Jessica stood in the middle of the kitchen holding a pot with a rather beleaguered African violet. This particular violet was Alices pride and joy. Alice had picked it up from the flower stall outside Sainsburys last April, after a good half hour choosing between three plants, ultimately selecting the one with the sturdiest leaves. Shed placed it on the windowsill, watered it religiously every Sunday. And now, her mother-in-law, Mrs. Margaret Wilkinson, was holding the violet pot like it might explode, inspecting it closely before, presumably, throwing it in the bin for the crime of existing.
Margaret, what are you doing?
Alice appeared, pajama-clad, hair doing something dramatic of its own. Young Emily had just gone down for her afternoon nap, which meant Alice was hoping for a solid half-hour of silence and perhaps an unreasonable number of digestive biscuits. Instead, shed heard the clatter of pans and suspicious rustling.
Im tidying up, Margaret said, not even looking round. Its in the wrong spot again. That plant blocks the light, Alice.
Its exactly where I put it, on purpose. I picked that windowsill.
Well, thats just wrong. It faces east. Violets cant stand direct sunlight in the morning.
Its doing perfectly well. Look, its even got buds.
Thats because its still young. Give it time, itll wilt. Im moving it next to the fridgetheres a little shelf there.
Alice entered the kitchen, took the violet from Margaret ever so delicately and put it back on her chosen windowsill. No drama, just a silent retrieval.
Margaret, please dont rearrange my things.
Margaret gave her a look, not angry, just slightly amazed, the kind you get from someone whos just been told that tea should be poured before the milk.
Im not rearranging, Alice. Im trying to help.
I know you mean well. But its my kitchen. I decide what goes where.
Your kitchen, is it? Margarets eyebrows soared behind her glasses. She turned away, grabbed the sponge and began energetically scrubbing the tap, as if it had personally offended her. Alice watched her, silent, as Margarets mustard-coloured cardigan heaved back and forth. Why did she have to show up on a Wednesday? No call, no texta twist of the key, and suddenly she was there, in the middle of somebody elses life, explaining how the sofa ought to go under the window and which shelf best suits a violet.
She didnt say that out loud.
When will Emily wake up? Margaret asked over her shoulder.
About an hour and a half, I think.
Ill just tidy up a bit, then. You put your feet up.
Alice opened her mouth, closed it. Said, as evenly as possible, There is order here already, Margaret.
Yes, I can tell. Pause. Just thought the tap was looking a bit streaky.
Alice fetched herself a glass of water, stood at the window, looking at the violetone bud nearly open, purple with a white edge. Emily poked it every day, saying, Flower, and Alice would correct her gently, Flower, and Emily would giggle and say it her own way again. Now she just wanted peace, but Margaret, armed with disinfectant and the moral high ground, worked steadily away.
Then the smell drifted out from the kitchen: rich, chickeny, homemade. Soup.
Whats that? asked Alice, suspicious.
Soup, Margaret replied. Chicken noodle. Tom will be famished after work, and your fridge is looking a bit sparse.
I had buckwheat and homemade burgers ready. In the fridge.
They were from yesterday. I chucked them out.
You threw out my burgers?
Theyd been sitting there since yesterday, Alice. Youll give yourselves food poisoning.
Margaret. The burgers were fine. I planned to reheat them. That was my cooking.
Oh, come on, burgers cost pennies. I made you soup.
Alice eyed the soup simmering away. The broth was golden. It smelled unjustifiably nice. That was the truly infuriating part: it smelled good. Soup, made in her own pot, with ingredients Margaret had evidently hauled in herself, now meant Alice had to come up with an appropriate response for the whole affair.
Thanks, Alice said. But please dont throw out my food again.
I wasnt trying to upset you. Just helping.
I know. But dont do it again, please?
Margaret gave the soup a stir and didnt reply.
Alice sat down, observing as Margaret tidied as if this were her own kitchenopening drawers instinctively, gliding through cupboards like she practised in the night. Which, Alice realised with a sinking feeling, she probably did, when Alice was out with her own mum, or out walking with Emily. Just popped in, did a spot of rearranging.
Margaret, Alice asked with faux casualness, how often do you come by?
Oh, here and there. When its needed.
When is it needed?
Margaret turned, her face open, and just a little wounded. What are you getting at? This isnt a strangers placeToms my son.
Yes. And its his flat. And mine. Our home.
So why cant I come? Im family.
You can. If you ring first, and if we say its convenient.
A beat of silence that Alice knew too wellit presaged the phone call Tom would get later, about how aloof she was becoming.
Alright, Margaret conceded at last. If you say so.
The soup stayed on the stove. Margaret left after an hourbefore Emily had even stirred. She kissed her granddaughter through the closed nursery door, whispering, Softly, shes asleep, and went. The keys went, too.
When Tom arrived that evening, he sighed, Mums been, then?
Yes.
Smells good. Did she make soup?
She did.
He shrugged off his jacket, eyeing her. What?
She just let herself in again, binned my burgers, moved my plant. Its getting a bit much.
She means well, Alice. She just wants to help.
I know. But I want you to talk to her. Explain that she must call before she comes by.
Tom reached for bread. Ill speak to her.
You always say that.
Then Ill say it again.
They ate in brittle quiet. The soup was infuriatingly delicious.
Margaret turned up that Friday, just after two. Emily had just woken from her nap and was yelling from her cot. Alice heard the key againa sound that filled her with mingled dread and hope.
Wakey, wakey! Margaret called, swooping down the hall. Grannys here!
Emily always stopped crying when Margaret appeared, and Alice still wasnt sure whether to be relieved or annoyed.
In the nursery, Margaret was already at the cot, arms out. Emily reached back. Alice tidied the blanket.
Hello, Alice said.
Hello, love. Margaret scooped up Emily and spun her around. Missed my girl today. Had you rung?
No. I was here.
Well, Ill be quiet. Dont mind me.
They migrated to the kitchen. Alice made tea. Emily sat on Grannys lap, devouring bread and butter from a mysterious Tupperware Margaret had brought with her.
I brought cake, Margaret announced. Shop-bought, just a plain sponge. Emily loves cake.
She doesnt eat cake, Margaret.
Of course she does.
Shes two and a half. She cant have that much sugar yet. She had a bad reaction to chocolate icing.
That was the icing. This is vanilla. No chocolate at all.
Please, Margaret.
Alice, one little piece will do no harm. Margarets voice was gentlethat special, grating kind of gentle. Tom turned out fine.
Your child and my child are not the same child. Emily reacts to things.
Youre worrying too much.
Perhaps. But shes my daughter. So please dont give her cake.
Emily, meanwhile, had spotted the bag and was reaching for it. Margaret slid it under the table. Alright. No cake then.
Thank you.
Emily was soon drumming on pots on the kitchen floor with a wooden spoon Margaret had plucked from the drawer without asking. Alice eyed this but let it slide. At least the spoon was clean.
Hows Toms job? Margaret asked.
Hes fine. Tired.
Thats Tom for you. All or nothing, then crashes. Poor thing. He needs a holiday. Are you two planning to get away this summer?
Not sure yet.
Id have Emily here any time, you knowbring her to mine while you both have a break. Loads of fresh air, garden, all that.
Well think about it.
Nothing to think about. Bring her in July.
I said Ill think about it, Margaret.
Margaret eyed her. Alice sipped her tea, unblinking, until Margaret turned to Emily, Come to Granny, sweetheart.
Sometime after, Alice caught Margaret surreptitiously handing Emily a chunk of cake when Alice picked up the phone. Emily accepted happily; Margaret beamed with quiet triumph.
Margaret!
Just a tiny bite, Alice. She wanted it.
She wants everything shes given; shes a toddler.
So? Shes a child, no need to panic.
Alice gently took the cake from Emily, swapped it for a slice of apple. Emily barely noticed, returning to her kitchen orchestra.
I asked you not to give her cake, Alice said evenly.
She reached for it. I told you.
If she reaches for something, say no. Youre the adult.
Margaret stood up, collected her things. Ill be off then.
Alright.
Youre cross.
No. Im asking you to stick to my rules when youre in our home.
An arched eyebrow. Your rules. Got it.
She left. Emily waved after her, Bye, bye! Margaret replied from the hall, Bye, darling. The door shut.
Alice tucked the cake back in Margarets bag, left it by the door for next time.
That evening Tom remarked, She only wants to help Emily.
I know.
So, whats the problem, then?
Alice hesitated, then: Tom, do you see she drops in unannounced, does as she pleases, doesnt think she needs to ask me? This is our home. I shouldnt have to struggle for the right to decide what my daughter eats.
Tom scrolled his phone, set it down. She helped us get this flat, you know.
And there it was.
I remember.
Wed still be renting if not for her.
I remember, Tom.
So maybe be a bit…
What? Grateful? Let her come and go as she pleases just because she helped out financially?
He said nothing.
Thats not how it works, Tom. Help is help. Its not an all-access pass.
He picked up his phone again. Ill speak to her.
Youve said that twice before.
Ill do it again, Alice. What else do you want?
She wanted him to figure it out for himself. But she could see that possibility was, for him, as likely as pigs flying past the window.
Nothing. Good night.
She went to check on Emily.
A couple of weeks went by. Then, one Saturday morning, Margaret called.
Alice, fancy a visit tomorrow? How are you all?
Were busy on Sunday, Margaret.
Oh, how so? Tom said youre in.
We are, but weve made plans. Next time, maybe?
Pause.
I bought Emily a toy. Wanted to bring it.
You can give it to Tom to bring home.
Slightly longer pause. Right. Well. Fine.
On Sunday evening, Tom said, Mum feels hurt.
I know.
She says youre shutting her out.
I said she cant come unannounced. Its not the same.
She thinks it is.
Alice folded the laundry with all the satisfaction of a Victorian washerwoman. Whose side are you on?
Im not picking sides. I just want you both…
No. This isnt a misunderstanding. Its about who decides things in this family. Her or us?
We do.
Then actually talk to her. Properly. About phoning before coming, about respecting our rules with Emily, and about the spare keys. She has to hand them back.
Tom looked up, startled. The keys?
Yes. The keys.
Shell be very upset.
And Im not, by her surprise visits?
Its different.
How?
He stared at the window. Because shes a mum.
And Im Emilys mumand your wife, in this house. Alice stacked towels firmly. She can visitif she rings, if she respects my requests. Thats all.
He didnt reply, slumped off to brew tea.
Alice picked up Emilys tiny duck-patterned jumpera button loose, to be sewn on.
Two weeks later, Margaret called Tom to announce shed be there Saturday afternoon, prior business preventing her from coming Friday. Tom agreed, telling Alice nothing, of course.
On Saturday, there she was on the doorstep, arms laden with shopping bags.
Tom said youd welcome me.
Of course, come in.
Potatoes, onions, a kilner jar of her pickles, pork in clingfilm, apples, a bag of flourMargaret was ready for war.
Ill bake pastiesTom loves them with cabbage. Alice, you have a rolling pin?
I do, but
Lovely. Ill get the dough started before Emily wakes up.
She moved about as if in her own home, found the flour herselfclearly, shed known its place for ages.
Alice stepped out to find Tom, who was engrossed in his phone.
You told her she could come?
Yeah. She wanted to. Youd have said no.
There it wasthe whole unhelpful truth, neat and compact.
From now on, you ask me. Every time. Got it?
He mumbled something, but Alice didnt wait for an argument, heading to Emily, just stirring from her nap.
The pasties? They were good. Flaky crust, cabbage filling, everything promised. Emily demolished one and asked for more. Margaret beamed. Alice ate in silence, thinking of her burgers, of the cake, of that stubborn violet.
As Margaret was leaving she paused in the hall, appraising a wall.
A shelf here would be good, for shoescant have them scattered on the floor.
Well think about it, said Tom.
Saw lovely wooden ones at the market. I could fetch you one.
No need, Margaret, Alice replied. Well do it if we decide.
Margaret glanced from Tom to Alice and left.
Door closed.
Was that necessary? Tom asked.
What?
She was offering to help.
She was suggesting shelves in our hallway without asking. Not. The. Same.
He retreated, and she heard him snap up the last pasty.
April was chilly. Alice and Emily went for walks, came home for naps, domesticity reignedsmall, peaceful, theirs.
One quiet afternoon, as Alice read at the window, the key rattled in the lock.
Margaret breezed in, spot-checking the hallway, bags in hand.
Oh, youre homenot to worry, Ill be quick. Just here to swap those curtains, brought some lovely new ones from Dunelm. Yours are looking tired.
Alice put the book down.
Please dont, Margaret.
She looked up.
Sorry?
Dont change the curtains. I like mine. And you need to ring before coming.
Well, I thought youd be in.
Thats not the point. Please call, and please take your curtains with you. I chose these myself.
Margaret clutched the fabric, watching Alice. After a moment, she put them away.
Alright. If you insistlady of the house.
Yes. I am.
Margaret left at onceno tea, no fuss.
That evening, Tom said, Mum called. Shes upset. Said you were rude.
I wasnt rude. I just repeated our agreement.
She wants to help.
Tom, just answer me. Do you honestly believe that meaning well gives you free rein in someones home?
He was quiet.
If you do, were at odds about everything. But if notthen just back me up for once. Im your wife.
He took her hand, squeezed it.
Ill talk to her.
Youve said that five times, Tom.
He dropped her hand and left.
Alice tidied, shifted her violet to catch the light. Two buds now open.
End of April brought Toms 30th. Alice planned the cake carefullya honey sponge with cream, as shed seen in a magazine. She baked at night, stole moments while Emily slept, decorated in hushed joy.
Just a few close friends invited: two of Toms mates with their wives, his sister Anna with her husband. And, of course, Margaret.
She called aheadmiracle of miracles! Alice informed her, All is ready. Just come.
Margaret entered, inspected the spread. Fish?
Yes, baked trout.
Tom prefers salmon.
Well, we have trout.
Margaret straightened a fork. You baked the cake yourself?
Yes. Honey cake.
Tom prefers Victoria sponge. Or a Battenberg.
He never told me that.
Well, I know him best.
Alice fetched bread, wisely silent.
I wouldve made a proper Victoria sponge, Margaret mused, if Id known. Wouldve managed it, too.
Ive baked a cake already. Its staying.
Well see, Margaret replied.
Guests arrived. Emily darted between grownups; Alice saw to the biscuits rationing.
Tom glowed, laughing, talking. Alice watched, thinkinghere he is, stuck between me and her, unaware its his own job to rescue himself.
Margaret eyed Alice across the table.
When the cake arrived, sliced and proffered, Margaret commented for all: Oh, Alice made a honey cake. Well, not everyone likes honey rather…heavy, isnt it? She addressed the remark to Toms mates wife.
Someone reached for a slice. Its delicious, was the consensus, but Alice heard Margarets words echo.
Later, as Alice put Emily down for the night, Margaret swooped in. Let me, you must be tired.
Ill do it myself, thanks.
Alice, let me.
I said Ill do it, Margaret.
Margarets voice dropped low, You always push me away, you know. I only want to help.
Alice looked her dead in the eye, Emily nearly asleep on her shoulder.
Margaret, Ill put my own daughter to bed. Its not personal. Its my right.
After settling Emily, Alice returned to the kitchen and caught Margaret spooning up the leftover potato salad into her Tupperware.
What are you doing?
Just taking leftoversyoull never finish them.
They wont go to waste. Well eat them.
Theres plenty.
Ill handle it, Margaret.
Well, Ive just
Give the Tupperware here, please.
Alices voice was even. Margaret froze in surprise. Slowly, she handed it over.
Whats gotten into you? she asked.
Nothing. Please leave it.
Margaret placed it on the counter. Pause.
Im not your enemy, Alice.
I know.
I love Tom and Emily.
I know. But I have my own familymy husband and daughter. We need space.
What are you talking about?
I mean this. You let yourself in, rearrange, toss my food, bring new curtains, feed Emily things I dont want her to eat. You made a snide remark about my cake in front of guests. Tom has never complained about honey cake. Even if he had, it wasnt the moment to say so.
Margaret was silent.
Im not your enemy, Alice repeated, but I am Emilys mother and Toms wife. We need some rules. The same for everyone.
So youre banning me? Margarets voice was small, almost afraid.
No. Im asking you to respect this house.
I do.
No, you really dont. Please say your goodbyes and go home now. Tomorrow, Ill have a chat with Tom.
Margaret packed up, lingered in the kitchen, looking at Alice for a long moment.
Fine, she said.
She left, hugged Tom, pecked him on the cheek, joked with the guests, tiptoed to Emily’s dark room then went.
As Tom shut the door, he groaned, Knackered.
Sit down. We need to talk.
He did. Alice poured tea for them both.
Tom, I want you to collect your mums spare keys to our flat.
He blinked. What?
You heard.
He was silent for a long time. Alice, shell
Shell be upset. Shell say we owe her for this flat. If its about money, well take a loan. Pay her back her bit. End this. No more excuses for unannounced drop-ins.
He stood, agitated. Alice, our mortgage is fine. Why a loan?
So you wont keep using her help as justification for ignoring boundaries.
I dont.
You do. Every time.
He stared at the night beyond the window. Shes a complicated woman. After Dad, she ran everything herself. Shes used to it.
I get it.
She doesnt mean harm.
I believe you. I just want you to explain: new boundaries, now you have your own family. She needs to know where the line is.
Shell be heartbroken about the keys.
Ill survive. Shes broken my boundaries plenty of times.
He stared at the kitchen.
Youre sure about the loan?
Im sure. I want our home to be oursno strings.
It is.
Not while she has a key.
He came closer. Give me a few days. Ill talk to her.
Alright.
Ill cover it all. Keys, ground rules, the rest.
Thank you, Tom.
He hesitated, looking for words. The cake was lovely, honestly.
She let that pass. Washed the mugs.
Three days passed. Margaret didnt call. Tom went to work, came home, played with Emily, said little.
Finally, one evening, he said, I phoned her. It was rough. She cried.
She always does.
Said we dont love her.
She always says that.
I explained about the keys, about calling ahead, about rules for Emily.
She agreed?
Not straight away. Said you brainwashed me. That youre forcing her out.
And you?
Told her we decided together. She asked for a little time to get used to the idea of no spare key. Just a week.
Shell stall, Tom.
Give her a week. If not, Ill get the key myself, I promise.
Alice hesitated, then agreed.
He opened his newspaper. Thought about your loan idea. You may be right. Ill check with my banking mate.
Lets count it up.
It was a restful silenceEmily chattered to herself, stacking blocks.
Alice peeked in. A tower, Em?
Tower, Emily grinned.
The tower wobbled, but stood.
A week passed. Margaret phoned on Wednesday. Is Saturday good for a visit?
It is.
Margaret came precisely at three, bringing a picture book for Emily handed it over, nothing ceremonial.
There. About animals. She loves animals.
Thank you, Margaret.
Emily burst from the lounge, hugging Margaret. Grandmother gave Alice a look that was no longer quite resentmentsomething else.
Tea, conversation about weather, holidays, the garden. Emily pointed at pictures.
In the end, Margaret opened her bag, took out a ring of keys, removed one, laid it on the table.
There. As agreed.
Tom accepted it quietly.
Thank you, Mum.
Of course. Just let me know when you want me, and Ill come. As we said.
Glad to have you, when arranged, Tom replied.
I dont mind, Margaret said, levelly. You have your family, your life. I understand.
Were always pleased to see you, Margaret, Tom added.
She looked at him, then at Alice.
I know, she said.
Was it true? Alice didnt puzzle it out.
Margaret left at half past five. Emily waved from the window. Margaret glanced up from the pavement, waved back.
Tom closed the window.
Well, he said.
Well, echoed Alice.
Emily returned to the lounge with her book. They stood at the window.
Shell need a while, Tom said. Shell miss us.
I know.
Do you regret it?
Alice paused, truly thinking it through.
No, she said. Not at all.
Me neither.
He stood beside her as they watched Margaret, in her mustard cardigan and big bag, walk away.
We should move the hall cupboard back, Tom said suddenly.
Which one?
The one she shifted round last spring. You didnt like it.
You remembered.
Of course.
Alice smiled. Now?
Why not?
They heaved the cupboard into its old position. The door opened neatlyjust as Alice liked.
There, said Tom.
There, echoed Alice.
Emily trundled in with her book.
Mumlook, fox.
Yes, darling. A clever fox.
Clever, Emily agreed, and wandered off again.
Alice wandered into the kitchen, poured herself a glass of water, glanced at her windowsill.
The violet still sat exactly where she had put it. Three blossoms now, not a hint of wiltingleaves glossy, dark green. Still thriving.
