Mistress of Her Own House
Annie, youve forgotten to cover the butter again, Margaret sighed, scraping her chair noisily across the kitchen tiles. Now its absorbed every smell in the fridge overnight. James, love, just have some cottage cheese instead. I bought it fresh yesterday.
Annie felt her grip on the knife tighten. She kept slicing the loaf, focusing on keeping the pieces straight, though her hands trembled ever so slightly. Outside, October rain pressed against the window, water threads distorting the grey garden. The kitchen felt far too small for three grown-ups.
Mum, honestly, the butters fine, James mumbled, eyes glued to his phone, working through a sandwich absent-mindedly.
Of course, of course. Im only trying to do whats best. Youre both young, you dont realise improper food storage ruins your insides. Then youll get upset stomachs, and who will look after you?
Sliding the bread plate across the table, Annie took her seat. Her head had felt dizzy since morning, her mouth dry and sour. She poured tasteless supermarket tea from a bag she supposed was called Sunrise, hopeful a hot drink might quiet the rising nausea.
Annie, youre barely touching your food, Margaret peered over her glasses, scrutinising her. Youre looking awfully skinny lately. Jamie, honestly, how do you plan to start a family with a wife who wont eat? A child needs a healthy mum.
A knot twisted suddenly in Annies gut. She sipped her too-hot tea, forcing a smile.
Mrs. Fletcher, Im just never hungry in the morning. Always been that way.
Always! When I was your age, Id go to work with a fever and think nothing of it. These days, the young ones want sick days for every sniffle. I was raising James on my own at your age, working and keeping the house spotless.
At last James looked up from his phone.
Mum, whats that got to do with anything? Annie was at the office till eight last night finishing reports.
Im not arguing, love, Im just concerned for you both. Youre a young family. Its time to think about children, but youre looking far too frail…
Annie stood, her untouched mug in hand, and crossed to the sink. Reflected in the dark pane, she saw Margaret spooning James more cottage cheese, gently patting his back. The motherly voice continued to hum, soft and loaded with care, drifting across the cramped little room.
Son, dont forget your big meeting today. I ironed your blue shirt for you. Its on the chair.
Annie gripped her mug of cooling tea, feeling something heavy and dull rising in her chest. Like exhaustion, but worse. Like resentment, but deeper.
Only three months ago, shed genuinely looked forward to Margarets arrival.
***
Margaret came to stay at the end of July. She rang late, her voice distressed and wobbling. A leaking bathroom at her flat in Norwich had ruined the floorboards and furniture. Heavy repairs. The builders said itd take just a week ten days, at most.
Jamie, can I stay with you two for a week? Hotels are so pricey, and Id be terribly lonely, she pleaded. Of course James had agreed instantly.
Back then, Annie had been relieved. Margaret lived in Leeds and they only saw her on holidays, but their relationship was cordial. She seemed a sprightly, good-natured widow whose only real flaw was being a little too talkative. Since her husbands sudden passing five years previously, shed worked at the county archives and nursed endless violets in their spare bedroom.
A week will fly by, Annie told James, already thinking how to prepare the spare room. Itll be nice to really talk for once.
James hugged her, kissed her hair.
Youre a saint. I know its awkward, but Id rather she werent alone through this upheaval.
Margaret arrived with two monstrous suitcases and a cardboard box tied up with string. Annie and James met her at Kings Cross station and helped with the bags. Margaret looked tired, her eyes reddened, mouth set.
Annie, thank you for letting an old lady in, she said tearfully, hugging her at their doorstep. Ill be no trouble. Ill be straight home as soon as the workers finish.
The first days were almost idyll. Margaret cooked lunches, tidied up as Annie and James went off to work. Evening teas came with Crispy Bites biscuits shed packed from Leeds, and theyd swap news. James, noticeably happier, joked more; it was obvious having his mum around delighted him.
But by the second week, things subtly shifted.
It began as small things. Margaret reorganised the spices (Makes more sense this way), then rearranged the wardrobe linens in her own fashion. Annie would find her things in odd places, unsure whether to mention it. They were trifles, truly.
Annie, I noticed dust along the curtain pelmets, Margaret remarked offhandedly, ladling soup. Not cleaned up there for a while? Bad for allergies, you know. I wiped it all down today, dont worry.
Thanks, Mrs Fletcher, Annie muttered, cheeks flushed. She really didnt dust weekly work wore her out, and she simply wanted her book or the telly of an evening.
Im not criticising, love, Margaret beamed. Only lending a hand. Makes things easier for you.
A call from the builders brought unwelcome news as week three drew to a close: the rewiring would delay the repairs another ten days at least. Margaret seemed disappointed but determined.
Jamie, Im not in your way, am I? Just a little longer, darling.
Mum, youre no trouble at all! James squeezed her shoulder.
Annie watched, silent. A flicker of unease began in her but she pushed it away. Whats another week, truly?
A month passed. Then another half. Margaret quietly took over their tiny two-bedroom flat. She slept in Annies former study with the click-clack sofa. Annie shifted her laptop onto the kitchen table or the foot of their bed awkward, but she could hardly ask Margaret to sleep elsewhere.
Every night Margaret cooked supper hearty, delicious, always exactly to Jamess tastes: shepherds pie, stew, cottage pie. Annie liked fish and salads but felt embarrassed to protest.
Annie, barely a mouthful again? Margaret tsked Jamie, look at your wife, shes wasting away. Should see the doctor about her digestion.
Annie, you really have gone off your food, James said, worried.
Im just not hungry, Annie repeated, and it was true. Shed lost all appetite. Mornings made her queasy, afternoons brought a weak, unsteady feeling. But going to the GP might mean admitting stress, and admitting stress would mean admitting Margarets presence drained her. How could she ever say that aloud?
***
Come mid-September, work went mad. HMRC demanded urgent corrections; Annie and her two colleagues stayed late, glued to their screens till long after dark. Annie arrived home shattered, her head tight and throbbing.
The flat always glowed with cosy lamps, smelled of casseroles and Margarets voice.
Annie, at last! Jamie and I ate already, but theres stew in the pot. Just dont move the pans I arranged them for convenience, darling.
Annie would nod, heat her food, barely able to swallow. James would appear for a kiss, share his workday. Margaret would ever sit close by, knitting or flicking through magazines, a ceaseless background presence, thickening the air.
Jamie, do you think your mum plans to stay long? Annie whispered one night, staring at the ceiling in the dark.
She cant help it, the builders still havent finished. Just hang on, love shes got nowhere else.
Its been two months now…
Shes my mum. Shes lonely. Cant you try and see?
A sharp pain tightened Annies chest. She turned away; James drifted off at once. She lay awake, listening through the thin wall to Margarets shuffling.
The next day, Margaret waylaid her with a cheerful plan.
Annie, lets do a deep clean together Saturday? Itll be faster for two.
Annie demurred, but Margaret already had mop and bucket ready. Side by side they wiped, scrubbed, all while Margaret narrated:
Oh, the dirt behind this radiator! Well want to run the hoover in there. The curtains are grey, you know. And how often do you clean the fridge, Annie? Has to be every fortnight germs, you see.
Annie wiped and nodded, every comment amplifying the hidden irritation inside her until it was almost a physical pressure. But she couldnt object Margaret meant to help. How could anyone fault her?
By late September Annie realised she was a guest in her own home clumsy, inadequate, not good enough. Margaret ran the kitchen, the laundry, even the ironing.
Jamie always preferred his shirts stiff and freshly pressed, shed say fondly. Always raised him to be orderly.
Annie had resorted to washing her own things in the night, whenever the machine was free. She moved about the flat furtively, on tiptoe, determined not to provoke or be seen.
At night peculiar dreams began: she wandered endless hallways seeking her room all the doors were locked or tried to cook dinner, only for pans and ingredients to melt away in her hands.
She would wake up with heart pounding, sweat slicking her brow, body vibrating with alarm. Lying there, she wanted desperately to wake James, confess how much she was struggling, how suffocating it felt. But the words would simply not surface. How do you explain being asphyxiated by care?
***
The first of October, things started to become truly weird.
Annie woke nauseous, dashed to the loo, and was sick. White-faced, shaking, she heard Margarets worried voice through the bathroom door.
Annie, are you alright? Should I ring the surgery?
No, really, Im fine. Mustve eaten something dodgy.
Dodgy? A note of wounded pride. I made fresh salmon fishcakes last night, checked everything myself. Jamie ate them, hes tucked up right as rain, but you…
Its not the fishcakes, Mrs Fletcher. My stomachs just delicate.
The whole day Annie dragged herself from meeting to spreadsheet, eyes struggling to focus. Her workmate, Claire, looked alarmed.
Annie, youre white as a ghost. Go home early!
Cant, that reports due tomorrow.
Your health matters more. See the GP, at least.
But she didnt. She returned late, and Margarets face wore a brittle disapproval.
I spent all evening worrying and so did Jamie. Dyou know how upsetting that is for us?
Sorry. Its just… work.
Always the work! What about home? Jamie had half his day alone, thank heavens he got a decent dinner from me.
Annie stumbled into the bedroom, closed the door, collapsed on top of the sheets. Dull voices filtered through the wall Margaret to James, James to Margaret too muffled to make out, but their distress was unmistakable. Annie pressed the pillow over her ears, wanting to scream, wanting to make a sound, but nothing came.
The next morning, pulling on her favourite cream blouse, she found a strange yellowish stain on the collar. She remembered it had been freshly laundered only yesterday.
Mrs Fletcher, do you know what happened to my blouse? she asked in the kitchen.
Margaret turned from the hob, feigning surprise.
Which one, dear?
The white one. With silk trim. It was clean, but now theres a mark.
Oh Annie, I dont touch your things. Perhaps you spilled something and forgot?
Annie gazed at her, at the innocent round face and eyes that didnt blink, and realised with a gut certainty Margaret was lying. She knew. Shed done it.
But she had no evidence, so instead she put on another top and went to the office, heavy as lead.
After that, the oddities piled up. Her cherished mug a birthday gift from James, perfect for morning tea went missing. Margaret shrugged.
Maybe it got chipped and you threw it away? Ive not seen it.
Then, overnight, Annies expensive shampoo bottle emptied out. Margaret just spread her hands wide.
Funny, isnt it? Maybe the lid leaked? They can, those bottles.
Annie stopped asking questions. Each day, she felt herself slipping further into a thick, unnameable fog. She worked in a daze by day; at night she sat hunched at the kitchen table with her laptop avoiding the study, which now felt foreign. James grew tense; arguing was never far off.
Annie, youre so jumpy lately. Is it work stress?
No. Not work.
Then what?
She looked at him, wanting to say it at last. That she couldnt stand his mothers constant presence, that her skin crawled with longing for her own space, that she felt foreign in her own flat. But, as always, words caught fast.
Just tired. Sorry.
He hugged her, kissing her hair.
Hang on, love. Mum will be gone soon shes almost got repairs finished.
But the repairs never ended. Each week, Margaret rang the builders, returning with new concerns.
Just a bit more, love. Theyre on skirting boards and painting. One more week, nearly there.
But just a bit more stretched and stretched.
***
By the end of October, Annie couldnt sleep. Or rather, her sleep devolved into fitful, anxious scraps. Shed wake up with trembling hands and sickly rings under her eyes.
One night she was jolted awake by a strange sound a rustle, a shuffle from Margarets room. Annie propped herself up, straining to hear. The hush deepened.
Next morning, she asked if Margaret had wandered about in the night.
No, dear, I sleep like the dead, Margaret replied. Why?
I thought I heard something. As if someone was walking around.
All nerves, love. GPs your best friend, truly.
Days later, Annie noticed a peculiar scent invading the flat sickly sweet, waxen, like church. She patrolled from room to room; the odour was strongest by Margarets closed door.
Mrs Fletcher, do you burn candles in your room? Annie asked at supper.
Candles? No, whatever for? Why?
It smells like wax, thats all.
Maybe drifting in from next doors extractor fan.
But the scent recurred always at night, faint but insistent. Annie woke with the scent in her nostrils, her fear coiling tighter each time.
Once, when Margaret popped out shopping, Annie crept into Margarets room. Everything sat in precise order: duvet folded, magazines stacked, violets lined up. Annie gingerly opened the wardrobe neatly hung blouses, cases at the bottom, and the same string-tied box.
She crouched, reached for the box, but the click of the front door startled her. She bolted, scurrying into the hall. Margaret called,
Annie, home already? I thought youd be out longer.
Felt poorly. Came home.
Poor thing. Ill put the kettle on.
That evening, the waxy smell thickened. Later, as Annie crossed the hallway, she glimpsed something on the shelf their wedding photograph, the one that always sat on the chest in the bedroom. The glass was unbroken but, horrifically, Annies face was scratched out, fine and deep, needle marks furrowing the paper.
A surge of panic rattled through her. She stood, clutching the frame, staring and staring at the mangled image.
Annie, darling, what are you doing there? James wandered out, yawning.
James. Look.
He examined the photo, frowning.
Whats this then?
The photos scratched. You can see. Like someone has…
Maybe it was like that when we had it printed? I never noticed.
James, this wasnt a printing error! Its been ruined, deliberately. With a pin or something.
By whom? Who would do that?
Annie fell silent. They both knew who else was in the flat. But neither could say it aloud. Not something so mad.
Ignore me, she managed. My mistake.
She didnt sleep at all that night lay awake, staring into the dark as faint rustling tickled from somewhere beyond.
***
November arrived thunderous and damp. Annie felt permanently cold, even inside. The morning sickness spiked. She ate practically nothing, sipping weak tea and crunching dry cereal when Margaret wasnt watching.
Annie, you do look terribly unwell, Margaret would remark, the words concerned but her eyes glinting with something like satisfaction, Annie thought.
At work, her boss called her in with gentle concern.
Annie, youve made mistakes in your figures recently thats not like you. Everything alright?
Sorry, Olivia. It wont happen again.
Are you sure youre fit to work? Would it help to take some days off?
Take days off. Annie imagined sitting at home, in a flat that wasnt hers anymore, where every inch bore Margarets stamp, and something inside curdled.
Im alright, thank you.
She was not, even remotely. She drifted, pressed under thick grey water. By evening, she sat at the kitchen table, staring vacantly. James tried to make small talk but Annie barely responded; he grew irritable himself.
Annie, I barely recognise you. You dont seem… here.
Sorry. Im just exhausted.
Maybe see a doctor? Mum says you barely eat.
Mum says. Annie stared at him.
Your mum says a lot.
Pardon?
Never mind.
She left the room; James didnt follow.
A few days later, something snapped for good.
Annie got home early, maybe six oclock, expecting to find Margaret watching soaps in the kitchen. The place was silent. Too silent.
She washed her face in the bathroom, then paused: a low, steady voice was trickling from Margarets room muttered, rhythmic, almost chant-like. Not a prayer.
Annie crept closer. The door stood slightly ajar. In the lamplight, she could make out the tables edge, candles burning in squat amber pools.
Her heart thudded so hard she could hear it. She pushed the door open.
Margaret stood over the desk, back hunched, hands fluttering above laid out photos. Jamess graduation portrait sat next to Annies own headshot Annies image crudely slashed through with black marker. In Margarets hand, a long shining darning needle.
Mrs Fletcher, Annie spat, her voice an alien thing.
Margaret whipped round, pallid, wild-eyed.
Annie… I wasnt expecting you…
What are you doing?
Margaret hid the needle, flustered. Her mask twisted, first panicky then sharp:
Nothing. None of your business.
None of my business? Candles, photographs, needles?
I said get out! Out of my room!
Something finally burned through in Annie.
Out of your room? This is MY house! My room! Youve lived here three months! Three months!
Annie, theres no need to shout
I WILL yell! You with your candles, your needles, ruining my photographs and my things, your suffocating presence
I never ruined anything! Margaret snapped, cheeks mottled. Youre the one ruining everything! Jamie could have married better, had a proper family by nowchildren! All you care for is bloody work! Youre not a wife, youre a burden!
Her words slapped like cold water. Annie shook.
How dare you…
I dare because Im his mother! I raised him and gave him everything! And who are you? You stole him the minute he met you!
Stole him? We love each other! We are a family!
A family? Pft! Look at you skin and bones, sickly. You cant give him a child.
Something inside Annie broke clean. She stormed to the desk, swept the candles to the floor, snatched her vandalised photo and ripped it in half.
Out! her voice quiet, metallic. Get out of my house. Now.
You cant
Out! This is my house. My rules. Pack your things and leave. Now!
Jamie wont forgive you for this!
Ill talk to James. You, out of my home. Not one more night.
The flat door banged open. James came running, hearing the commotion.
What the hell is going on?
Margaret rushed to him, sobbing, clutching at his arm.
Jamie, shes throwing me out! Your wife is throwing me out!
Jamess face hardened as Annie held up the evidence: candles, photos, the gleaming needle.
Mum… what is this?
Oh, just prayers, love, just praying for you…
With a needle? With slashed photos? What are you doing?
I wanted to help… cant you see she hurts you
Stop it! James barked, all patience burned away. Margaret shrank. Annie flinched too; shed never heard him shout like that at his mum. Enough, Mum.
He wrenched the suitcase from the wardrobe.
Get your things. Ill take you to the station.
Jamie…
Now, Mum. Now.
***
An hour later, Margaret was gone. She packed in silence, face rigid. James ferried her things wordlessly. Annie sat numbed in the hallway, every muscle emptied.
At the door, Margaret paused. She fixed Annie with a stare hard as slate.
Youll regret this.
Annie said nothing. James lifted the bags and followed her out. The door shut behind them.
Annie was alone.
The silence was startling. She wandered into the room, surveying the clutter: stubbed-out candles, defaced photos, wax pooling on the table. She bundled everything away and carried it to the back porch, throwing it into the bin.
She opened every window wide, letting in a rush of November cold. Standing there, watching rain spatter dark rooftops, she breathed really breathed for the first time in what felt like years.
James returned after midnight, exhausted and hollow-eyed. He slumped on their bed.
Put her on the Norwich train.
Annie sat beside him, holding his hand.
Im sorry.
For what?
For all of it.
Dont be. I I didnt want to see it. I convinced myself it was just stress, work, tiredness. But
He trailed off, rubbing his face.
She went completely mad, Annie. I never thought she could do those things.
Shes desperately lonely. Since losing your dad, youre the only thing
That cant excuse it. Im sorry I left you alone.
He drew Annie close. She felt his whole frame shake.
I thought Id lost you. These last weeks you felt almost a stranger. I thought youd stopped loving me.
I just couldnt breathe.
You can breathe now. I promise.
The next morning was strange and bright. Annie woke to sun filtering across the carpet, to a hush suffused with relief. No Margaret, no kitchen clatter, no hushing or sighs.
She walked through the rooms, opening every door. The study tidy now, empty, hers again.
In the kitchen James smiled, frying eggs.
Morning.
Morning.
They ate together, just the two of them. Annie finished a piece of buttered toast and felt no queasiness for the first time in weeks.
Annie, you ought to go to the GP, James said. You look pale.
Alright.
He rang up the local practice, booking her for the following afternoon. Annie headed to work and, for the first time in ages, felt not quite well, but at least lighter as though she could stand upright again.
That evening, cuddled on the sofa, James said,
Mum hasnt rung since.
Think shes angry?
Probably. But… Annie, I cant cut her off entirely. But Ill never let this happen again. I wont lose you. Ever.
I know.
When the baby comes shell want to visit. But next time, its just for the day. No more long stays.
Agreed.
And until I see shes changed, the baby wont be alone with her.
Good.
He squeezed her hand. Autumn rain tinkled at the windows, but the room was warm.
Do you think well manage? The baby, all of it, your mum?
I do. Because we know what our boundaries are now.
Annie nodded, hand on her belly, where life quietly bloomed.
James, promise me something. If it ever gets unbearable again, youll listen. Really listen. You wont pretend its nothing.
I promise. Ill always listen.
And outside, the November wind roared gently, but Annie, at last, found she could breathe as herself, home at last in her own strange dream.
