A pleasant enough place, she began, folding the napkin with precision. But heres the thing, Henry. You both work so much, barely ever home, and this flat’s so new What if theres a burst pipe, orHeaven forbidyou leave the iron on?
Mum, weve one of those fancy auto-off irons, and the pipes are all new as well. What could go wrong?
She wagged her finger, Best be safe than sorry. Remember Mrs. Atkinsons son? Went away to Spain, came back to a flooded building. Had five flats pouring water through! If Mrs. Atkinson hadnt had a spare key, shed have had to smash the door in. Look, you should give me a copy. Id feel so much better.
My hand halted halfway to my mouth. The tea tasted suddenly thin and weak as water. Here it wasthe request I had been dreading.
May I ask why, Mrs. Hamilton? I steadied my voice, meeting her gaze.
She genuinely seemed astonished. How else will I pop round if youre away? Youll lose your keys or lock yourselves out, Ill be able to let you in. Or take care of thingswater the plants, dust a bit, defrost the freezer. At my age, a bit of running about does me good.
Unbidden, memories bubbled up from three years ago, when we were renting in Croydon. Shed persuaded Henry to give her a spare on a temporary basis while we visited my parents in Yorkshire. We returned to find every bra and pair of knickers re-sorted properly, all pans rearranged, and my private journallong hiddenplaced provocatively atop the kitchen table. Just dusted your bedside, saw it there, never read a word! she insisted, but her pointed remarks that summer suggested otherwise.
Mrs. Hamilton, thats very kind, but well manage. Our cactus only needs water once a month, and if we lose our keys well call a locksmith. It isnt difficult these days.
Her cheerful mask vanished, her manner now brittle.
A locksmith? Youd pay a stranger instead of asking your own family? Honestly, Alice, you never did know the value of a pound. Heres me, offering for free. Henry, say somethingthis is for your own good!
Poor Henry choked on his tea, caught between us. He glanced at mesaw the line drawn in my faceand seemed to brace himself.
Mum, look, youre all the way in Hove, were here in Brighton. If something happened, Id get here first, Im only twenty minutes down the road for work.
Thats not the point! Its about trust! You think Id go rummaging through your drawers, or what? Im your mother! I just want to feel at ease about my only son. Henry, dont let her push you aboutwhat are you now, hen-pecked?
Mrs. Hamilton, please, I said, voice tight, cheeks burning. No ones accusing you of anything. Its justthis is our home. Our space. We want to feel like its fully ours. Even family having keys takes that away.
What nonsensewhats this privacy youre on about? I wiped your husbands bottom til he was five, now suddenly there are boundaries? Ridiculous! You should be ashamed, not trusting your own mother!
She shoved away her slice of cake, appetite gone.
Im not asking for the keys today. Make a copy within the week, drop it by, or Ill fetch it from Henry at his office. Ill not be able to rest until I know its in my pocket. Think of my blood pressure.
The evening was tense after thather smile curdled, her answers clipped and curt. When she finally left, she shot another sharp look at the lock.
Think it through, Alice. Pride is no advisor.
As the latch turned, I sank against the hallway wall.
You know I wont hand her a key. Ever, I said, exhausted.
Henry rubbed his brow. Alice, she just worries. She grew up with everything under controlthats how she shows she cares. If we just give her a key, maybe shell forget about it. Fade into the background, no need for fuss.
You cant be serious. Have you forgotten Croydon? How she came round at seven on a Saturday to start banging saucepans, thinking wed gone out? I thought youd be at workon a weekend? I want to be able to make a mess if I want, walk about in my vest and pants. Not worry your mum will be round checking up. This is OUR place.
I get it, Henry sighed. But shell ring every day and give me grief. You know how she is.
Let her call. But if you give her a key without telling me, Im changing the lock. Really.
The next week was relentless. Every day his mother phoned Henry, starting about her bad heart or aching joints, always ending with, So, have you made the copy yet? When can I collect it?
Henry stalledclaiming the locksmith was unavailable, that he forgot, the shop was closed. But Mrs. Hamilton clung on like a terrier.
By Thursday, she rang me.
Hello, Alice dear! How are you, hows work? Her voice was honeyed.
Hello Mrs. Hamilton, all fine, thank you.
I popped into St. Michaels today, lit a candle for your new home. Vicar says you should bless the house, hang a holy picture over the door. I bought an icon, very powerful, want to drop it by. I know Henrys at work. Just leave me a key, or give it to your neighbourIll pop in, hang it, say a prayer, and be off. No bother at all.
I gripped my phone, fingers blanching.
Thats thoughtful, Mrs. Hamilton, but well put it up ourselves, if we decide to. Best to visit in the evening, when were both here. Im not leaving the key, sorry.
Her voice immediately sharpened. Why so stubborn? I try to do my bit, and you shut me out. Have you forbidden Henry to make the key? He was always such a sweet-natured boy, before you came along!
Thats not true. We decided together. Were adults.
Adults! Still green as grass. Ive lived life, I know how things should be! If I dont have the keys by Sunday, its clear Im not wanted, and youll see neither hide nor hair of me ever again!
The phone went dead. Classic emotional blackmail.
That evening, Henry trudged into the flat, thunder-dark. Mum called. Says she had another turn, ambulance and everything. Said well be the death of her, being so cold. Maybe we should just do itlet her have the keys. Ill put my foot downno dropping by without calling first.
I helped him with his coat and hugged him. I know you love her, Henry. But if we cave now, there will always be something elsenext the curtains, then how we raise our kids. Her turns are just another tactic. We cant give in.
He buried his face in my hair. I know. Doesnt make this feel any easier.
Saturday came; we planned a lazy home daylie in, shepherds pie, maybe even a classic film. At ten, the entry buzzer crackled.
Whos there? Henry rasped, barely awake.
Let me in, Henry, its your mum! Ive brought some bits for you! came Mrs. Hamiltons voice, cheerful as brass.
No warning. No call. Just here.
Weve not invited her I muttered.
We cant leave her on the street, Henry sighed.
She strode into the flat victorious, laden with two immense shoppers.
Homegrown potatoes, some jams, pickles too. I thought youd prefer it to that supermarket muck. Ohdishes not washed from last night? Alice! You do realise a clean sink is the sign of a good housekeeper?
Standing at the hob in my dressing gown, I forced a breath. Were having a slow morning. Well do them when we feel like it.
Sure, surelaziness is in fashion these days. Anyway, Henry, lets get to it. She produced from her bag a small velvet pouch. I bought this silver key ring, blessed at church. Meant for your spare keys. Wheres my set?
She stared at Henry, all expectation. He glanced at meI stood by the window, arms folded, not interfering. It was his battle now, and he knew if he gave in, every scrap of self-respect would go out the freshly painted window.
He sat across from her, took her hand.
Were grateful for the food, and thats a lovely keyring, Mum, thank you. But youre not getting a set of keys.
Her eyes widened. Youre joking, surely?
Im not. Weve made our decision. Only two setsone for me, one for Alice. None spare.
But why? Ive explained and explainedthis is for your own safety. Im your mother!
Yes, you are, not our security firm. I love you. Were always glad to invite you here, or have you when you call first, but we must live as our own family, by our own rules. If disaster strikes, well deal with it. This is what being an adult means.
She pulled her hand away, cheeks mottled red.
Shes put these ideas in your head. Never would you have treated your mother so coldly before her. Youve chosen her over me!
No ones choosing. Alice is my wife, my family now. We ask you to respect thatif you cant, well have to see you less often, and that would be a shame.
The silence in the kitchen was thick enough to cut. Mrs. Hamilton stared at Henry as though searching his face for some old yielding trace, finding for the first time only calm resolve.
She stood up, coldly dignified. Fine. Do as you wish. Just dont come running to me when you lose your keys or flood the neighbours. I wont be your saviour.
She gathered her bag, left the jars on the kitchen table, and left. Henry made to follow, but she waved him off.
I wrapped my arms around him. Youre my hero, I whispered.
I feel like Ive betrayed her, he confessed, staring at the still door.
Itll pass, my love. This isnt betrayal. Growing up is never painless.
The first month, Mrs. Hamilton hardened her silence: no visits, no calls, ignoring our messages, even when Henry dropped groceries at her door.
It was hard, seeing Henry struggle with guilt, but I knew we couldnt back down.
Then came a wild summer stormwind tearing branches from trees, blacking out half of Sussex. When we heard Mrs. Hamiltons area was out, Henry rangto nothing. We dashed over with food, a battery radio, and medicine.
We found her sitting by candlelight, jumpy after the storm, out of pills. When she saw us at her door, arms full, she criedquiet, real tears. I thought youd forgotten me, she said as I found her blood pressure cuffs.
Wed never forget you, Mum, said Henry. We just have our own home now. But well always be here when you need us.
We spent that evening with her: flask of tea, talking of gardens and holidays. The subject of keys was never raised again.
As we left, Henry offered, Want to stay with us til the powers back?
She looked between us, and something in her gaze softened.
No, thank you, my dear. This old homes still mineand Ive Bertie the cat to worry about. You two go on now. Ill be fine.
From then on, the chill thawed. She never got that spare key. Oddly enough, things improvedher need for control found other outlets: the local choir and walking group. No more surprise domestic inspections.
When Henry and I close our solid English door each night, I still feel grateful; inside these walls is our little world, private to us, always open to guests who truly respect our home.
Sometimes, to remain close, you just have to close the dooron your own terms.
