Finally, Oliver and Amelia moved into their large new home. It was a spacious, two-story house—perfect for their family of five, with three children who each got their own room. Little Rosie, just one and a half, didn’t quite grasp the concept yet, but the older boys, Alfie and Leo, were overjoyed.
“Thank you, darling, for this wonderful home,” Amelia beamed. “It’s lovely being the lady of such a grand house. Though the boys are already turning it into a racetrack—but children need their energy, don’t they?”
Yet soon enough, she realised maintaining such a house—especially with three children—was no small task. Alfie was seven, Leo four, and Rosie still too tiny to help.
One evening, as Amelia washed dishes, the children played, and Oliver lounged on the sofa watching telly, his phone rang.
“Hi, Simon,” she heard Oliver say. “All good here—how about you?”
She recognised the voice—Simon, Oliver’s younger brother, unmarried at thirty, still living with their mum in another town. After the call, Oliver grinned.
“Simon’s getting married—we’re invited!”
“Really?” Amelia blinked. “I thought he’d never settle down. He’s got it made—handsome, women adore him, Mum takes care of everything. Though his job’s a bit… unsteady for his age. Bit of a slacker, honestly.”
Oliver stayed silent, thoughtful.
“You’re the hardworking one,” Amelia continued. “Driven, ambitious. You and Simon are like night and day. Still DJing at that nightclub?”
“Yeah,” Oliver nodded.
“Who’s the bride?”
“Didn’t say much—just that her name’s Charlotte, teaches primary school.”
Amelia sat beside him, sensing his hesitation.
“Where will they live? Does Charlotte have a flat?”
“That’s just it,” Oliver sighed. “What if Mum moved in with us? Her one-bed isn’t big enough for newlyweds. Our house has space.”
Amelia stayed quiet, weighing life under the same roof as her mother-in-law. Oliver waited, tense.
Finally, she shook her curls. “You know… I don’t mind. Extra help with the kids.”
“You’re brilliant, love,” he kissed her cheek.
Margaret—Oliver’s mum—was pleasant and polite, but Amelia barely knew her. She visited occasionally, always briefly. The last time was Rosie’s christening a year ago.
Margaret, nearly sixty, was gentle, tidy, and adored her grandkids. Still, Amelia wondered: “No one’s *that* perfect. There must be quirks.”
For two months, the thought nagged at her—until Oliver left for Simon’s wedding alone (Rosie had fallen ill). When he returned, Margaret was with him.
“Well, that’s that,” Amelia thought. “No turning back. Family just got bigger.”
Margaret arrived bearing gifts: a doll for Rosie, toy cars for the boys. That evening, Oliver recounted the wedding.
“Charlotte’s lovely—bright, beautiful. Has Simon wrapped around her finger, though she’s younger!”
Margaret nodded approvingly. Amelia tucked away a quiet respect for her sister-in-law.
The first week, Amelia watched Margaret closely—but she was the model grandmother: reading stories, playing games, even helping with chores.
“Mum, Gran taught me to tie my laces!” Leo announced.
“And I can read whole pages now!” Alfie added—he’d start school soon.
Amelia was relieved. Maybe mothers-in-law weren’t so bad.
Then Margaret offered, “You’re run ragged, dear. Let me handle the cooking.”
Amelia nearly hugged her. “That’s *wonderful*. The kitchen gobbles up half my day!”
Oliver chimed in, “We do a weekly supermarket run, but just say if you need anything delivered.”
“Oh, I’ll manage,” Margaret smiled. “I’m not *completely* behind the times.”
Dinner that night was roast chicken with roast potatoes—even Alfie and Leo, who usually pushed veg aside, cleared their plates. Amelia marvelled.
“Since we’ve got built-in childcare,” she whispered later, “let’s have a night out. It’s been ages!”
Margaret shooed them off. “Go on! Just feed, bathe, and bed the little monsters—I’ve got this.”
They strolled through the park, dined at a cosy café, even danced to live music.
“Oliver, this is *heaven*,” Amelia sighed. “Maybe your mum moving in *was* a good idea.”
Oliver smirked—he’d worried they might clash.
They returned past eleven—and froze.
“*Die! And you—you’re not escaping!*”
Amelia gasped. In the lounge, Margaret was hunched over the PC, blasting away in a shooter game.
“*Mum?!*” Oliver gaped.
“Oh! You’re back,” she said, eyes glued to the screen. “Kids are asleep. There’s food if you’re hungry—can’t pause, I’m online!”
Upstairs, Oliver muttered, “Did *not* see that coming.”
Amelia chuckled. “Better than gin or bingo, eh?”
Two nights later, Margaret announced, “I’m off out tonight.”
“Where?” Oliver frowned.
“Oh, just… about.”
“Alone?” Amelia asked.
“Goodness, I’m a grown woman! Don’t wait up.”
By midnight, she wasn’t back. Oliver’s calls went unanswered. Panic set in.
“Should we call the police?” Amelia fretted.
Then—finally—Margaret answered.
“*Where ARE you?!*” Oliver barked.
Amelia watched his face twist in disbelief.
“She’s… at a *nightclub*.”
Margaret stumbled in at 2 AM.
“How’d you even *get in*?!” Oliver spluttered.
“Walked right past the bouncer,” she shrugged. “Simon invited me. Wanted to see where my son works—he’s *very* good, by the way.”
Oliver rubbed his temples. “Mum, you’re nearly sixty!”
Amelia laughed. “Every woman’s got a wild side. Ours just… raves.”
Oliver sighed. “Bloody hell.”
