Im tired of looking after your overgrown boy, declared the daughter-in-law, and went off to the seaside.
There was a woman, Victoria Stevens, with a son.
A fine lad he was hardworking and earnest. Only the wife hed chosen proved rather peculiar. One week she refused to cook, the next she wouldnt tidy the house. Recently she had become entirely unmanageable almost as if shed thrown caution to the wind altogether.
Just yesterday shed stirred up trouble again.
Oliver, she said to her husband, I cant take this anymore! Youre a grown man and yet you act like a child!
Oliver was quite bewildered he hadnt asked for anything extraordinary! He simply wanted Megan to pick out his socks, iron his shirt, and remind him to collect a certificate from the surgery.
My mother always helped me, he muttered.
Well, you can go back to your mother! Megan exploded.
The next morning, Megan packed her suitcase.
Oliver, she stated calmly, Im going to Brighton. For a month. Maybe more.
What do you mean, maybe more?!
Just that. Im exhausted from mothering a grown man.
Oliver tried to argue, but Megan wouldnt listen. She fished out her phone, dialled:
Mrs Stevens? Its Megan. If he cant survive without a nanny, perhaps you ought to stay at ours awhile. The spare keys are under the mat.
And off she went.
Oliver sat alone in the empty flat, clueless. The fridge was bare. His socks were filthy. Dishes towered in the sink.
A couple of days later he called his mother:
Mum, Megans lost her senses! Shes gone off somewhere, I have no idea where! What on earth shall I do now?
Victoria sighed. More trouble with the daughter-in-law.
All right, Ollie, Ill be over soon. Well sort it out.
She arrived within the hour, armed with a bag of groceries and her familiar resolve: shed fix everything, she always did.
But when she opened the flat door, she gasped.
Chaos reigned. The bedroom floor was awash with clothes. The kitchen was stacked high with dirty dishes. The bathroom overflowed with filthy laundry.
And suddenly, Victoria realised: her thirty-year-old son truly couldnt cope. Not in the slightest.
Her whole life, she had done everything for him. She had created a giant child.
Mum, Oliver whined, whats for tea? Where are my shirts? Whens Megan coming home?
Victoria quietly set to cleaning. But her mind churned with guilt: What have I done?
Shed shielded her boy from household cares, from hardship, from life itself.
And now, without women, he was utterly helpless.
As for Megan? Shed simply run away from this oversized dependent child.
And who could blame her?
Victoria stayed with her son for three days.
And each day, her realisation deepened: she had raised a big child.
Each morning Oliver woke and immediately began to whinge:
Mum, whats for breakfast? Wheres my shirt? Are there any clean socks?
Victoria boiled, cleaned, ironed, and watched, silently.
Picture it: a grown man didnt know how to work the washing machine! He hadnt a clue about the cost of bread! Even making a cup of tea, he blundered: scalded by boiling water, sugar spilled across the counter.
Mum, he complained nightly, Megans changed! She used to act like she loved me now shes so distant, like a stranger!
How do you behave with her? Victoria ventured.
Same as ever! I dont ask for much. I simply want a wife to be a wife, not some angry nag!
Victoria looked at her son. Good grief. He truly didnt get it!
Ollie, do you ever help Megan?
What do you mean? he asked, honestly confused. I work! I bring home money! Isnt that enough?
And at home?
At home? Im spent after work! I want to rest. She’s always asking something: dishes, groceries But thats womens business!
And then Victoria heard herself her own words from the past:
Ollie, dont touch Mummy will do it! You dont need to shop Mummys quicker! Youre a man, important things are your concern!
She had created a monster.
The longer she watched, the scarier it became.
Oliver came home and collapsed onto the sofa. Waited for his dinner. Waited for someone to tell him the news. Waited for entertainment.
And when dinner didnt materialise automatically, he sulked:
Mum, whens dinner? Im starving!
Just like a child.
Worst of all were his comments about Megan.
Shes so high-strung, Oliver griped. Always angry. Maybe she needs the doctor? Her hormones checked?
Or maybe shes just worn out? his mother suggested.
Worn out? We both work as much! Still, the house is a womans job.
A job?! Who told you that? Victoria erupted.
Oliver was taken aback. His mother had never shouted at him.
On the fourth evening, Victoria reached her breaking point.
Oliver was sprawled on the sofa, scrolling through his phone and sighing bored without his wife. Dishes packed the kitchen, socks littered the floor, the bed was a mess.
Mum, he moaned, whats for tea?
Victoria stood at the cooker making homemade soup. As she had for thirty years.
Suddenly, she realised: enough.
Oliver, she said, turning off the gas, we need to talk.
Im listening, he replied, not looking up from his phone.
Put it away. Look at me.
Her tone held something new, something serious. Oliver complied.
My son, Victoria began softly, do you know why Megan left?
She had a wobble, thats all. Emotional, you know women. Shell be back once shes rested.
She wont.
What do you mean, she wont?!
Shes exhausted from mothering a grown child.
Oliver jumped up.
Mum! Whats all this? Im no child! I work, I bring home money!
So? What do you do at home? Are your hands broken? Your eyes blind?
Oliver turned pale.
How can you say that? Im your son!
Thats exactly why! Victoria trembled and sat down.
Mum, are you ill? Oliver asked, frightened.
Ill! She laughed wryly. Im sick with love. Blind maternal love. I thought I was protecting you but I raised an egotist! A thirty-year-old man whos useless without a woman! Who thinks the world owes him!
But Oliver began.
But nothing! Victoria cut him off. You want Megan to be your second mummy? To wash, to cook, to clean up after you? Why?
I work!
So does she! But she also runs the house! And you? You lounge on the sofa and expect service!
Olivers eyes brimmed with tears.
Mum, but everyone lives this way.
Not everyone! she shouted. Decent men help their wives! Wash dishes, cook, raise children! And you dont even know where we keep the washing powder!
Oliver sat, face hidden in his hands.
Megans right, Victoria whispered. She is tired of being your mother. And Im tired too.
What do you mean tired?
Just that. Victoria went to the hallway and grabbed her bag. Im going home. Youre staying here. Alone. Try properly growing up.
Mum, you cant! Oliver leapt up. Alone? Wholl cook? Wholl clean?
You will! his mother retorted. You! Like any normal adult!
But I cant!
Youll learn! Or stay a lonely and childish failure!
Victoria put on her coat.
Dont go, Mum! Oliver begged. What will I do by myself?
What you should have been doing since you were ten, she replied. Living independently.
And out she went.
Oliver remained in his messy flat. For the first time ever truly alone.
Faced with reality.
He sat on the sofa until midnight.
His stomach grumbled. The sink stank of old dishes. Socks lay about desolately.
Oh crikey, he muttered, and for the first time in thirty years, got up to wash his own plates.
He made a mess of it. Plates slipped, the soap stung his hands. But he managed.
Next, he tried to cook an egg. Burnt it. Tried again edible, just about.
That morning, he admitted: Mum was right.
A week passed.
Oliver spent every day learning to fend for himself. Wash, cook, clean. Shop for groceries and make sense of prices. Manage his time to get things done.
Turns out it was real work.
Then he understood what life had been for Megan.
Hello, Megan? he rang her that Saturday.
Yes? came her chilly voice.
Youre right, he said at once. I acted like a big child.
Megan said nothing.
Ive lived alone for a week. And I get it now he faltered, I see how hard it was for you. Im sorry.
After a long pause, Megan spoke.
Your mother called me yesterday, you know. Asked my forgiveness for not raising you right.
After a month, Megan returned.
She came back to a tidy flat, her husband waiting with a home-cooked meal and a bunch of flowers.
Welcome home, he told her.
Victoria now rang once a week, asking after them but never inviting herself round.
And one evening, as Oliver washed up after supper, and Megan brewed tea, she said:
You know, I really rather like our new life.
So do I, he replied, wiping his hands on the tea towel. Its a shame it took us so long to get here.
At least weve arrived, finally, Megan smiled.
And that was the honest truth.
