Let her fly alone. Maybe shell be kidnapped there, Mother-in-law muttered
A stifling evening before our holiday was supposed to be filled with that lovely sense of anticipation and the bustle of packing.
But in our little London flat, the air was thick with tension. In the middle of the sitting room, standing like some monument to anxiety, was Margaret Williams, clutching the television remote.
I wont allow it! Have you both completely lost your minds?! Her voice cut through the room like steela tone well-honed after decades as a schoolteacher, now retired.
Frozen on the TV was the frame of another sensationalist programme: a solemn presenter standing before a map of South-East Asia, drawing red arrows to indicate every threat imaginable.
I, Emily, was calmly folding clothes into the suitcaserather too serenely for the circumstancesand gave a long sigh.
Id seen this drama play out before. My husband, Oliver, his face a perfect canvas of patient exhaustion, made a brave attempt to interject.
Mum, thats enough! Youre overreacting! Were going to a reputable hotel, all booked by an agency
Overreacting?! Dont be ridiculous, Margaret flared, nearly launching the remote at the wall. Oliver, for goodness sake, open your eyes! Shes going to be the death of you! Thailand, honestlyevery other person there is supposedly a people smuggler! Next thing, theyll send you off to fetch a beer down some alley, and youll never come back! Theyll take your kidneys, your liverwhatever they likeand ship them out in an ice chest! And as for her she gestured dramatically at me, theyll sell her into slaveryor worse! I saw a report about it on television!
I stopped packing and levelled my gaze at Margaret, mustering a pause that Oliver could only dream of holding.
Margaret, do you really believe all that? That every Thai is at once a mafia boss with a medical degree and a part-time brothel owner?
Dont get cheeky with me! Youve no defence against the facts! Its all on TV! People desperate for cheap thrills go there, and families get their loved ones remains in a Coca-Cola tin!
Oliver brushed a hand down his face in despair.
Mum, these are scare stories made for pensionersthey want to keep you glued to the set. There are millions of tourists every year
And thousands disappear! Margaret shot back. Emily, let me guess, youve already bought the tickets? Not handing them back, are you?
Already bought them. Not returning, I replied simply. Weve been saving for this trip for two years. I read all the reviews, checked the forums, used a reputable travel agent. Were not about to start poking around dodgy backstreets after sunset. Just sightseeing, relaxing on Pattayas beach, eating tom yum
Youll get food poisoning from whatever on earth they throw into those strange soups, she grumbled darkly. Oliver, please, love. Im asking you. Dont go. Let her go alone, if shes so determined. Her risk, her problem. Keep yourself alive and healthy. A mothers heart knows when theres trouble coming.
The room hung with a heavy, unbearable silence. Then I decided to finally say what had been simmering inside me for years.
All right, I said, snapping my suitcase shut with a click. Youre right, Margaret. Risk is a noble thing. Ill go alone.
Emily! Honestly Oliver gaped.
You heard your mother. Her heart senses disaster. I cant take responsibility for your kidneys and liver, let alone risk you being shipped off to slavery. Stay home. Drink tea with your mum, watch all the conspiracy broadcasts you like. As for me I flashed a frosty smile, Ill fly straight to danger. Alone.
Margaret looked both triumphant and knocked askew.
Shed got exactly what she wanted, and my sudden willingness to face all her bogeymen left her slightly off-balance.
As you wish, she muttered, a little less fierce. Suits yourself.
Oliver tried to object, to persuade me, but I stayed firm. The night before my flight, we lay back to back in silence.
Change your mind? he whispered.
No! I declared, not looking at him.
*****
My flight landed in Bangkok, and the sticky, aromatic heat wrapped round me like a blanket.
Was I afraid? Not in the least. Only tired, and brimming with curiosity. For the first few days, just as planned, I wandered the smiling, bustling streets, marvelled at temple spires sparkling in the sun, devoured street food that tasted like magic.
No one so much as glanced at my handbag, let alone tried to abduct me. The cheerful market traders simply smiled shyly, knocking a few baht off prices.
On impulse, I sent a picture to our family group chatOliver and, yes, Margaret insisted on being included. It was me, beaming with a fruit smoothie by turquoise water. Caption: Organs intact. Still not sold into slavery. Awaiting offers!
Oliver messaged back a stream of heart emojis. Margaret read the updates, but kept her silence.
After a while, I set out for Chiang Mai in the north. There, in a cosy family guesthouse run by an elderly Thai lady called Nok, who taught me to make proper pad thai, something happened that shifted everything.
Nok, with her broken English, reminded me strikingly of Margaret.
She fretted over her own daughter, working all the way in Seoul.
Shes there by herself. Cold. No one smiles there. Food is very strange, Nok complained, stirring noodles vigorously. I saw on TVradiation everywhere, people angry!
I looked at her anxious face and suddenly started laughing. I laughed until there were tears in my eyes.
Nok stared, perplexed. Then, using gestures, photos on my phone, and the simplest words, I told her about Margaret, the TV horror stories, stolen organs and slavery.
Nok listened, saucer-eyed, then erupted in laughterlight, musical laughter that rang around the kitchen.
These mums! she exclaimed. All the same, everywhere! Always scared of what they dont know. TVs just as mad over here!
That evening, beneath a starlit veranda, I decided to call Margaret herself, not Olivervideo chat.
She answered, looking tired and wary.
So. Still alive? she asked bluntly.
Right as rain, Margaret. And all organs accounted forsee? I said, spinning the camera to show off the veranda, as Nok appeared carrying a tray of sweet tea and fruit, beaming when she saw Margarets stern face on my phone.
Hello! Nok greeted her brightly, Your daughter is wonderful! She cooks very well! Dont worry, Ill look after herno slavery! She slung an arm round my shoulders and grinned.
Margaret was silent, switching her stare from Noks smiling face to my own sun-kissed expression.
And… your bits and pieces? Margaret finally asked, no longer quite so cocksure.
All still here, I smiled. And Ive even found my appetite. Margaret, its beautiful here, and everyones so kind. Even Noks worried about her daughter in Korea, because the telly says its all freezing and unfriendly. Funny, isnt it?
She said nothing for a while.
Let me speak to heryour Nok, Margaret said, unexpectedly. I handed over the phone. For ten minutes, those two women, leagues and cultures apart, chatted. They didnt know each others language, but, incredibly, seemed to understand one another perfectly. Nok laughed and nodded; Margaret frowned at first, but her face softened.
By the end, she even attempted a smileawkward, but genuine, losing the old mask of fear.
Afterwards, Oliver texted: Mums just turned off the telly. Said, Im fed up with all this panic, and asked when youll be home.
I didnt respond straight away. I gazed at the Chiang Mai stars. Then, taking a picture of me and Nok, arms slung around each other, grinning, I posted it: Found an ally. Paragliding tomorrow. Still have both kidneys. Love.
The return flight felt effortless. At Heathrow, Oliver met me, and a little further back, Margaret stood holding the most ludicrous bouquet of garish daisies.
She didnt fling herself at me, didnt start a row. Coughing awkwardly, she handed me the flowers.
So, still in one piece?
As you can see. Not trafficked, I replied.
Oh, give over, she huffed. Go on, tell us about… your Nok?
On the drive home, I told them everything: temples, street food, cheerful strangers, the little absurdities.
Margaret listened, sometimes even asking a question. The television stayed off that evening.
On its silent black screen, our reflections appeared: my husband, arm round my shoulders, and my mother-in-law, who, at last, seemed to be seeing the world not through the twisted lens of breaking news, but through the bright eyes of someone whod really been in the thick of itand come back, not only whole, but happy.
That night, over our tea, Margaret ventured softly, as if testing the water, Next year if youll have me maybe Ill come too? As long as its not anywhere too wild, mind you…
Oliver and I exchanged grinsdelighted surprise at her new perspective.
Yet a few days later, she turned up, red-faced and full of new anxieties.
Ive changed my mind! Im not coming anywhere. You were just lucky, Emily! Just last week I saw a storyloads of people rescued from captivity. I wont risk it!
Whatever you say, I shrugged.
Oliver, youve no business gallivanting around anyway. Theres plenty to see right here in England, Margaret declared, with grave importance.
Oliver sighed, but didnt argue any further. Experience had taught him it was pointless.
