The Second Mother-in-law
A woman in a cleaners overall cautiously peered into the private office of the owner of the London Aesthetics Clinic. Her name was Janet, and she did her best to speak quietly so as not to irritate her boss.
I heard theres a vacancy for a junior massage therapist, she said timidly.
Timothy Graham looked up at her, his expression stern. He was in a terrible moodhed just been informed that an important meeting with investors had failed, and his head was pounding from stress.
And so you, mop in hand, think youre about to start massaging our clientele?
No, but I took online courses. Ive written up my CV, Janet replied shyly, producing a rather crumpled sheet from her pocket.
Just then, Timothys deputy, Leonard Seymour, entered the office. Timothy, rubbing his temples, snapped,
Len, how is it the cleaners wander wherever and whenever they please? Get her out of here! She thinks shes some big-deal massage therapist because shes read a brochure. Throw her out, and make sure this nonsense never happens again!
Without waiting for a reply, he snatched the paper from her, tore it to bits, and dropped it at her feet.
Biting her lip, Janet knelt down, gathering the sad remnants of her CV. Tears clouded her vision. Leonard Seymour, not wasting time, grabbed her by the elbow and dragged her out into the hallway, past the staff and patients, pushing her into the janitors cupboard.
There, atop an old sandbin left over from who knows when, Janet sat helplessly and wept.
Shed only worked at the Aesthetics Clinic a short time. Cleaning floors wasnt her dream, but the pay was better here than anywhere else. And Timothy Nicholas Graham was rumoured to be a respected man; people said he was a workaholic who built the clinic with his bare hands.
And it was true: Graham had grown up in a childrens home. Hed never known his mother or father, and as an adult had relentlessly searched for any clue to his origins, to no avail. Yet he managed to become a surgeon, then a master of cosmetic medicine. Wealthy clients, including London socialites and actresses, came to him, paying him handsomely. Once a year, he raised his prices without regret.
Thats why Janet had dared to hope: shed heard about the vacancy and decided she had to try.
She dreamed of becoming a massage therapist, had studied textbooks, and completed a medical college curriculum as best she could, but a lack of formal qualifications kept her from proper work. Quietly, Janet saved up for proper training, but her husband had run off with everything, leaving her and their little daughter penniless.
Only later did she learn her ex, Simon, had a criminal record for petty theft and had created a false history for himself. The divorce had dragged on endlessly; he never appeared in court. For the sake of her daughter Sophie, Janet endured everything, and thats when her ordeal began.
Few wanted to hire a woman with a small child. The three of themJanet, her daughter, and her mother, Annemanaged in a cramped flat. They rarely had money to spare and sometimes survived solely on Annes pension. Anne, an irrepressible optimist and former gymnast, stubborn and strong-willed, took care of her granddaughter so Janet could work.
Janet then took a cheap course in massage, the certificate from which lay in tatters at her feet. Wiping her tears, she got up to continue mopping. People whispered and eyed her warily. At home, however, her mother greeted her with good news: Sophie had won a drawing competition at nursery. Janet always made sure to buy her daughter real paints and nice paper. Sophie was now in the preparatory class of an art school, which felt like a small miracle to her mother.
The bucket felt impossibly heavy. As Janet trudged toward the exit, Fred, the caretakerthe one person who never looked down on herintercepted her load. A kindly man in his sixties, Fred regarded Timothy with bemused tolerance, as if laughing at a man who had forgotten his roots.
Fred never mocked Janet. Quite the opposite; hed share pies he baked at weekends and offer quiet words of encouragement. Thanks to him, Janet had found the confidence to approach the clinic owner with her humble CV.
When she saw Fred, Janet burst into fresh tears.
Come now, love, dont cry. Everything changes sooner or later, he soothed, patting her shoulder.
I shouldnt have bothered at all, Janet snuffled. Just humiliated myself.
Grahams not himself today. Try again some other time, Fred said gently.
They told me never to go near him again, Janet replied gloomily. Thought maybe I could rise up from nowhere like he did. But hes just a pompous man whos proud of his degree.
Fred just shrugged. Janet put away her cleaning gear and trudged home, worrying about money. Sophie had asked for an expensive toy, but Janet didnt have a clue how shed afford it.
At home, things were off. Anne was sitting in her room, trying and failing to hide her tears. Janets heart sank. Her mother was strong, hardened by life. For her to cry, something terrible must have happened.
Mum, whats wrong? Janet asked anxiously.
Oh, nothing, Anne tried to wave her away.
Mum, please, just tell me.
Her mother broke down.
I went for a routine medical at the theatre. They found somethinga tumour. Ill need an operation, or Ive a year, maybe less. The waiting list is ages long. Privately, its far too dear. Id need tests in London; the equipments not here. Visits, scans, it all costs… Its probably my time.
Mum, dont talk like that, Janet jumped up. Well sort something.
On your cleaners wage, and my pension? Anne managed a wry smile. Well, well patch things together as best we can, darling, but you cant make trousers out of a handkerchief.
Janet lay awake all night, searching for solutions. By morning shed made up her mind: shed have to take another chance and try speaking to Graham again, come what may.
But that day, they wouldnt even let her into the clinic. She was told she was being let go due to cutbacks. They paid her three weeks redundancy at the lowest rate and sent her packing.
Fred insisted she write down his phone number before she left. Janet entered the digits without thinkingwhat was she to do? A month, maybe, then what?
Janet wasnt one for giving up. She lightly mentioned to her mother that shed left the job out of choice, then began trawling job adverts. Everywhere paid poorly. Then she spotted an ad: carer wanted. No medical qualification necessary, but cooking, cleaning, and housework required.
Janet sighedthe work wasnt beneath her. She sent her CV. She got a phone call an hour laterthe vacancy was from an agency, and the employer was a wealthy elderly lady living alone.
Janet was asked to present her medical credentials and references. Soon she found herself facing Tamara, the stern head of the agency.
Ill tell you up front, no illusions, Tamara said coldly. The client is difficult. Youll be her tenth carer. Nobody lasts.
Janet tensed, but kept quiet.
Youve probably heard the name. Emma Morton. Stage name, of course, hides her real surname. A former prima of the London Opera. Temperamental and wealthy. They say rich suitors have left her all sorts.
Im really not in a position to be choosy, Janet admitted quietly.
If you have a child, bear in mindMiss Morton cant stand children or pets. She uses a walker, but with help prefers the wheelchair. Three-month trial contract; if you last, you get a yearly contract and double pay.
Janet nodded silently. Even as it was, the pay would cover double what shed ever earned before. This was her chance to help her mum. She wasnt going to let it go.
She was to start the next morning, with her shift beginning at seven.
That evening, Janet tried to find anything online about Emma Morton. She found some old publicity from ten years ago: a plump lady with raven hair and a piercing glare. None of that prepared her for reality.
The door was opened by a security guard. Apparently, Miss Morton owned an enormous, luxurious townhouse in one of Londons smartest squares. Janet had only ever glimpsed such places on TV and now looked around uneasily, surrounded by ornate décor.
What are you staring at? Looking for something to pinch? came a reedy, imperious voice.
Into the grand entrance rolled an expensive electric wheelchair. In it sat a small, thin, birdlike woman, entirely grey-haired, eyes sharp as a ravens.
Good morning, Miss Morton, stammered Janet.
Speak up! Dont mumble. Keep your hands where I can see themnot in your pockets. And put on overshoes. That parquets antique. Theyre in the bucket. On you go. Its time for my breakfast.
Janet quickly fitted soft, almost surgical overshoes to her feet and hurried after her employer.
Brush my hair. Gently! snapped Morton. Not with thosehonestly, are you dim? Take the cover off the net, then bring the wig. And comb it.
Im sorry, I misunderstood…
Oh, another clueless one, Morton scowled. Where do they make you? Factory of fools? Bring me some teanow. Dont make it cold.
Janet went to the kitchen.
Stop stomping your feet! Youre shaking the floor! Walk more softly! Morton bellowed after her.
Morton peered at the tea, as if checking for poison, then wrinkled her nose and splashed the hot tea into Janets face.
You nudged me. Your fault.
Janet inhaled slowly.
Where may I wash this off?
Down the hall, staff bathroom, by the door, Morton snapped. A towels in there. Put your clothes in the wash. Grab some guest pyjamas.
Janet did as she was told, returning to an afternoon of incessant criticisms: Morton needled and belittled, setting little traps. Janet soon realised it was a test of stamina. She held her tongue, deciding Mortons creativity would tire out sooner or later.
That evening, Morton indeed calmed down. Before bed, Janet gave her a gentle massage. Once her employer had dozed, she placed the wig on its stand and quietly left, bidding the surprised night guard good evening.
The next morning, the guard on duty greeted her cheerfully.
What did you do to our dragon yesterday? Shes still sleeping like a lamb. Even Jenny, the housekeeper, couldnt believe it.
Nothing special, Janet shrugged. Maybe shes just tired.
Miss Morton was lively today and immediately critiqued Janets taste in dress, certain shed never land a man without makeup. Janet nodded meekly, preparing the morning toiletries. The wig went on more smoothly today.
Later, Morton tasked her with arranging a manicurists visit, had Janet dress her in a beautiful Japanese-style robe, and wheel her to the room she called her boudoir.
It soon became clear whom all these vanities were really for.
After lunch and a manicure, Morton received a distinguished silver-haired visitor, thin and dancer-like, introduced as her old friend Ossie. Janet made him coffee using the expensive machine, terrified of making a mistake, but all seemed well. Morton acted the perfect hostess in front of guests.
By evening, Morton asked,
What did you do for me last night?
Massage.
And are you a professional?
No, self-taught.
Alright. Do it again, she demanded, relenting.
Janet ended the day giving another massage. Morton slept, and Janet left for home.
Three months flew by. Janet had only one day off a week and rarely saw her daughter, but now her mother didnt have to workthe theatre was hard, and Anne tired easily.
Slowly, relations with Morton improved. The former prima seemed to study Janets patience and temperament. One afternoon, she surprised Janet,
So, how do your family cope with these hours?
Its just my mum and daughter, Janet replied simply. Needs must.
How olds your little girl? Any hobbies?
Shes nearly six. Loves drawing, Janet kept it brief, recalling Tamaras warning.
Bring her along. Id like to meet her, Morton commanded majestically.
And so Sophie began visiting, usually quietly sketching in a corner. Once, she drew such an uncanny portrait of Morton that the lady had it framed and hung on the wall.
Gradually, closeness grew. Janet no longer worried constantly about losing her place.
Mortons joint problems meant surgery was pointless, and when pain flared, Janets massages offered brief relief. One night, Morton asked Janet and her daughter to stay over, allocating them the guest room.
As Sophie snored gently, Janet let herself imagine a life here. She had begun to love the old house, where even the air felt rich with history.
The next day, Morton felt better. She and Sophie had breakfast together while Janet tidied the studya task Morton insisted only she could trust. As she dusted, Janet discovered an old, yellowed photo album. When she finished, she brought it to the lounge.
Miss Morton, may I?
Those were the daysfame and fortune, Morton chuckled. Go on, lets have a look. I havent opened it for years.
They settled by the table. At first, photos from Emmas childhood. Suddenly, Sophie squealed,
Look! Thats Granny! We have that photo too!
Janet stared. It really was a picture of young Anne.
How where did you get my mums photo? Janet gasped.
Morton peered at Janet for a long time.
Youre Annes daughter? Well, arent I a fool. Ive been wracking my brains about who you looked like.
How do you have her photo? Did you know each other? Janet pressed.
Of course we did, Morton snorted. Your mum and I were inseparable as girlsshed sneak out from gymnastics, Id skip conservatoire, wed go dancing, lived in the same neighbourhood. Even started gymnastics together, but she was more talented. I fancied the stage instead.
Why did you stop seeing each other? Sophie asked innocently.
We grew up, Morton sighed. Your granny had this stunning young coach, Ian. We both liked himwe fell out. Naturally, Ian picked me. Your grannys broken heart cost her her place in the team.
I never knew Janet whispered, But I thought you had a different surname?
Oh, I was Seymour then, Morton sneered. Ians last name was Mortonhow funny is that? I married him, my first husband, but we split after three months. I kept the name.
From then on, Janet only thought of arranging a reunion for the old friends. The chance arrived itself.
Morton demanded another overnight stay, and Sophie had a school trip in the morning. Janet asked Anne to collect Sophie.
Anne arrived in her repaired old coat. Morton was getting ready for bed, but came out to the hall as Janet packed Sophies things.
Whos here? I wasnt expecting anyone, she barked.
Hello, Emma, Anne said coolly. I cant say Im glad to see you.
Likewise, Morton sniffed, Looks like lifes been hard on you.
No harder than for others, Anne replied. At least I have a daughter and granddaughter. You rely on strangers to look after youdid all those husbands help?
Ha, you never managed even that much, Morton retorted. Still using your maiden name, arent you?
Anne suddenly smiled gently.
Oh, Emma… You never understood. I followed your triumphs. I was proud of you, the girl from our block making it on stage. I never played you false. Remember that phone call, five years back?
Morton suddenly paled.
That time the theatres gigolo was after you, Anne continued. You were about to sign the house over. I heard him boasting hed pack you off to a care home and move his young lover in. So I phoned you, disguised my voice, just to warn you.
That was you? Morton gasped.
I couldnt hate you. I only ever felt sorry for you. Were different creatures, you and I. But I just couldnt stand by that time.
Morton looked down.
You saved me, she admitted quietly. He convinced me he was in love. After your warning, I hired a detective.
Well done, Anne nodded. Anyway, well be off. Sophies yawning.
Wait, Anne. How are you now? Morton asked, suddenly softer.
In a little council flat now they split the old block, Anne replied. Not quite your standards, but we manage.
Thats that, Morton abruptly said. Youre moving in here. There are too many rooms as it is. For Sophie, I wanted a proper nursery. Dont argue. Weve got a lot to talk aboutwho knows how long we old birds have left. I already know my time.
Anne collapsed on a bench.
About eight months left.
What do you mean? Morton paled. Is it cancer?
No. My heart. Cant afford the operation anyway, Anne sighed, exhausted. Health isnt for sale. Not at my age.
Right. The moves settled. Well sort the rest after, Morton pronounced. And dont argue. Seems I owe you. I do regret stealing Ian from you, you know.
Oh, you remember handsome Gary from school too? Anne chuckled. Were off home tonight. Tomorrow well see.
My driver will drop you home, Morton declared. And tomorrow, he and Janet will fetch your things.
That evening, Morton found it hard to sleep. She questioned Janet endlessly about Annes illness, reminiscing, regretting how shed wasted much of her life. Her friends kindness softened even Mortons iron heart.
Within a week, the house was transformed. Couriers came laden with wallpaper samples, catalogues for furniture, fabrics, lamps. Morton went about the move grandly.
In the evenings, she and Anne would sit for hours in the lounge, sharing tea and old stories. When the move and light redecorating were finished, at dinner Morton suddenly announced,
Anne, I showed your notes to my doctor. Youre booked for the operation in two weeks. The surgeons an exceptional young man, son of a professor. Try not to charm him too much.
Youvearranged a special slot? Anne stammered. But why?
Nothing of the sort. Youd never get it on the NHS, Morton smiled. Im paying. No use arguing. Lie in, get better. Sophie will need both her grannies, since the others falling apart.
Emma, really Anne grew tearful. You shouldnt spend
Whats money for? Cant take it to the grave, Morton replied. Youre going in, Janetll take care of you, and Ill look after Sophie. Honestly, those massages have helped me more than anything.
Two weeks later, Anne had her own room at the citys finest hospital. Her surgeon, Dr. Valentine Smithson, was a promising young cardiologist, son of a London professor but forging his own path. Straightforward and pleasant, he told Janet,
I must say, I rarely see such warm family ties. Your mothers a lucky lady. I daresay a husband would be lucky too. And children.
Its just me and my daughter, Janet blushed. But shes the best.
Im sure. I married young myselfmy parents warned me. She wanted a rich professors son, but instead I had to rent a teeny flat miles away. Thats where the love faded.
Im sure youll find the right woman yet, Janet said quietly.
Maybe I already have, Valentine said softly, looking out the window.
Janet caught herself watching him differently. He wasnt flashy like her ex, but his face showed strength and genuine kindnessthe ability to care.
Annes recovery lasted a week; Morton did her best on her own and looked after Sophie, who now called her Nanny and saw her as family.
Morton made a show of coping, but when Janet massaged her, the exhaustion in her muscles grew. Even in her wheelchair, it became harder to get around.
One night before bed, Morton said,
Its time for you to stop working for me.
You want someone else? Janet panicked.
Oh, dont be daft. Why would I need another carer, with a house full of people? Morton laughed. I want you to train as a proper massage therapistat a real college, with a qualification. Can you manage it?
Id love tobut its expensive
Consider me your fairy godmother, Morton winked. Besides, having a resident masseuse is downright practical. Ill pay for the entire training, even advanced classes. Just promise me you wont let me down.
Janet agreed. Morton practically took the family under her wing, but Janet wasnt one to live off someone else. She was sure the investment would pay off.
Her tutor was Mr. Simon Alexander, a dignified, experienced master. He singled Janet out as a gifted learner. At the graduation, he asked,
You know the Vanilla Spa?
Of course. Everyone wants to work therethe citys best. Though its quite new.
Im the owner, smiled Simon. New venture for me. Interested in coming on board? My focus is on post-injury and post-op recovery, so its hard workstrong hands and gentle touch. I trust you.
Janet nodded, close to tears of happiness.
From then on, Janet studied even harder, with the next course partly funded by Simon as a scholarship. Soon she was working at Vanilla Spa, her shifts friendlymornings at work, afternoons for her recovering mum and Morton, ferrying Sophie to art school.
Within months, clients requested Janet by name, not just the owner.
Meanwhile, her friendship with Valentine Smithson deepened into warmth and affection. He had left London a little over a year ago to take the lead cardiologist post, tired of city life. At weekends they went outparks, the circus, childrens theatre.
Anne resumed light work. Morton spent more time in bed as her pain worsened; massage offered only brief comfort.
Valentine began referring his patients to Janet for rehab: after illness, many needed careful, sensitive recovery. Janet developed a special interest in cardiac rehab; she and Valentine always had much to discuss.
Valentine became a regular at the Morton house, which Janet and Sophie now considered home. One day, Morton gave him a kind of blessing:
If you ever hurt my girls, youll regret it, she declared. I might be old, but dont underestimate me.
They laughedbut everyone knew she meant it.
*
The years soon smoothed old grievances. Emma Morton and Anne found healing in unlikely friendship. Janet pursued her dream; Sophie thrived in art. They learned that family isnt always what you expectits built through care, forgiveness, and second chances. And that, wherever life takes us, kindness can turn strangers into family, and enemies into friends. Thats the true richness no amount of money can buy.
