I can’t stand my son-in-law, David. A rough-around-the-edges type from the sticks who drives for a living and spends his evenings glued to his video games. I did everything to keep Emily from marrying such a man, but he resorted to the oldest trick in the book—got her pregnant. At that point, there was no turning back. I’d spent too many hours watching soaps to know that pushing her to have an abortion would only drive her farther away. So we rushed the wedding. He even had the cheek to suggest moving her into a rented flat—can you believe it? I insisted they live with me, even let them take the largest spare room.
“Mum, why’s David still playing those games again?” I grumbled one evening. “You’ve been up all day with Lily, didn’t you earn a break?”
“Mum, it helps him unwind,” Emily chirped. “He’ll go tuck Lily in bed after this. Stop being so hard on him.”
He’s not entirely useless, I suppose. I’ve been a widow for over a decade and only recently learned how to change a lightbulb unaided. He’s fixed the kitchen cabinets, installed a new tap, and tamed the garden’s unruly hedges—all while complaining about his in-laws’ “snobby” tendencies. Still, I’d rather live with misaligned wardrobes than let him take advantage of our three-bedroom home in Manchester. It’s already ruined Emily’s career; she was a natural ballerina, just like me, but now post-maternity leave, she’s stuck teaching ballet to teenagers at the local community centre for half the wage. No, David’s no good, and I know it.
He pretends not to notice my disdain, though. Calls me “mum” like I actually am his, which I’m not.
“Mum, your cooking is divine!” he’ll say, shovelling down his portion of whatever I’ve charred to perfection. I want to tell him the secret: Emily’s cutlet is made with premium beef, while his version? Mincemeat, filler, and a dash of salt to stretch the cost. But I keep quiet, mostly.
One night, as I ladled stew—thicker for Emily, softer for David—I snapped.
“Most folks work late to earn this, you know,” I said. “Like that neighbour’s son, James. He’s coding for a decent salary these days.”
“I applied to uni too,” David said, tearing into a crusty loaf I’d handed him. Chewing with his mouth open—utterly uncouth, but it’s too late to teach manners now.
“And got in?” I arched an eyebrow.
“Oh, I did,” he said, glancing at Lily’s room. “But I needed to work. Started a plasma donation gig at night. Emily says I should go back part-time, but I’d rather game.”
“And waste your chances?” I scoffed. “When did you stop being a man and start being a… what, a resigned bachelor?”
Emily shot me a look, and I retreated to my room, fuming.
The real problem, though, were David’s parents. I’d met them once, at the wedding, and their crassness lingered like a bad scent. When David timidly said they’d be visiting “for the day,” I nearly groaned aloud.
“Tell them to stay at a hotel,” I said flatly.
“I already did,” he muttered. “They just want to meet the family for dinner.”
Emily, ever the peacemaker, interjected. “It’ll be fun! I’ll bake a Victoria sponge and trifle, and you can make your famous borscht, Mum.”
I sighed. Let her be happy. The milk would spoil otherwise.
They were as boisterous as I dreaded. No gifts for Lily, no consideration. Their remarks about our expensive hotel rates and “how generous we were to let David live rent-free” were thinly veiled boasts.
When David’s mother, Rebecca, watched me serve borscht and muttered, “She’s feeding him like a horse, don’t mind if he eats three helpings! We found him in care, right? Always hungry, always taking from the girls’ plates,” I froze. So did Emily.
“You never told me that,” she said, stunned.
“There you go,” Rebecca said, pulling a chair. “Ungrateful, is what he is. We scraped to raise him, and now he’s off living off wealthier folk again.”
Later, after Lily was asleep, I cornered David.
“So this was about money, not study? You left uni to… work for them?”
“They were sweet enough to take me in,” he said, voice low. “But… your cooking’s better, of course. Always have been.”
“And the studying? Did you ever want it?”
“I did,” he said, fidgeting. “But I needed to help my sisters. Now it’s Lily and Emily—I can’t just walk away.”
I nodded, and from then on, his meals were equal. A week later, as he was gaming in the living room, I said casually, “I spoke to my cousin at Tesco. They’re hiring an IT admin. Can you set up computers?”
“It’s not my first time,” he said, puzzled.
“Good. The pay’s decent, and they’re flexible. One condition, though.”
“I’m in,” he said, desperate.
“You go back to your courses,” I said, and he agreed in an instant.
Emily nearly kissed me on the spot. “Mum, you’re the best!”
“And I’ve started baking better soufflés,” David added, grinning.
I shrugged, feigning indifference. Turned out, David wasn’t so bad after all.
Goodbye, grief.
