Well, Our Mum’s Not Much to Write Home About — “Anya, have you left the wet towel on the hook in the bathroom again?” The sharp voice of her mother-in-law called out from the hallway just as Anna set foot inside after work. Valentina stood there, arms folded, giving her daughter-in-law the look. “It’s drying,” Anna slipped off her shoes. “That’s what the hook is for.” “In proper homes, towels go on the towel rail. Not that you’d know.” Anna walked past, ignoring her. Twenty-eight, two university degrees, managing her own department—and here she was, getting nagged about towels. Every single day. Valentina watched her go, dissatisfied. That silence—barely answering, acting like she ran the place. Fifty-five years had taught Valentina to judge people, and she’d never liked this one. Cold. Proud. Maxim needed a warm woman—not a statue. In the days that followed, Valentina watched. Noted. Remembered… “Arty, tidy away your toys before dinner.” “Don’t want to.” “I wasn’t asking, I said tidy up.” Six-year-old Artie sulked but started gathering up his soldiers. Anna didn’t look at him, just carried on chopping salad. Valentina was watching. There it was again, that coldness. No smile. No gentle word. Just orders. Poor boy. “Gran,” Artie climbed onto the sofa next to her as Anna went to sort laundry. “Why is Mum always angry?” Valentina stroked his hair. The moment was perfect. “Some people are just like that, sunshine. They can’t show love. It’s sad, really.” “Can you?” “Of course, sweetheart. Grandma will always love you. Grandma’s never angry.” Artie snuggled closer. Valentina smiled. Whenever they were alone, she added another brushstroke to her picture. Cautiously. Bit by bit. “Mum didn’t let me watch cartoons today,” Artie told her the next week. “Poor thing. Mum is strict, isn’t she? Sometimes I think she’s a bit too hard on you. But don’t worry, you come to Granny, I’ll always understand.” He nodded, soaking it all up. Granny—kind. Granny—understands. And Mum…? “You know,” Valentina whispered conspiratorially, “some mums just don’t know how to be cuddly. That’s not your fault, Artie. You’re a wonderful boy. It’s just your mum that’s not very good at being a mum.” He hugged her. Something icy and confusing settled in his heart whenever he thought of Mum. A month later Anna noticed the change. “Arty, darling, come have a cuddle!” He pulled away. “Don’t want to.” “Why not?” “Just don’t want to.” He ran off to his gran. Anna was left standing, arms outstretched, in the playroom. Something had broken in their normal life and she didn’t know when it had happened. Valentina watched from the hallway, a small, satisfied smile on her lips. “Sweetheart,” Anna said softly to Artie that night, “are you upset with me?” “No.” “Then why don’t you want to play with me?” He just shrugged, eyes distant. “I want to be with Gran.” Anna let him go. All that was left was a dull ache of not knowing. “Max, I don’t recognise Artie any more,” she told her husband late that night. “He keeps running away from me. It never used to be like this.” “Come on. Kids are like that. Moody one day, different the next.” “It’s not a phase. He looks at me like…I’ve done something wrong.” “Ana, you’re overthinking it. Mum looks after him while we’re at work. Maybe he’s just attached to her.” Anna wanted to say more, but stopped. Max was already buried in his phone. Meanwhile, as Valentina put Artie to bed on those late nights, she whispered, “Your mum loves you, darling. Just…in her own way. Cold, strict. Not all mums know how to be kind, you see?” “Why?” “That’s just how it is, sunshine. But Grandma will never hurt you. Grandma will always protect you. Not like Mum.” Artie fell asleep with those words. Every morning, he eyed his mum just a bit more warily. Now he clearly showed who he preferred. “Artie, shall we go to the park?” Anna held out her hand. “I want Gran.” “Artie…” “With Gran!” Valentina grabbed his hand. “Stop pestering the boy! He doesn’t want to go with you, see? Come on, Artie, let’s get you some ice cream.” They left. Anna watched as her son ran to his gran—and felt something heavy crush her chest. Her own child was turning away from her, running from her. She had no idea what she’d done wrong. That evening, Max found her staring at cold tea in the kitchen, eyes distant. “I’ll talk to him, I promise.” She just nodded. She didn’t have the strength for words anymore. Max went to join his son in the playroom. “Artie, tell me. Why don’t you want to be with Mum?” Artie looked away. “Just because.” “That’s not an answer. Did Mum upset you?” “No…” “Then what is it?” Artie was silent. A six-year-old can’t explain what he doesn’t understand. When Gran says Mum’s mean, cold—well, it must be so. Grandma didn’t lie. Max left the room, none the wiser… Meanwhile, Valentina prepared her next move. Anna was on the verge of falling apart; you could see it. Just a little longer and she’d pack her bags herself. Max deserved better—a real wife, not an ice queen. “Artie,” she called him when Anna was in the shower, “you know Grandma loves you most in the world, right?” “I know.” “And your mum…well, she’s not much, is she? Never hugs you right, never gentle, always cross. Oh, my poor boy…” She didn’t hear the footsteps behind her. “Mum.” Valentina turned. Max was frozen in the doorway. Face white as a sheet. “Artie, go to your room,” his voice was quiet but firm. The boy fled. “Max, I was just—” “I heard everything.” Silence hung thick between them. “You…” Max swallowed. “You’ve been turning him against Anna? All this time?” “I’m only looking out for my grandson! She treats him like a prisoner!” “Have you lost your mind?” Valentina stumbled backwards. Her son had never looked at her like that. With disgust. “Max, listen—” “No, you listen. You turned my son against his own mum. My wife. Do you know what you’ve done?” “I wanted what’s best!” “Best? Artie won’t go near his own mother! Anna’s beside herself! Is this your idea of best?” Valentina raised her chin. “Well, she doesn’t suit you. Cold, unfeeling—” “Enough!” The shout stopped them both. Max was shaking. “Pack your bags. Tonight.” “You’d throw out your mother?” “I’m protecting my family. From you.” Valentina opened her mouth—then shut it again. In her son’s eyes she read her sentence. No appeals. No second chances. An hour later she left. No goodbyes. Max found Anna in the bedroom. “I know why Artie changed.” She looked up, her eyes red. “It was my mum. She’s been telling him you don’t really love him, that you’re mean. She’s been poisoning him against you all this time.” Anna froze, then let out a shaky sigh. “I…thought I was going mad. Thought I was a bad mother.” Max sat beside her, hugged her tight. “You’re a wonderful mum. I don’t know what got into my mother. But she’ll never come near Artie again.” The weeks that followed were hard. Artie asked about Granny and couldn’t understand why she was gone. His parents talked to him, gently, patiently. “Sweetheart,” Anna stroked his hair, “what Gran said about me—it wasn’t true. I love you. So, so much.” He was dubious. “But you’re strict.” “Not mean—just strict. Because I want you to grow up to be a good person. Being strict can be love too, you see?” He thought about it. For a long time. “Will you hug me?” Anna hugged him so tightly he burst out laughing… Gradually, day by day, he came back. The real Artie. The one who ran to his mum with his pictures, who drifted off to her lullabies at night. Max watched his wife and son playing in the living room and thought of his mother, alone in her flat. She’d phoned a few times. He didn’t answer. Valentina was on her own now. No grandson. No son. All she’d wanted was to protect Max from the wrong woman. In the end, she lost them both. Anna put her head on Max’s shoulder. “Thank you for making it right.” “Sorry it took me so long to notice.” Artie bounced over, clambered onto his dad’s lap. “Dad, Mum, can we go to the zoo tomorrow?” As it turned out, life really was getting better…

Our Mum Is a Bit of a Let-down

Emily, did you leave that damp towel hanging on the hook in the bathroom again?

Margarets voice rings from the hallway just as Emily steps through the door after work. Her mother-in-law stands there, arms folded tightly, fixing her with a disapproving look.

Its drying there, Emily replies, kicking off her heels. Thats what the hooks for.
In proper homes, towels are hung on a heated rail, not on hooks. But I suppose you wouldnt know.

Emily walks by, not bothering to reply. Twenty-eight years, two university degrees, a managerial roleand yet here she is, being lectured about towels. Every single day.

Margaret watches her daughter-in-law, scowling. That silent treatment, acting as if she owns the place. After fifty-five years, Margaret prides herself on reading people, and shes never liked Emily. Cold. Aloof. William needed a warm, homely wife, not an ice maiden.

Over the next few days, Margaret is vigilant. Noting. Remembering.

Harry, tidy up your toys before tea.
Dont want to.
I wasnt asking, tidy them up.

Six-year-old Harry sulks but shuffles off to gather up his scattered action figures. Emily doesnt spare him a glance, continuing to slice vegetables.

Margaret watches from the lounge. There it isher coldness. No smile, no soft words, just orders. Poor child.

Granny, Harry climbs onto the sofa next to her after Emily goes to put away the laundry, why is Mum always so cross?

Margaret strokes his hair. Its the perfect moment.

Some people are just like that, sweetheart. They dont know how to show love. Its sad, really.
But you know how?
Of course, darling. Granny loves you very much. Grannys never cross.

Harry cuddles up closer. Margaret smiles to herself.

Every time shes alone with him, she gently adds to the picture. Subtle. Gradual.

Mum wouldnt let me watch cartoons tonight, Harry grumbles the next week.
Aww, poor thing. Mum is strict, isnt she? Sometimes Granny thinks shes rather strict with you. But dont be upset, you can come to Granny. Ill always understand.

Harry nods, soaking up every word. Granny is kind. Granny understands. Mum, though

Margaret leans in, dropping her voice to a conspiratorial whisper:

Some mums just dont know how to be loving, Harry. Its not your fault, not one bit. Youre a brilliant boy. Its Mum whos got a problem.

Harry hugs his granny. Something chilly and tangled starts to grow inside him whenever he thinks of Emily.

A few weeks on, Emily notices somethings changed.

Harry, love, come here. Let me give you a cuddle.

He shrugs her away.

Dont want a cuddle.
Why?
I just dont.

He bolts off to Margaret instead. Emily stands in the middle of the childs room, her arms half-outstretched, everything suddenly off-kilter and uncertain.

From the hallway, Margaret watches, a contented smile curling at her lips.

Harry, darling, Emily kneels beside him that evening, are you upset with me?
No.
Then why dont you want to play games with me?

Harry shrugs, not meeting her eyeshis look distant, guarded.

I want Granny.

Emily relents, her chest tight with incomprehension and hurt.

Will, I cant understand whats happening with Harry anymore, she says to her husband late that night, after everyone is asleep. He keeps his distance. It was never like this before.
Dont overthink it, Em. Kids are like that. One days a tantrum, next day theyre back to normal.
Its not a mood. He looks at me as if Ive done something awful.
Em, youre reading too much into it. Mums with him while were at work. Maybe hes just grown close.

Emily wants to protest, but Will is already buried in his phone, not listening.

Your mum loves you, Margaret whispers as she tucks Harry into bed on the nights his parents are late home. But in her own way. Shes strict, cold. Some mums arent good at being gentle, do you see?
But why?
It just happens, sweetheart. Granny could never be unkind to you. Always here to protect you. Not like Mum.

Harry drifts off with these words swirling in his head, and every morning his look at Emily seems a little more wary.

Now, he flaunts his preference.

Harry, lets pop out for a walk? Emily holds out her hand.
I want to go with Granny.
Harry
With Granny!

Margaret grabs his hand eagerly.

Oh, stop pestering him. Cant you see he doesnt want to? Come on, Harry, Granny will treat you to some ice cream.

They leave. Emily watches them go, a weight sitting on her chest. Her own son turning away, running to his grandmotherand she cant even work out when or how it all started.

That evening, Will finds Emily in the kitchen, sitting with a mug of cold tea, gazing blankly at the tiles.

Em, Ill talk to him. I promise.

She just nods. She hasnt the strength for words.

Will sits down beside Harry in the playroom.

Harry, tell Dad. Why dont you want to be with Mum?

The boy looks away.

Just dont.
Just dont, isnt an answer. Did Mum upset you?
No.
Then whats wrong?

Harry says nothing. At six, how is he meant to explain something he doesnt really understand? Granny says Mum is cold and cross, so it must be true. Granny wouldnt lie.

Will leaves the playroom none the wiser.

Meanwhile, Margaret is planning her next move. Emilys all deflated now, she can see it. A little longer, and that upstart will pack her bags herself. Will deserves better. A real wife, not this block of ice.

Harry, she calls him in the hallway the next day while Emily is in the shower, you know Granny loves you more than anything, dont you?
I know.
And Mum Mums a bit hopeless, isnt she? Doesnt really hug you, doesnt smile, always grumpy. My poor boy.

She doesnt hear the footsteps behind her.

Mum.

Margaret turns. Will stands in the doorway, face drained of colour.

Harry, off you go to your room, he says quietly, firmly. The boy bolts.

Will, I
I heard it all.

A long silence.

You Wills voice shakesyouve been turning him against Emily? The whole time?
I just care about my grandson! She treats him like shes his headmistress!
Have you lost your mind?

Margaret retreats, stunned. Shes never seen her son look at her like that, with sheer disgust.

Will, listen
No. You listen. He steps closer. You tried to turn my son against his own mother. My wife. Do you realise what youve done?
I meant it for the best!
Best? Harry flinches away from Emily. Shes in bits! Thats best?

Margaret lifts her chin.

Well, fine. Shes not good for you. So cold and unfeeling
Enough!

His shout cuts through the house. Will is breathing hard.

Pack your bags. Tonight.
Youre throwing out your own mother?
Im protecting my family. From you.

Margarets jaw opens, then snaps shut. She reads his decision in his face. No argument. No second chance.

An hour later, shes gone, not saying goodbye.

Will finds Emily in their bedroom.

I know why Harrys changed.

Emily looks at him, red-eyed.

My mother. All this time, shes been telling Harry youre cold, that you dont really love him. Shes been poisoning him against you.

Emily sits frozen, then lets out a shaky breath.

I I thought I was losing my mind. I honestly thought I was a terrible mum.

Will sits and embraces her.

Youre a wonderful mum. My mum I dont know what came over her. Shell never come near Harry again.

The coming weeks are hard. Harry asks about Granny, not understanding why she isnt there. His parents talk to him gently, patiently.

Sweetheart, Emily strokes his hair, those things Granny said about methey arent true. I love you. More than anything.

Harry eyes her warily.

But youre always cross.
Not cross, strict. Because I want you to grow up to be good, kind. Sometimes strictness is love too, you see?

He thinks a while.

Could you give me a cuddle?

Emily hugs him so tightly Harry giggles.

Graduallyday by dayhe comes back. The real Harry. The one whod run to Mum to show his drawings. Whod drift off to sleep as she sang to him. Will watches Emily and Harry playing in the living room, and thinks of his mum. She calls a few times. He doesnt answer.

Margaret is left alone in her flat, without grandson or son. She only wanted to protect Will from the wrong woman, but ended up losing them both.

Emily rests her head on Wills shoulder.

Thank you for putting things right.
Im so sorry it took me this long to see what was happening.

Harry charges over, clambering onto his dads lap.

Mum, Dad, can we go to the zoo tomorrow?

Turns out, life really can mend itself.