A Mothers Love
Ellie, its Margaret Smith. Did you feed Matthew today? The voice on the line sounded like she was asking about a forgotten kitten, not her 32-year-old son who just so happened to be a software engineer.
I squeezed my eyes shut, holding the mobile to my ear. On the kitchen table, steam curled up from freshly-cooked salmon and broccoli. Matt was towelling his hair dry after his evening jog, looking trim and positively glowing.
Evening, Margaret. Of course I did. Were just about to have dinner, actually, I replied.
And what are you having? came the immediate follow-up. Is it that rabbit food and your tasteless fish again? A man needs meat! Proper calories! I saw on the telly only yesterday that slim men die younger. Are you trying to send him to an early grave with your diets?
Matt rolled his eyes and made a face as if to say, Tell her Im not here. Physically, he wasn’t there, but everything about his new body and choices hovered in the rooma silent, heavy presence.
Margaret, hes chosen this himself. He feels great. And the GPs really pleased with his test results, I said, trying to sound cheery.
GPs would write anything just to tick boxes these days! she scoffed. Im his mother. I can see. His cheeks have sunk in, you can count his ribs. He used to be a fine figure of a mannow look at him. Cant you just make him a proper beef stew? Ill bring some round tomorrow. Or are you too tight for meat?
Every day. Same time. Six oclock, my phone would buzz and Id know it was herMargaret Smith, my mother-in-law. Judge, inspector and self-appointed critic of my skills as a wife.
And it all started so well
***
Eight months earlier, Matt had come home from his work health check almost translucent. He dropped onto the sofa, loosened his belt like an exhausted marathon runner.
Ell, theres a problem, he said quietly.
My mind whirred with worst-case scenarioswas it his heart? Liver?
What happened?
My blood pressures through the roof. GP says if I dont get myself sorted, Ill be on pills by forty. My cholesterols high and my sugars right at the limit.
He was 32 then. Six foot tall, 15 stone. His belly drooped over his belt. His face was round, second chin drawing itself in. After five years of office work and meal deals, hed gone from fit to sluggish, middle-aged far too soon.
Im knackered, El. I cant even get up a flight of stairs without puffing. And Im sick of being self-conscious at the beach. Im done.
I hugged him. Id have loved him whatever his weight, but, if he wasnt happy, and it was making him ill, then yeahsomething had to change.
Ill do it with you, I suggested. Well work out healthy meals, join somewhere decent. Ill cook everything.
So, thats what we did. Matt signed up at PureGym, found a trainer. I downloaded healthy eating apps, bought kitchen scales and a steamer. We shopped together, reading labels, counting calories and protein.
First month? Absolute hell. Matt was always hangry, cursing his bland chicken and broccoli. But his body got the idea eventually. No more afternoon slumps. Climbing stairs got easier, his jeans started to hang loose.
I made him porridge with berries and nuts for breakfast, but just with water, not milk. For lunches, he took turkey and roasted veg in a Tupperware. Dinners: fish, salads, sometimes a cottage cheese bakeno sugar, no fried stuff, no takeaways. At first the food tasted sad, but, honestly, you get into the real taste of things. Even broccoli.
The weight dropped. Slowly at first. Then, after a few months hed lost over a stone! Eventually, the scales read 12 and a half. Thats two and a half stone!
You should have seen the change. His jaw looked sharp, eyes brighter, his whole bodyhe was someone else. More bounce, more confidence, just buzzing.
His mates kept praising him, work colleagues asked for his secrets. Even random women in town started turning their heads. I was so proud of himhed taken charge of his own life, and it showed.
Well, Matts mum had been at her sisters in Cornwall for the summer. She left in June, came back the start of September, and in three months, she hadnt seen himjust the odd phone call. You dont notice the changes by phone.
So, the day she got home
***
Ill never forget it. Saturday morning, she rang the belltotally unexpected. We were still in bed. Matt opened the door in his pants and an old tee.
I heard it from the bedroom, her horrified shriek.
Matthew! Good Lord, whats happened to you?!
I wandered out in my dressing gown. Margaret stood there, bags in each arm, face pale, shocked like shed seen a ghost.
Mum, morning, Matt mumbled. What are you doing here so early?
Whats happened?! Are you ill? Youve lost how much weight?! She tossed her bags aside and started patting him in disbelief. I can feel your bones! You look like a rake! What have you done to him?! That last bit was shot at me.
Mum, I just lost a bit. Been working out, eating better.
On purpose?! But you were a proper man beforea real bloke! Now you look like a a stick!
Hes not a stick, Margaret, I offered gently. Hes fitter than ever. His tests were brilliant.
She glared like Id force-fed him poison. This your doing? Starving him with your diets?!
Mum! Matt frowned. Enough. No ones starving me. I decided.
You werent fat! You were solid! A man needs some padding, not to be built like a beanpole!
Matt was 12 and a half stone and six footbasically, spot on. But Margaret liked him chunkyand, well, her idea of normal was him with a belly.
Shed brought homemade beef stew, roast potatoes and cabbage pie. Dumped it on the table, demanded Matt have some at once.
Weve eaten breakfast, Mum, he said.
And what was that? She peered at our empty porridge bowls. Whatporridge? Thats bird food! Sit down, this is a proper meal.
Matt sighed, apologised with his eyes, and obliged. He ate a bowl to keep the peace while she watched every forkful.
Now, this, she announced smugly, This is proper food. No more salads and fish fillets. A man needs fat, needs something to chew on. Ill come round more, keep an eye.
Matt sprawled on the sofa, groaning after she left. God, Ill need a week to digest that. Im not used to it anymore.
The next day, the calls started.
***
First call, on the dot at six.
Ellie, its Margaret. What did Matt have for lunch?
I was a bit stunned. Er, hes at work, took some turkey and veg.
Turkey? That dry old bird? He needs pork, or at least beef! And what, with peppers and tomatoes? Thats not a meal! Wheres the mash, wheres the pasta? A man needs carbs.
I explained the balancing act, that he had all he needed, even his trainer approved. She didnt care.
I know how to feed a man. Raised Matt on good food. Youve ruined him in half a yeartomorrow, Ill drop off some proper homemade burgers.
Next day, she asked about breakfast. I said: Omelette, three egg whites and brown toast.
Three whites? Wheres the yolks? All the goodness is in the yolk! Are you saving money on eggs?
No, just, theres cholesterol, and
Cholesterol! Nonsense! My dad ate six eggs a day, lived to 80, she sniffed.
Impossible to argue.
Third day: Is Matt still going to the gym?
Yes. Four times a week.
FOUR?! Hell collapse! Thats too much! His heartll burst!
Hes got a proper trainer, its all sensible, I reassured her.
Hmph! These trainers rob you blind. He should slow down, not lift weights at his age. Youll kill him, you will.
I gritted my teeth. Matt, bouncing in from the gym, was healthy as anything. But to her, he was wasting away.
Fourth day, early morning, as we got ready for work.
Ellie, Ive been thinkingit could be worms, you know. People lose weight with those.
I nearly dropped my phone.
He definitely doesnt have worms, Margaret.
How do you know? Have you checked? Had tests?
No! Because hes fine!
You should check. And his thyroid. And his tummy. What if its an ulcer? Skinny people get those.
I handed the phone to Matt; he tried to explain, but she only said, You dont know what shes doing to you. Im coming over tonight.
That evening she arrived with a big pan of chicken pilaf and another handful of pies. Matt couldnt say no to her face. Ate a bit, looking guilty. He was embarrassed nowawkward to upset his mum, awkward to break his diet.
After she left, he said, Shes confused, El. Doesnt get it.
If you dont set boundaries, Matt, thisll never stop, I warned him.
Shell calm down. Get used to it.
But she didnt. The calls were relentlesstwice a day, sometimes more, more daft questions.
Do you have hot water? Maybe Matts losing weight washing in cold water.
Does he get up hungry at night? Youre not starving him, are you?
I heard protein shakes are dangeroushes not drinking those chemicals, is he?
She rang everyoneher sister, the neighbourstelling them Matt was fading away, I was starving him. One day, his aunt even rang him at work to ask if he needed money.
What for? he asked.
Well, your mum says youre not well. Do you need to see a doctor? Orahemdo you need a little top-up to help out with food?
Matt was furious. He called his mum: Stop telling people Im ill, Im not. She started crying, You dont love me if you wont let me feed you! Youll be the death of me! He caved, apologised, promised to visit more, hoping shed see for herself he was fine.
***
We visited the next week. Matt wore an old shirt that now hung off him. Margaret had laid on a feastroast chicken, chips, that classic English salad drowning in mayo, pie, cake.
Sit, sit! she insisted. Eat, Matthewwe need to fatten you up!
I realised the trap. If Matt ate, hed ruin his plan. If he didntrow incoming.
He ate a bit of chicken, skipped the chips and cake. Margaret watched him like hed betrayed her.
You wont even try my pie? she whispered, eyes brimming. I was up at six baking for you.
Mum, sorry. Im eating differently now, he said, apologetic.
Differently? Its starvation! You look half-dead! She rounded on me. This is all you! You dont eat, so you want him skinny too!
Margaret, he wants this himself
Says you! Men dont decide their dietthe wife does! I see your Tupperwares: grass, thats all! No proper food!
Theres meat, theres grains, veg
Dont contradict me! I brought him up healthy for 32 years, and youve made him an invalid in one!
Matt stood up.
Mumenough. Ellies not to blame.
Of coursedefend your wife, hurt your mother. I raised you alone after Dad died, and now you listen to her
She didnt finish, but the words hung in the air.
We left the house in silence, Matt gripping the steering wheel, jaw clenched.
That evening, the phone rang.
Ellie, sorry about tonight, Margaret sounded softer. Im worried. He was such a fine lad Nowhe just doesnt look right.
Hes as handsome as ever, I insisted.
To you, maybe. But all our friends say hes changed. Almost like you cant afford proper food.
Were fine, honestly.
Then whys he not eating properly?
Id had enough. Enough excuses, enough pressure.
***
Margarets need to be involved just grew. She called, asked what Id cooked, checked if Matt was weak, dizzy, or if his appetite vanished. Monitored my every move.
Once, she rang work. My colleague passed the phone with raised eyebrows. Ellie, its Matts mum. Hes not answeringIs he all right?
Heart sank.
I wouldnt know, Im at workbut Ill check.
I rang Matt. He picked up straight away.
Babe? You all right? Mums panicking.
Phone was on silent for a meeting, sorry He sounded tired.
Rang Margaret back, calmed her down.
Thank Goodness! I thought maybe he fainted from hunger, you know
Hes not starving, Margaret!
You say that, but I saw a showyou lose weight too fast, your organs drop and your skin sags. Has Matt seen a specialist?
Hes seen the GP, hes fine.
But not a gastroenterologist? Cardiologist? Endocrinologist?
Hes healthy!
Now, but you wait My friend did the same, and he got ulcers.
I hung up, head pounding. My colleague guessed right away. Mother-in-law, huh? Mine was just the sameuntil my husband told her: her or me. She sulked for half a year, then she calmed down.
I couldnt give that ultimatum. Margaret had nobody but Matt. Shed lost her husband years before, her only son was everything. I knew she was scared of being left behind, scared hed changed, that she didnt matter. But I couldnt stand the intrusion any longer.
That night, I told Matt, We need to talk.
He looked wary, About Mum?
I cant take it anymore. She rings every day, checking every meal you have. Accuses me of starving you. Its exhausting.
She just worries, El.
I get that, but its too much. She treats me like a rubbish carerIm not your nanny.
She doesnt mean it
When she rings work? When she brings stew? When she checks the fridge?
He was silent.
Tell her to call you for updates, not me. If shes worried, you deal with it.
Okay, he agreed, quietly.
He did speak with her. Margaret didnt ring my work again, but now shed call Mattfive times a day. He grew jumpy, snappish with me. One night he tossed his phone down. I cant do this.
Whats wrong now?
She rings me morning, noon, evenings. Checks if my head spins, or my belly achesI must look half-dead!
I wrapped my arms round him. We need a proper talk, all of us. She needs to see youre happy, and respect it.
Shell never get it, El.
Well try.
***
We arranged a Saturday visit, all three of us. As ever, Margaret had a table groaning with foodbut this time, Matt didnt sit.
Mum, we need a word, he said.
She paused, serving spoon in hand. What about?
The past months. Your calls. How you treat Ellie. The way you wont accept my decisions.
Margaret lowered the spoon, her face pale.
I just worry, Matthew. Im your mother. Its my job.
Worry, yes. But not run my life. Im 32, Ive got my own family. I decide what I eat.
Do you or does she? Margaret nodded in my direction.
Mum!
No, tell me! You never turned down my food before! Now you doshes filling your head.
No! I wanted this. The doctor said if I carried on, Id be on heart pills by forty. I was heavy, unhealthy. Now I feel goodbetter than ever. Im energetic, my bloodworks great. Dont you see?
All I see is you lost two and a half stone! Now her voice quivered. Youre disappearing before my eyes!
Im finally me, Mum, he replied softly. I was unhealthy for years. Out of breath at 32its not right.
You were a proper mana real man should be solid!
No, Mum. Not fat. I sorted myself out.
She burst into tears, sat down, wiped her eyes. Im scared youll get ill anyway, she sobbed. Youre all I have.
Matt knelt, took her hand. Mum, Im healthier now. The doctor said, at this rate, I could have had a heart attack by 40. I dodged that. My new weights exactly what it should be.
She was quiet, staring at her hands. So why all this gym routine, special food? People used to just eat, and they were fine.
In the old days, everyone walked everywhere, I said gently. Food wasnt full of sugar and additives. So, now, to stay healthy, you have to work at it.
She looked at me, and I saw all the hurt and confusion in her eyes.
Youve taken my son away from me, she whispered.
I cant take him from you, Margaret. Hes yours. Im not competing.
He used to come, eat what I cooked, chat. Now he refuses my food. Like Im not his mum anymore.
Margaret, I sat opposite, this isnt about food. He loves youbut he cant eat what makes him sick just to please you.
All Ive ever known is feeding him. Thats all I can do. And now its not wanted.
Then I really saw itshe wasnt cruel. She was lost. Food was her language, her way of showing love, but now it didnt work, and she was out of ideas.
Matt needs you, not as his cook, but as his mum. Come round, chat, go for walks, moviesanything, but less pressure. Less control. Please.
She looked at me for ages, torn between habit and acceptance.
I never meant to hurt you, she said at last. I just didnt know what else to do. I thought if I could get him to eat properly, everything would be all right.
He eats well, just differently.
Matt put an arm around her. Mum, cook healthy if you want. Elliell give you recipes. Or come and cook with us. But pleasestop phoning Ellie every day to check if Im fed. Its not fair on her. Or me, really.
Margaret nodded, drying her eyes. Ill try.
We left with a small glimmer of hope. In the car, Matt squeezed my hand.
Thanks for not losing it. I know its been hard for you.
It has, I admitted. But I think its harder for her. Shes scared she isnt needed anymore.
Shes not losing me.
Thats your job to show her, Matt. Not just mine.
***
A week: no phone calls. I dared to believe things might be getting better. But eight days in, my mobile rang at half five.
Ellie, its Margaret. Will you and Matt come round Sunday? I found a recipe for baked salmon with vegetables. Hardly any oil. And saladsupposed to be good for you.
I actually forgot to breathe for a second.
Wed love to come.
And, um Sorry. For everything. I was just scared. I thought I was losing him.
Youre not, Margaret.
I know that now. I do.
She hung up. I sat there in the kitchen, holding the phone, Matt appeared, hair damp.
Mum again?
Shes invited us Sunday. Baked fish.
He smiled slowly. Shes trying.
She is.
But that Saturday evening, she rang againnervous.
Ellie, sorry for bothering youbut can Matt have carrots? What about beetroot? It said online theyre high in calories
All fine, Margaret. In moderation.
How much is moderation? A hundred grams? Two hundred?
A hundreds good.
And fishsalmon or cod? Salmons fattier, I suppose thats not allowed?
Salmons fine. Its healthy fats.
Oh! Good. Ill get salmon. One more thing buckwheatdo you boil it in water or can I add a little butter?
I realised this was just the start. Shed always worry, always want some control. But she was trying now, and that was something.
Waters best, but a teaspoon of butters okay.
Got it. Thanks, Ellie. You dont mind me asking, do you?
Of course not.
I just want you both to enjoy it.
We will, Margaret.
She said goodbye. Matt, listening in, grinned. So, shes phoning for healthy tips now?
Looks like it.
Better than the alternative.
A million times, I smiled.
***
That Sunday, we went round. The spread was modestbaked salmon, roasted veg, buckwheat, a crisp green salad. And a small slice of pie, just for tradition.
I did my best, she said. Tell me if somethings off.
Matt tasted the fish, closed his eyes, Mum, youve nailed it.
She glowed. Really? I worried Id overcooked it, so I took it out early.
Its perfect, I added. Really well done.
She blushed, fiddling with her hair.
Id like to try making those protein shakes you drink. Will you show me?
Anytime.
We sat, ate, chatted about her garden, the neighbours, tellyall perfectly normal. She didnt push seconds, or harp on about the old days. She was just there.
When we left, she gave me a proper hug.
Thank you, she whispered. For not giving up on me. For helping me try.
Itll be all right, I replied.
Matt squeezed my hand in the car. Maybe this is a new beginning
Maybe, I said.
But three days later, the phone rang. Six sharp. I saw Margaret on the screen, my heart sinking.
Ellie? Have you fed Matt today?
I paused. Yes, I have.
What did you give him?
Thats when I realisedshed always call. Maybe less, maybe for different reasons, but shed always call. Because thats how she stays connectedto make sure she matters.
Margaret I kept my voice steady, if you want to know what Matt eats, ask him. Hes old enough to talk for himself.
But
No. I cant keep reporting to you. Its not right. If youre worried, come see for yourself. Talk to Matt. But please, no more of these daily check-ins.
She was quiet. Breathing into the phone.
Youre right. Sorry. Old habits
They can be broken.
Ill try.
We finished the call.
Matt came out, raising an eyebrow. All sorted?
I dont know, I admitted. But I finally said what should have been said ages ago.
He hugged me tight. Im proud of you.
Im just tired, I admitted, burying my face into him. Tired of fighting just to be your wifenot your minder.
I know. Sorry I didnt shield you sooner.
Please do. Now.
I will.
A week went by. No calls. Another. I started to think, maybe the line was finally drawn.
Then on Friday, the bell rang. Margaret stood in the hall, holding a little shopping bag.
Evening, Ellie. Mind if I pop in?
Course not, come through.
She left a container on the kitchen table. Ive made you both a veggie stew. Barely any oil. Maybe youll like it.
Matt hugged her. Thanks, Mum.
Oh, Im just practising this new way. Go easy on me.
We had the stew for dinner. It was delicious. Margaret sat with us, smiling just as Matt spooned another bite.
You like it?
Its great, he said.
Im glad. I want to keep trying.
She left without any quizzes about our fridge or dinner or eyebrows raised at my cooking. She just visitedhad a cup of tea, chattedwas family.
Matt hugged me from behind as she left.
Maybe she really is changing this time, he said.
Maybe I answered.
But I knew, deep down, these battles never totally end. Old habits are strong. But at least I finally felt able to say no, to draw my boundary, to expect support. That was enough.
At six on Monday, the phone rang. Margaret flashed up. I answered.
Ellie. Not interrupting, am I? Just wondered, are you lot free this weekend? I want to learn that cottage cheese cakeyour healthy one, you showed Matt. Will you help me?
I breathed out.
Of course, Margaret. Well be over.
She hung up.
Matt looked at me, hopeful. Progress?
Small steps, I smiled, but, yeah progress.
He kissed the top of my head.
Shes really trying, he said.
She is, I agreed.
And, maybe, in time, these calls will just be callsno more checking up, no more blame. Just conversations; one family learning, at last, to speak the same language. Its not victory, not yet, but its peace for now. There in our kitchen, dinner cooling, the evening settling around us, I just knew one thing: the line was set, and, finally, we were on our side together.
