The doorbell rang and in burst Georges mum, Patricia, not even bothering with a hello and nearly bowling over her son as she barrelled through the doorway.
Well then, darling daughter-in-law, care to explain what secrets youve been keeping from my son? she demanded, her voice dripping with a sort of matronly suspicion.
Mother? Has something happened? George stammered, trying to regain his balance and dignity in equal measure.
It was a pretty ordinary evening in the Lockwood household. Georges wife, Angela, had warned him in the morning shed be late at work todaysome urgent inventory review, apparently. Returning home to a quiet flat, George rooted around in the fridge and discovered it as empty as his ambition for cooking. Sighing, he stuck the kettle on, threw together a pair of questionably thin cheese sandwiches, and parked himself in front of the telly.
After a few minutes spent channel hopping, he finally found a low-stakes darts championship to watch. His sandwich, however, proved impossible to enjoy because, naturally, that was when the doorbell chimed and Patricia Lockwood arrived with all the subtlety of a marching band.
George, listen to me! Patricia thundered. Youll never guess what Penny Hamilton just told me!
Whats the matter, Mum? George managed, already regretting asking.
Its your Angelashe owns another flat! Shes been renting it out and spending the money on herself!
Mum, honestly, why do you believe a word Penny says? She collects gossip for a living and you sit there lapping it up.
I know Penny likes a tall tale, but this ones real! Because the tenants my neighbour Shirleys niece. She and her new husband rent it from Angela for only £500 a month and think its a steal! And get this: Angelas been putting tenants in there for over two yearsits practically the family business at this point.
Well, Ill be damned, George said, stroking his chin in what he hoped looked pensive. But why wouldnt she tell me?
Ask her yourself when she gets back! Obvious, innit? Patricia huffed. Shes building herself a nest egg for when she ditches you. Soon as shes saved up enough, youll be left with nowt but a thank you note!
Angela finally returned home about ninety minutes later, expecting nothing but her usual modest heros welcome (maybe a cup of tea). Instead, she was greeted by her husband and mother-in-law sitting together like a slightly menacing panel on Mastermind. To keep herself busy until then, Patricia had whipped up a hot dinner and stuffed George without mercy.
Angela barely had time to hang up her coat when Patricia unleashed. Alright, my dear, tell uswhat little secrets are you keeping from your loving husband?
Secrets? I dont think so? Angela replied, with a questionable amount of confidence.
Oh, really? No secrets? Not even about the flat on Wellington Crescent, number forty-three?
Whats my flat got to do with secrets from my husband? Angela said, eyebrows raised.
Whats it got to do? Youre renting it and keeping the money for yourself! Patricia accused, with the satisfaction of a cat with the cream.
Is this true, Angela? said George, summoning unprecedented decisiveness. Where did this flat come from? Why didnt you mention you were letting it outand, while were at it, wheres all the rent money going?
It belonged to my Aunt MaureenMums cousin, technically my great-aunt, though I get lost in all that family lark. Aunt Maureen passed away nearly three years agoI told you, George. You said you were glad I wouldnt be spending Saturdays over there helping her out anymore.
And when I asked you to help with the funeral, you claimed your job was too busy and you were snowed under.
Whyd she leave the place to you? Patricia quizzed, undeterred.
I expect because nobody else bothered to visit her, really, Angela replied.
Still, why didnt you tell George about the inheritance? Patricia continued her cross-examination.
Whats it got to do with George? Its my inheritance.
How can you say that? Patricia gasped. Hes your husband, isnt he?
So?
Oh, dont act thick, Angela! That rent money should have gone into the family budget, but you just spent it all on yourself!
Too right I did! Its my inheritance, my property, and anything I make from it is mine. I dont owe anyone an account of how I spend it, Angela asserted.
Hang on, Angela, last year I spent a fortune fixing up my carused two bonuses for it. And all along you were sitting on this dosh? piped up George, trying to look wounded.
Well, George, thats your car. Youre the only one driving it. The last three times I got a lift were: once for Christmas shopping at Sainsburys, once when you forgot your keys and didnt fancy waiting in the hall, and once when I sprained my ankle and begged for a lift to A&E. Usually you suggest I get a taxi because its not on your way. Why should I pay to fix up something I dont even use?
Patricia, pursing her lips, jumped in again. So how much have you got stashed then? Must be a million by now, eh?
Hardly a million, but something. Angela arched an eyebrow at George. By the way, remember your two daughters in university? Whens the last time you sent them money?
Theyre working, arent they? George shrugged.
Theyre studentsdoing a bit of part-time work. But if they worked enough to be self-sufficient, theyd never finish their degrees.
So, why didnt you confide in us about your inheritance? George asked.
Because I didnt fancy this inquisition two and a half years ago. Besides, look at your mum and how she treated your brothers wife when she inherited that flat in Croydon.
Whats this now? Patricia spluttered. I didnt do anything!
Didnt you? You all but hounded Olivia for a year: Why do you need that poky flat? Sell up, buy a cottage! Well all have barbecues in the summer air. You sold the flat, bought the cottage, put it in your name, and now Olivia has to book in advance (and politely!) if she wants to spend a weekend thereassuming she fancies weeding!
Well, at least she gets to help on the garden! Patricia retorted.
No, thank you. Labouring on your allotment isnt my idea of a fair trade. Ill pass.
Honestly, Angela! Patricia thundered. You think only of yourself!
I learnt from the best, Patricia, Angela shot back.
George, did you hear that? Shes rude to me!
Well, I think she might have a point, Mum, George mumbled.
Angela pressed on. Now you know about the inheritance, what now?
We want to be sure the money goes into the family! Patricia declared.
It does. Into the family I defineme, my husband, and our children. Not the car, not fixes for a cottage I barely see.
We could all discuss together how best to use the money, Patricia tried.
And Im not old enough to decide for myself?
Think of everyone, not just yourself! Patricia squawked.
Oh, you mean everyoneyourself included, you mean? Thats why I kept it quiet. Ill use it for my sake and our childrensno one else!
Right, so youll keep it all yourself? Patricia sniffed.
Yup.
And you wont share with your husband? Patricia asked, aghast.
Ill share if I feel like it. But Ill spend it on my family as I see fit.
So I dont count as family?
Patricia, my family is me, my husband, and our children. The rest? Extended family, I suppose.
And that was that. Patricia didnt manage to weasel so much as a fiver from Angela, and not for lack of trying. But Angela, as it turned out, wasnt one to be browbeaten. As the saying goesshe digs her heels in and wont budge for love or money!
