Sarah Williams came into her kitchen one afternoon and found her mother-in-law, Margaret Williams, standing in the middle of the room holding Sarahs potted African violet. The violet was Sarahs prideshed picked it up from Trafford Market last April after searching among several, settling on the one with the evenest leaves. She kept it on the windowsill, watering it each Sunday. And now Margaret was holding it with both hands, as if it were something suspect worthy of inspection before being tossed out.
Margaret, what are you doing? Sarah said, entering, wearing her vest and old tartan trousers. Her little girl, Emily, had just fallen asleep after lunch, and Sarah had hoped for half an hour of silence, but instead shed heard shuffling, the clatter of plates, and the rustle of carrier bags.
Im tidying up, replied Margaret, not bothering to turn. Youve put this in the wrong spot again. Its blocking the light here, Sarah.
Its in the place I chose. This windowsill is best for her.
Nonsense. Thats the east side, too much morning sun. Violets dont like direct sunlight.
Shes growing beautifully, see? Look at these buds.
Thats because shes still young. Shell wither soon enough. Ill pop her by the fridgetheres a perfect little shelf.
Sarah entered fully and took the pot from Margarets handscalmly, without snatchingsetting it right back on the windowsill.
Margaret, please dont rearrange my things.
Margaret gave her a look, not angry but surprised, as though Sarah had explained a rule that was obviously mistaken.
Im not just moving things, Sarah. Im trying to help.
I know. But its my kitchen. Ill decide where things go.
Your kitchen, is it? Margaret raised an eyebrow and turned to the sink. Right you are. As you say.
She began scrubbing the tap, doing so with the thoroughness Margaret was known for: strong, steady pressure. Sarah gazed at her broad back in a mustard-coloured jumper and thought: Why have you come on a Wednesday? No call, no warning. Putting your key in the lock, stepping in among other peoples things, explaining what ought to go where.
But Sarah didnt say this aloud.
When will Emily wake? Margaret asked, not turning round.
Probably an hour and a half.
Ill just have a quick tidy, then, shall I? You rest.
Sarah opened her mouth, then closed it. She spoke evenly, Margaret, its perfectly tidy in here.
Yes, yes, I can see that. There was a pause. Its just that the tap had a few streaks.
Sarah poured water for herself, drinking by the window, gazing at her violet. One bud was nearly opena deep purple with a white border. Each day, Emily would prod it with a finger and say, Flower! and Sarah would correct: Flower, darling. Emily would giggle and try again.
Sarah left her glass and returned to her room. She didnt shut the door. Shutting it would have made a statement, and she wasnt looking for a row. She hoped Margaret would leave of her own accord, realise it wasnt the right moment, that this house, these lives, werent hers to order. But Margaret, either didnt understand, or didnt care much.
Twenty minutes later, a smell drifted from the kitchenrich and meaty. Sarah went to investigate.
A saucepan bubbled on the hobher saucepan.
Whats this? Sarah asked.
Ive made chicken noodle soup, Margaret replied. Tom will be hungry after work, and youve no food infridge is bare.
There was buckwheat and some meatballs.
Yesterdays meatballs. I chucked them.
Sarah stopped still. You threw away my meatballs?
They were left out since yesterday. Youd all end up ill.
Margaret. The meatballs were fine. I made them for today.
Oh, dont fretmeatballs are hardly expensive. I made you proper soup.
Sarah looked at the pot. The soup did smell goodfrustratingly soand that made it all worse. Margaret had used Sarahs pot, but her own brought ingredients, and now Sarah would have to deal with it all: the act, the implication.
Thank you, said Sarah, but please, dont throw away my food again.
Im only trying to help.
I understand. Justdont do it, all right?
Margaret stirred the soup. No reply.
Sarah sat at the table, watching her mother-in-law clean up, wash her spoon, wipe the hob, always moving about the kitchen as if it were her own, opening the right cupboard on the first trya sign shed been here without Sarah, perhaps when Sarah visited her mother, or during a walk with Emily. She realised Margaret must have been popping in whenever she pleased.
Margaret, Sarah said, how often do you come round?
Oh, now and then. When I need to.
What do you meanwhen you need to?
Margaret turned round, her face open and a little wounded.
Sarah, what do you mean? Im hardly a stranger. Toms my son.
Yes. And this is his flat. And mine.
So? Am I not allowed to visit?
You can. If you let us know and we say its all right.
There was a very long pause. Margaret looked at Sarah with that mix of surprise and quiet hurt that Sarah had learnt would soon become a telephone complaint to Tom.
Very well, said Margaret at last. As you wish.
The soup remained on the hob. Margaret left an hour later, before Emily woke. She kissed her sleeping granddaughter through the closed door, whispering, Quiet now, shes napping, and slipped out, taking the keys with her.
That evening Tom came home and declared at once, Smells amazingMum been?
Yes.
Smells delicious.
Tom.
He hung up his coat in the hallway and turned back.
What?
She came round unannounced. Threw away the meatballs I made yesterday, rearranged my things, wandered about the flat.
Oh, love, shes just trying to help.
I know. But I want you to speak to her. Remind her to ring before dropping in.
Tom broke off a piece of bread and chewed.
I will.
You say that every time.
Then Ill say it again.
Sarah ladled out soup, placed a bowl in front of him. He tasted it.
She does make a good soup, he admitted, seeming to realise straight away hed said the wrong thing.
Sarah ate in silence.
Margaret reappeared a few days laterthis time, Friday around two. Emily had just begun to wake from her afternoon nap, calling from her cot, and Sarah was on her way in when she heard the key.
Awake, my darling! Margaret sang out into the hallway. Nanas here!
Emily stopped crying. She always did when Margaret arrived, though Sarah didnt know whether to be grateful or resentful.
By the cot, Margaret was already reaching for Emily, who eagerly reached back.
Hello, said Sarah.
Hello, dear! Margaret spun around, Emily in her arms. Missed you! Have you rung your mother?
No. Sarah adjusted the blanket. I was just here.
Well, Im being quiet. Wont be in the way.
They moved to the kitchen. Sarah made tea, while Emily sat on her grandmothers lap, eating bread and butter brought from homeMargaret never came empty-handed.
I brought cake, Margaret announced, sponge from the bakery. Emily likes her sweets, doesnt she?
Emily doesnt eat cake.
Why ever not?
Shes only two and a half. Im not giving her that much sugar yetshe had a reaction to chocolate icing.
To the icing. This is just vanillano chocolate.
Margaret, please.
Oh, Saraha little bit wont hurt a child. There was nothing but gentleness in Margarets tone, somehow more vexing than anger. I raised Tom without any fuss.
Your child and mine arent the same. Emily reacts differently.
You fret too much, dear.
Perhaps. But shes my child, and Im asking you not to give her cake.
There was a pause. Emily reached for the bag. Margaret quietly tucked it under the table.
All right, she said. No cake.
Thank you.
They drank their tea. Emily banged about with a saucepan and a wooden spoonhanded over by Margaret from the bottom drawer without asking. Sarah noticed, but said nothing; the spoon was clean.
Hows Tom at work? Margaret inquired.
All right. Tired.
Always was. Throws himself in, then collapses. He needs a holiday. Going away this summer?
Not sure yet.
I could have Emily at my cottage while you take a break. Garden, fresh air.
Ill think about it.
Whats to think on? Just decidewell say July.
Margaret, I said: Ill think about it.
Margaret looked at Sarah. Sarah gripped her mug with both hands and looked back. They locked eyes for a moment before Margaret turned away.
Emily, come to Nana.
Emily trotted over, little feet pattering. Margaret scooped her up, nuzzling her hair.
My good girl.
Sarah washed mugs and stared out the window. The violet remained on its spot, another bud almost open.
The cake surfaced anywayMargaret produced it when Sarah was on the phone. She returned to find Emily clutching a piece of sponge, Margaret looking quietly triumphant.
Margaret.
Just a little bit, Sarahshe reached for it herself.
She reaches for anything shes handedshes a child.
Exactlya child. No need to fret over every little thing.
Sarah gently prised the cake from Emilys fingers. Emily looked at her in surprise but didnt cry. Sarah gave her a piece of apple from the bowl instead, and Emily returned to her saucepan.
I asked you not to give her cake, Sarah said softly.
She reached for itI told you.
Next time she does, just say no. Youre an adult, you can say no to a child.
Margaret stood and took her bag.
Id best be off then.
All right.
Youre angry.
Im not. I just want you to follow my rules in our home.
Your rules. Margaret zipped her bag. Right.
She left. Emily waved: Bye! Margarets voice, soft from the hallway: Goodbye, sweetheart. The door clicked shut.
Sarah put the cake in a bag by the door, so she wouldnt forget to return it.
That night Tom said, She only loves Emily.
I know.
Then whats the problem?
Sarah was quiet for a long time before replying, Tom, do you realise she comes when she wants, does what she likes, never asks me? This is our home. I shouldnt have to fight for the right to decide what Emily eats.
Tom sat with his phone, then put it aside.
She helped us with the flat, remember, Sarah.
There it was.
I remember.
Without her, wed still be renting for years.
I remember, Tom.
So perhaps we should
Should what? Tolerate her coming at any time, doing as she pleases just because she gave us some money?
Tom didnt answer.
Thats not right, Sarah said. Help is helpnot a free pass to walk in any time.
He picked up his phone.
Ill talk to her.
Youve said that twice already.
Ill do it again, Sarah. What do you want from me?
She wanted him to understandtruly understand. But Sarah saw he didnt, or wouldnt. Understanding meant action, and action meant upsetting his mother, which frightened him more than Sarahs silence.
Nothing, she said at last. Good night, Tom.
She went to check on Emily, who was sprawled face down, arms flung out. Sarah gently rolled her over. Emily murmured in her sleep and didnt wake. Sarah stood in the dimness, listening to her daughters breathing.
A week passed. Then another.
Margaret rang on Saturday morning. Sarah, Id like to come round Sunday. How are you all?
Were busy Sunday.
Busy? Tom said youll be home.
We will, but we have plans. Next time, perhaps.
Pause.
I bought Emily a toy. Was hoping to bring it over.
Give it to Tom, hell bring it.
Another, longer pause.
All right, then. Margarets voice was different nownot wounded, simply altered. Very well.
That evening, Tom said, Mums upset.
I know.
She says you wont let her in.
I dont let her in without warning. Theres a difference.
To her, its the same.
Sarah was folding laundry on the bed, shaking out a bedsheet.
Tom, whose side are you on?
Im not on anyones side. I just want you both to
No. This isnt about getting on. Its about who makes decisions here. Is it her, or the two of us?
He sat on the edge of the bed, watching her fold.
Us.
Good. Then really talk to her. Not like beforeproperly. Tell her no more unannounced visits; my wishes about Emily are to be respected; and she must return the flat keys.
He looked up, startled.
Keys?
Yes. The keys.
Sarah, thats
What?
He stood and went to the window before turning back.
Shell be really hurt.
And Im not by her popping in?
Its not the same.
Why not?
Silence.
Because shes my mother, he said at last.
And Im Emilys. And your wife. Im not saying she cant come. Im saying, call first, ask, and follow my wishes. That isnt much.
He didnt answer, retreated to the kitchen. She heard him start the kettle.
Sarah picked up Emilys little jumperone button was loose. She put it aside to fix.
Two weeks later, Margaret phoned Tom, explaining she had her nephews birthday on Friday, but wanted to come Saturday, if convenient. Tom agreed without asking Sarah.
When Saturday came, Sarah opened the door to Margaret, weighted down with shopping bags.
Ah, hello. Tom said youd be in.
Indeed. Come in.
Sarah helped carry the bagspotatoes, onions, a jar of home-pickled cucumbers, a wrapped cut of pork, apples, a bag of flour.
I thought Id bake pastiesTom likes them with cabbage, Margaret explained as she unpacked.
Margaret, can I just ask
Sarah, do you have a rolling pin? Ive not brought mine.
I do, but
Lovely. Ill set the dough while Emilys napping.
Margaret washed her hands and began rummaging; she knew where the flour was. Sarah left the kitchen and found Tom reading.
Did you tell your mum she could come?
He looked up. Yes. She wanted to
You didnt ask me.
Its my mum.
Its our home. You could have asked.
Youd have said no.
And there it was. Youd have said no, so I didnt ask.
Sarah stood there in silence. From the kitchen, the usual noisespots, the sharp smell of frying onion, the sizzle, the smoke, then onion again.
Next time, ask mealways, she said quietly. Understand?
Tom murmured something. Sarah barely heard. She went to Emily, just waking.
Margarets pasties were as promisedcrispy, golden, stuffed with cabbage. Emily ate one and asked for another. Margaret beamed. Sarah ate quietly and thought of meatballs, of sponge cake, of violets on the sill.
As Margaret left, she eyed the corner by the front door.
A little shelf here would do well. For shoes. No need to pile them on the floor.
Well think about it, Tom said.
I saw good wooden ones at the market. I could pick one up.
No need, Margaret, said Sarah. Well buy one if we want it.
Margaret looked at Sarah, then at Tom, then left.
As the door closed, Tom said, Why be like that?
Like what?
Shes just offering to help.
She was about to install a shelf in my hallway unasked. Theres a difference.
He retreated to the kitchen for the last pasty.
April was brisk. Sarah took Emily for walks before lunch. Afterwards, shed put her down for a nap and busy herselflaundry, cooking, sometimes reading if lucky. Life was modest but her own.
On one such afternoon, as Sarah read by the window while Emily slept, the door clicked.
She set her book aside.
Margaret entered, spotted Sarah. Oh! Youre homegood. Ill only be a tick.
Margaret
One moment, Sarah. I just wanted to change the curtains. Ive brought new onesthese are faded.
She opened her bundle: heavy beige curtains, lightly patterned.
Please stop, said Sarah.
Margaret looked up.
What?
Stop. Please. I dont want new curtains. I like mine.
But these are so plain. The new ones are lovely, and I got them on sale
Margaret, Ive asked you to ring before coming. Havent I?
Well, yes.
And youve come again, unannounced.
I thought youd be in.
Thats not the point. You should have called. And I dont want different curtainsI chose these. Kindly take yours home.
Margaret stood there a long moment, then folded up her curtains.
Fine, she said. Youre the lady of the house.
The tone made it clear: lady of the house meant something elsestubborn, thankless.
Yes, Sarah replied. I am.
Margaret left without a cup of teathe first time in months shed gone without fuss or putting something on the hob.
That evening Tom said, Mum rang. Shes upset.
I know.
Says you were rude.
I wasnt. I asked her to respect what wed already agreed.
She just wanted to help.
Tom, do you truly believe that wanting to help means you can do anything in someone elses home?
He was silent.
Because if so, we see the world very differently. If not, then support me. Not herme. Im your wife.
He took her hand, held it.
Ill speak to her, he promised.
Youve promised that five times, Tom.
Sarah
Five times.
He let go, left the room.
She cleared the table, washed up, dried her hands. She moved the violet from one end of the windowsill to the other, towards the light. The second bud fully opened; the third soon would.
Late April. Toms thirtieth.
Sarah prepared cheerfully. She found a recipe for honey cake with thick creambaked the sponge in the evening, assembled it at night while Emily slept, left it to chill.
They were expecting a small group: two of Toms friends with their wives, his sister Ruth and her husband. Naturally, Margaret as well.
Sarah set out a festive tablesalad, roasted fish, pickled cucumbers, cold cuts. She did everything properly.
Margaret arrived firstthis time, she rang ahead, saying she wanted to help. Sarah told her everything was ready.
Lovely spread, Margaret commented, eyeing the table. Fish?
Yes, pink salmon.
Tom likes salmon-trout best.
Its salmon today.
Oh, all right. Margaret straightened a fork minutely. You make the cake?
Yesa honey cake.
Toms not fond of honey cake. He likes Napoleon.
He hasnt mentioned it.
Perhaps not. I know, though.
Sarah carried on.
Id have managed NapoleonI had time.
Ive made a cake, and its good.
Well, well see.
The guests arrived. The house was noisy, Emily darting about, cheeks pinched, biscuits thrust into her hand. Sarah watched discreetly to ensure no one overindulged her.
Tom was happy. Laughing, chatting, sipping wine. Sarah looked at him: a good man, caught awkwardly between two women who both loved him.
Margaret sat opposite Sarah at the table.
When the cake appearedsliced and handed roundMargaret told the woman beside her, Honey cake, Sarah made it.
Oh, smells nice, the guest said.
Well, honey cake is an acquired taste. Not for everyone. Rather heavy.
Someone served themselves. Sarah stood nearby.
Tom prefers Napoleon. But never mindtheres nothing else.
There was only a flicker of awkwardness. Someone praised the cake and the conversation swept on.
Still, Sarah heard.
She cleared plates in the kitchen, quietly. When she came back, guests were beginning to leave. Ruth kissed Tom on the cheek, the men fetched coats.
Margaret was packing leftover salad into a container.
What are you doing?
Taking leftovers. May as wellotherwise itll be wasted.
It wont go to waste. Well finish it tomorrow.
Theres plenty left.
Ill do it, Margaret.
Well, I was just
Please, just leave the container.
Sarahs voice was calm, but something in her tone made Margaret pause and pay closer attention.
Whats the matter with you? Margaret asked.
Nothing. Please leave the container.
Margaret set it down, hesitated.
Sarah, Im not your enemy.
I know.
I love Tom. I love Emily.
I know, said Sarah, putting the container in the fridge. But I have my own family. Tom has a wife and daughter. We need our space.
What space? What do you mean?
I mean this: You arrive unannounced. You do in my home as you please. Throw away my food, rearrange my things, bring curtains without asking, give Emily things Ive forbidden. Tonight, in front of guests, you said my cake wasnt what Tom likes. That simply wasnt true. But even if it was, you neednt have said it in front of everyone.
Margaret said nothing.
Im not your enemy, Sarah said. Im Emilys mother, and Toms wife. I want a good relationship between us. But there must be rules, the same for everyone.
Youre throwing me out? Margaret asked, voice low, almost lost.
Im asking you to respect our home.
I do respect it.
No, you dont. Please, say goodbye to the others and go home. I want to talk to Tom tomorrow.
Margaret picked up her bag. She looked at Sarah with something unspoken in her eyes.
All right, she said.
She went into the lounge, kissed Tom on the cheek, laughed briefly at his comment, said her goodbyes. She peeped into the nursery but didnt enter; just closed the door. Then she left.
Tom closed the door behind the last guests and returned to the kitchen.
Im knackered, he said, rubbing his forehead.
Sit down, said Sarah. We need to talk.
He did so, looking wary.
Really?
Yes.
She poured tea for them both, sitting opposite.
Tom, I want you to get Mums keys back.
He put down his mug.
What?
The keys to our flat. I want her to hand them over.
He was silent for a long time.
Sarah, thats
I know what youre going to say. Shell be upset. Shell be hurt. You feel you owe her because she helped with the flat. About that: Lets take out a small loan, give her back her share. That way, she cant claim moral rights to drop in any time.
But Well manage the mortgage. Why borrow extra?
So youll stop using, She helped us, to excuse everything.
Im not
You do. Every time.
Tom stared out the window, then at her.
Mums a difficult woman, he said. She kept the family together after Dad left. She got used to controlling things.
I understand.
She means well.
I know. Im not telling you to stop loving her. Im saying you need new boundaries. You arent a boy any more. You have your own family. She must know there are limits.
Shell hate losing the keys.
Possibly. But she either follows our rules, or shell have no keys. Thats not cruel, Tom. Its basic respect.
He looked at her.
You sent her packing tonight.
I asked her to leave after our talk. Not the same.
She was smashed.
So was I. When she threw away my food. Fed Emily cake. Criticised my cake in front of guests. Im tired, Tom. I want you to do this, once and for all.
He said nothing for a long while. Finally, Shell say were ungrateful.
Maybe.
Say I abandoned her for you.
Perhaps.
Ill feel awful.
I know.
He stood quietly. Emily slept on the other side of the wall.
Do you definitely want a loan? Tom asked.
I want this to be really our home, not one bought with someone elses money.
It is already.
Not as long as she has a key.
He joined her at the table, sipped his tea.
Give me a few days, he said.
All right.
Ill talk with her.
All right.
About the keys too, and everything else.
All right, Tom.
He set down his mug, looked at her.
Your cake was delicious. Really.
She said nothing, just cleared the mugs.
Days passed. Margaret didnt call. Tom came and went, ate, spent a bit of time with Emily. He was unusually quiet.
On the fourth evening, he said, I phoned her.
Sarah watched him.
And?
It wasnt easy. He rubbed his neck. She cried.
I know.
Said we dont love her.
She always says that.
He nodded. Explained about the keys, calling ahead, not changing things without asking, following your wishes with Emily
Did she agree?
Not at first. Said youre pressuring me. That youre pushing her out.
What did you say?
That its not like that. That we both decided.
Sarah exhaled.
Thank you.
She wants a week with the keys, says shell adjust, then hand them back.
That isnt really an answer.
Sarah, just a week. If she doesnt, Ill collect them myself.
She considered.
A week, then.
He nodded. Opened the paper. About the loan, youre rightIll ask at the bank.
Well work it out.
Theres someone at the branch I know. Ill get figures.
Good.
Evening fell softly. Emily played in her room, building a tower of blocks.
Sarah peeked in. Emily was fully absorbed, stacking block upon block.
A tower, Sarah remarked.
A tower! Emily replied, adding one more.
It wobbled, but held.
A week passed. Margaret rang on Wednesday and asked if she could come round on Saturday; Sarah agreed. Margaret arrived at three, as promised.
She brought a small bag for Emilya picture book. She handed it over, unwrapped.
Here you go, she said. About animals. Emily likes animals.
Thank you, said Sarah.
Nana! Emily bounded in. Margaret gathered her up, cradling her, gazing over Emilys head at Sarahnot with resentment anymore, but something else.
They had tea and talked of weather, Margarets cottage, summer plans. Emily flicked through her new book, showing off the fox, the rabbit, the bear.
Bear! Emily declared.
Bear, Margaret echoed.
When tea was done, Margaret opened her bag, took out her keyring. She unhooked one key and laid it on the table.
Here, she said. As agreed.
Tom pocketed the key. Thank you, Mum.
No need to thank me. Margaret sipped her tea. Just let me know when youd like me, and Ill come. As we’ve arranged.
Of course, Tom said.
I dont mind coming by appointment. I understand youre a family. You have your own life.
Were glad to see you, Tom replied.
She met his gaze, then looked at Sarah.
I know.
Maybe it was true. Maybe not. Sarah decided not to dwell on it.
Margaret left at half past five. Emily waved from the window; Margaret waved back from the pavement below, then turned the corner and was gone.
Tom shut the window.
Well, he said.
Well, Sarah echoed.
Emily ran off with her book. They stood by the window together.
She didnt call for a long time, Tom said. Its hard for her.
I know.
Any regrets?
Sarah thought for a moment, slowly, honestly.
No, she said at last, I dont.
Me neither.
They stood side by side, looking out the window as Margaret disappeared down the street in her mustard jumper, bag over her shoulder.
You know, we ought to move that cupboard in the hall, Tom said abruptly.
Which one?
The one she moved back in spring. You always said it sits wrong.
You remember?
I do.
Sarah looked at him.
Now?
Why not?
Together they moved to the hallway. The cupboard was set against the wall, not at the angle Sarah liked for the door to open easily.
Tom took one side, Sarah the other.
One, two, Tom said.
Together they shifted it back. The door swung open, no effort.
Thats better, Tom said.
It is.
Emily appeared with her book.
Mummy, look, a fox!
A fox, echoed Sarah. Cunning thing.
Cunning, Emily repeated, and skipped off.
Sarah went to the kitchen, poured herself a glass of water, set it by the table, and looked at the windowsill.
The violet stood exactly where shed put it. Three blooms had opened that monthdeep purple with white edges, sturdy. A fourth was coming on, still tightly furled. The leaves were dark green, even and strong. No sign of withering now.
