I cared for my mother-in-law, but she left her flat to someone else
Fetch me some water, will you! My throats bone dry Ive been shouting for you an hour now, and all I hear is you banging those pans about, as if youre purposely ignoring me!
That raspy, quarrelsome voice echoing from the back bedroom still makes me shudder when I remember it. Back then, Id learned to take deep breaths and count to ten a habit I picked up surviving three years in what felt like hell. The kitchen forever smelled of boiled chicken and medicine, a scent that tainted even the wallpaper and curtains. I switched off the hob under the saucepan, poured a glass of room temperature water never cold, never hot and went to the mother-in-laws room.
Mrs. Edith Warwick lay propped up on plump pillows, her face sharp and birdlike. Her watery blue eyes followed my every move, always suspicious. There, amid bottles of drops, blister packs, and crossword puzzles, sat a thick envelope something I hadnt noticed before.
Here you are, Mrs. Warwick, have a drink, I said, keeping my voice steady. Sorry didn’t hear you, the extractors loud. The chicken broths ready, I’ll soon mash your vegetables as the doctor advised.
She took a few sips, grimaced as though Id handed her vinegar, and pushed the glass aside.
You always have an excuse, she muttered, dabbing her mouth on the sheet. Extractor fan, hoover, or youre chatting away on the phone. And here I lie dying of thirst.
Please dont say that. Im here whenever you need. I was used to the complaints; they passed through me like water. While I tucked the blanket straight, my glance landed again on that odd envelope, poking out a document with a wax seal.
Whats this, Mrs. Warwick? New prescription from the doctor? I nodded towards it. Let me see, maybe I need to dash to the pharmacy.
Her hand shot out, covering the envelope faster than youd think possible given her recent complaints about lifting even a spoon.
Leave it! Its none of your business. These are my private papers.
I was startled. Normally, Mrs. Warwick insisted I read all her medical records, utility bills, even letters from the pension office. This secrecy was new.
I was only asking I began, but the front door slammed, footsteps echoed in the hallway.
Charlies home! Her face transformed, a saccharine smile spreading. Son, come to save me from this jailer!
Charlie Warwick, my husband, entered, looking weary, his jacket creased, tie askew. As head of sales, lately he spent all hours at work, seemingly avoiding the sickrooms atmosphere and constant complaints.
Hello, Mum. Hello, Gwen, he murmured, pecking his mothers cheek, never glancing at me. Whats gone wrong now? What jailer? Gwen does everything for you, like youre her own child.
Shes waiting for me to free up the flat, thats what shes doing Dont think Im blind. Cold eyes, empty no love, just duty.
I felt a lump in my throat. Three years earlier, after Ediths stroke, we faced a choice: a nurse or a care home. A good nurse was costly, and Charlie dismissed the care home immediately What would people think, leaving mother to strangers? So I reluctantly left my library job, moved Edith out of her two-bed into our larger three-bed, and we let her flat for extra money to cover medicines and therapy.
Ill lay the table, I whispered, leaving the room.
At dinner, Charlie listlessly prodded his pork chop.
Is it nice? I asked, hoping for a kind word.
Its fine, he replied, his eyes on his phone. By the way, Mums asked to invite Susan. Says she misses her.
Susan was Ediths niece, daughter of her late sister. Loud, garishly painted, and utterly useless with chores. Shed visit twice a year, bring a cheap cake, sit an hour at Ediths bedside gossiping about failed romances, then disappear, leaving her perfume and dirty dishes in her wake.
Why? I protested. Mrs. Warwicks blood pressure is always fluctuating Susans a whirlwind. Shell have her upset again.
Mum wants her. A matter apparently. Susans coming tomorrow put up with her for an hour.
Next day, Susan arrived bang on noon, breezing through the apartment without removing her shoes, marching across our clean carpet.
Gwen, darling! Youve put on a little, haven’t you? That dressing gown does nothing for you. Wheres Aunt Edith? Ive got treats for her!
She carried a bag of marshmallows, which Edith absolutely couldnt have doctors orders.
I pointed wordlessly to the bedroom. Susan disappeared inside, and soon lively whispering filtered out, punctuated by Ediths sobs. I retreated to the kitchen, busying myself with sorting rice, but worry gnawed at me. That envelope still haunted my thoughts.
An hour later, Susan emerged beaming, envelope in hand, tucking it carelessly into her oversized handbag.
Well, Gwen, Im off! Busy, you know business, life! Aunt Ediths asleep, dont wake her. Youre doing great, its spotless although those curtains so last century.
Gone as quickly as shed arrived.
That evening, as I struggled to change Ediths bedding never easy, since she was heavy and never helped I finally asked:
Mrs. Warwick, what papers did you give Susan today? Should I make copies or take them to Social Services?
She squinted slyly, a flash of triumphant spite in her gaze.
That, Gwen, is my gratitude. Susans the only soul who loves me for me. Not for my flat, not for any inheritance just blood. Blood is thicker than water!
I felt a chill deep inside.
What flat do you mean? Your two-bed is let, the money going to your care. We agreed that afterwards when the time comes it would go to the grandchildren, Charlie and my kids.
Edith cackled, her laugh dry and crow-like.
You made plans! Counting your chickens! Well, I decided otherwise. Out came the notary today, while you were shopping. I signed a deed of gift. To Susan.
I froze, clutching the sheet. The world lurched.
A deed of gift? To Susan? The same Susan whos never brought you a glass of water? Who doesnt even know how many pills you take?
But she never reproaches me! Edith shrieked. You come here every day, sour-faced, as if youre doing me a favour! Dont think I havent noticed. Waiting, arent you, for me to die and grab my flat! Well, you can forget it! Susan owns it now. Officially. Section 572, Gift Deeds, darling. Irrevocable.
I sat heavily on the chair. My legs wouldnt hold me. Three years. Three lost years. Injections, nappies, tantrums, sleepless nights, abandoning my career. All for what? To hear Im a greedy outsider?
What about Charlie? I managed. Does he know?
Hell know when the times right. My property, my choice. Now go heat the soup, Im hungry. And fix my nappy, its pinching.
I left, ears ringing, and grabbed my coat, my bag, and walked out. I couldnt stay. I needed air.
I wandered around town for hours till I was numb with cold. The word dancing in my mind: betrayal. Not Ediths I never expected love from her. But my husbands. The notary didnt just show up; someone opened the door, gave documents. Charlie must have been involved.
When I returned, Charlie ate soup at the kitchen table, straight from the saucepan.
Whereve you been? he grumbled. Mums shouting, her nappys soaked, and youre gone. Am I supposed to clean her up? Im a man, I cant stomach it!
I looked at him. For the first time in twenty years, I saw him clearly not a beloved partner, not a support, but a selfish, infantile man enjoying his own comfort.
Charlie, I said quietly. Your mother gifted the flat to Susan. Did you know?
He choked on his soup, coughed, turned red.
What deed? Youre talking nonsense!
Its true. She told me herself. Susan took the documents today. The notary came while I was gone. Who let him in? Your spare keys you couldve come at lunch?
Charlie avoided my gaze, nervously flicking crumbs across the table.
Well I popped in. Mum said something about changing her pension paperwork. I let the bloke in he was a solicitor, seemed legit. I didnt look into it, Gwen. I had to get back to the office!
You didnt look into it? Your mother has just disinherited our kids, handed her flat to a stranger, and you didnt look into it? Wholl pay for her medicine now? No more rent Susan will sell the flat or take it. On whose money, Charlie? Yours? Or do you expect me to go back to work to support the woman who spat in my face?
Dont start hysterics! Charlie thumped the table. Mums ill, maybe she wasnt right in the head! Well contest it, say shes mentally unfit!
Mentally unfit? I smiled bitterly. You said she was as sharp as a tack when she praised you. Im sure the notary demanded a doctors certificate. Susan saw to everything.
A shout came from the bedroom:
Is anyone alive? Im soaked! Gwen! Come clean me!
Charlie grimaced.
Gwen, sort her out. Well figure this out later. Cant let her lie in filth.
And inside me, something snapped. That thread holding my patience, duty, and sacrifice broke. I glanced at my hands red, rough from endless scrubbing. When was the last time I got my hair cut? I recalled my old dream to travel to the seaside but what about Edith?
No, I said.
What do you mean, no? Charlie frowned.
Im not going. I won’t clean her anymore. I wont puree her soup. I wont listen to insults. She has Susan now the owner of her flat. Let Susan take charge. According to law, she got the asset let her deal with the burden. Call Susan. Let her come and wash Edith.
Youve gone mad! Charlie jumped up. Susan won’t answer at this hour! She has no clue! Gwen, shes my mother!
Thats just it. Your mother. Not mine. And she gifted her flat to her niece. Im just the jailer, as she puts it.
I walked not to Ediths room, but to ours. I grabbed my suitcase.
What are you doing? Charlie stood at the door, pale and scared.
Im leaving. Ill move in with Mum. Its cramped in her one-bed, but at least its peaceful.
Gwen, stop! Edith acted rashly, she wasnt thinking! Well fix it! Dont leave! How will I cope alone? Ive got work!
Hire a carer. Oh wait, no money The flats gone. So, do it yourself. After work. At night. Weekends. Welcome to my world, Charlie.
I threw clothes haphazardly into the case: jumpers, underwear, books. Tears streamed down my face, but I didnt care. I just wanted to leave, fast.
Gwen, I wont let you! Youre my wife! For better or worse!
Ive seen the worse, Charlie. For three years, nothing but it. And about joy its nowhere to be found. By the way, I zipped the case, straightening up, Ill file for divorce.
Because of a flat?! Youre so materialistic!
Not the flat, you fool! I shouted. Because you made me your servant! Because you let the notary in and betrayed me! Because now, instead of apologising, youre wondering wholl change Ediths nappy!
I wheeled my suitcase through the hall. Ediths cries now sounded more like wailing:
Charlie! Shes left me! She wants to kill me! Give me a drink!
Charlie darted between me and his mothers door.
Gwen, please at least stay the night!
Ill leave my keys on the table, I replied icily. Goodbye.
I stepped out, pressed the lift button, and as the doors closed, pressed my forehead to the cold mirror and sobbed finally, tears of relief.
That first week at Mums was a fog. I slept twelve hours a night, ate heartily, wandered the park. I switched off my phone, got a new number for close friends only. Still, news reached me.
Through a mutual friend, I heard Charlie couldnt reach Susan. She didnt answer, then announced a gift is a gift a gift deed brings no obligations. She said she planned to sell the flat, as she needed money for her business, and gave tenants two months notice. Most revealing: she hinted Edith should be placed in a state care home since Charlie clearly couldnt manage.
Charlie took unpaid leave. Then sick leave. He rang our son and daughter, who lived in other cities, and begged them to help. They called me.
Mum, Dad says youre a traitor, said our son, Ben. But we know how much you did. We wont come. Weve got exams. Anyway Grandma chose Susan.
I was proud of my children. They understood.
A month passed. I got my old library job back. Not much pay, but the calm and smell of books healed me better than any medicine. I filed for divorce. Charlie never appeared in court.
One evening, heading home from work, I found Charlie waiting outside Mums block. He looked ten years older, unshaven, dirty shirt, smelling of stale beer and that sour scent of age I knew too well.
Gwen he stepped forward. Help me. I cant cope. She screams night and day. Susan already sold her flat to shady estate agents, for a pittance. The rent money’s gone. No money for a carer. I lost my job they let me go
I looked at him and felt nothing but distaste.
Whats that got to do with me, Charlie?
But you know how You know what to do. Come back, please. Ill forgive everything. We could sell our own flat, buy something smaller, hire someone.
Youll forgive? Youre confused. It is I who should forgive. But I wont.
Gwen, she cries. She remembers you. Says you made the best porridge.
She should have remembered sooner. When she called the notary.
But Susan betrayed us! Shes a con artist!
Susan did only what you all allowed. Edith tried to buy love with property. The deal was done. Goods delivered. No refunds.
Youve become heartless, Charlie whispered.
Ive become free, I corrected him. Leave, Charlie. Dont come back. The court dates next week. I hope its quick.
I walked around him and opened the door.
Gwen! he shouted after me. What if I put Edith in a state care home? Theres a waiting list, paperwork I dont know how! Help at least with that!
I stopped. Turned.
The internets your friend, Charlie. You used to be a manager. Figure it out. My shift is done.
I slammed the door.
Up in Mums flat, I stood at the window. Charlie was still below, small and pitiful, crushed under the weight of responsibility hed shuffled onto my shoulders for so long. I drew the curtains.
The kettle whistled in the kitchen. Mum was baking cabbage pies.
Who was that, Gwen? Mum asked, peeking from the kitchen.
Wrong address, Mum. Just someone lost.
I sat, took a hot pie, and bit in. For the first time in three years, food tasted good. Life went on and this life belonged only to me now. Edith Warwick got exactly what she deserved: her beloved niece with the money, and a son finally learning to grow up even if it was at fifty. Sometimes, justice comes chilled, but its never less filling.
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