The shrill ring of the doorbell announced a visitor. Lucy tossed her apron aside, wiped her hands, and went to answer. Her daughter stood on the doorstep with a young man in tow. The woman let them into the flat.
“Hi, Mum,” her daughter said, planting a quick kiss on her cheek. “Meet Daniel—he’s going to live with us now.”
“Hello,” the lad muttered.
“And this is my mum, Auntie Lucy.”
“Lucille Margaret,” she corrected.
“Mum, what’s for dinner?”
“Mashed peas and bangers.”
“I don’t eat mashed peas,” Daniel said, toeing off his trainers and wandering into the living room.
“Seriously, Mum? Daniel doesn’t like peas,” the girl gasped, eyes wide.
The lad sprawled on the sofa, dumping his rucksack on the floor.
“This is actually *my* living room,” Lucille said flatly.
“Daniel, come on, I’ll show you where we’re staying,” called Emily.
“I like it here,” he grumbled, hauling himself up.
“Mum, can you think of something else to feed Daniel?”
“No idea. We’ve got half a pack of sausages left,” Lucy shrugged.
“That’ll do—mustard and ketchup, bit of bread,” he called back.
“Lovely,” was all Lucy could muster before heading to the kitchen. *First it was stray kittens and puppies, now this. And I’m meant to feed him too.*
She dished herself some mashed peas, slapped two fried sausages on her plate, pushed the salad bowl closer, and dug in.
“Mum, why are you eating alone?” Emily marched in.
“Because I just got home from work and I’m starving,” Lucy said around a mouthful. “If anyone’s hungry, they can serve themselves or cook. And while we’re at it—why *is* Daniel living with us?”
“Because he’s my *husband*.”
Lucy nearly choked.
“Your *what*?”
“You heard me. I’m a grown woman—I decide if I get married. I’m nineteen, by the way.”
“You didn’t even invite me to the wedding.”
“There wasn’t one. We just signed the papers. Now we’re husband and wife, so we’re living together,” Emily said, side-eyeing her chewing mother.
“Well, congratulations. Why skip the wedding?”
“If you’ve got money for one, hand it over—we’ll find a use for it.”
“Right.” Lucy kept eating. “And why *here*?”
“Because his family’s in a tiny one-bed flat—four of them squeezed in.”
“So renting wasn’t an option?”
“Why waste money when I’ve got my own room?” Emily scoffed.
“Ah.”
“So, are you giving us anything to eat?”
“Em, peas are in the pot, sausages in the pan. If that’s not enough, there’s half a pack left in the fridge. Help yourselves.”
“Mum, you don’t get it—you’ve got a *son-in-law* now,” Emily stressed.
“And? Should I break into a Morris dance to celebrate? Em, I’m tired. Skip the dramatics. You’ve got hands—use them.”
“No wonder you’re still single!”
Emily glared, stormed off, and slammed her bedroom door. Lucy finished eating, washed up, wiped the counter, and headed to her room. Changed into gym clothes, grabbed her kit bag, and left for the leisure centre. A free woman, she spent a few evenings a week swimming or lifting weights.
By ten, she was back. The kitchen was a war zone—someone had attempted cooking. The mashed peas had dried and cracked, their lid missing. Sausage wrappers littered the table alongside a stale, unwrapped loaf. The frying pan was scorched, its non-stick coating scratched by a fork. A sticky puddle gleamed on the floor, and the flat reeked of cigarettes.
“Well, this is new. Emily’s never pulled this before.”
She pushed open her daughter’s door. The pair were drinking wine and smoking.
“Em, clean the kitchen. And tomorrow, you’re buying a new pan,” Lucille said, leaving the door ajar as she walked out.
Emily leapt up and chased after her.
“Why should *we* clean? And where am I supposed to get money for a pan? I’m a student!”
“House rules, Em. You eat, you clean. You break it, you replace it. And yes, I *do* care about that pan—it wasn’t cheap.”
“You just don’t want us here,” Emily blurted.
“Got it in one,” Lucy said evenly.
“You don’t get to boss me around anymore. I’m married now. And honestly, you’ve had your turn—you should give us the flat.”
“I’ll give you the hallway bench. Married without asking me? Fine. But *he* isn’t living here. You stay, he doesn’t.”
“Sod your flat! Daniel, we’re leaving!” Emily screeched, yanking open drawers.
Five minutes later, her new son-in-law staggered into Lucille’s room.
“Listen, *Mum*, behave and we’ll all get along,” he slurred. “We’re not leaving. Play nice, and we’ll keep the noise down tonight.”
“I’m not your *mum*,” Lucy snapped. “That’d be the woman who raised you—go *home* to her. Take your wife with you.”
“Oh, you’ll regret that—” He swung a fist at her face.
Lucille caught his wrist, nails digging in.
“Ow—let go, you mad cow!”
“Mum, stop!” Emily shrieked, trying to pull her off.
Lucille shoved her aside, kneed Daniel in the groin, then elbowed his throat.
“I’ll report this assault!” he wheezed.
“Let me call the police—make it easier for you,” she shot back.
The pair fled the two-bed flat soon after.
“You’re dead to me!” Emily screamed. “You’ll never see your grandkids!”
“What a shame,” Lucy drawled. “Peace at last.”
She inspected her nails—half were broken.
“Nothing but trouble with you lot.”
After they left, she scrubbed the kitchen, binned the ruined peas and pan, and changed the locks.
Three months later, near work, she spotted Emily—gaunt, hollow-cheeked, miserable.
“Mum… what’s for dinner?”
“Dunno. Haven’t decided. Fancy anything?”
“Roast chicken and rice?”
“Then let’s get a chicken. You make the rice.”
She asked no questions. Daniel never resurfaced.
