The doorbell rang with an earsplitting shrill, announcing an unwelcome visitor. Margaret wiped her hands on her apron, tossing it aside before marching to the door. Her daughter stood on the threshold, a young man hovering awkwardly beside her. With a tight breath, Margaret stepped aside, letting them in.
“Hello, Mum,” her daughter chirped, kissing her cheek. “This is Dave. Hes moving in with us.”
“Pleasure,” the young man muttered.
“And this is my mum, Auntie Margaret.”
“Margaret Harris,” she corrected sharply.
“Mum, whats for dinner?”
“Mash and bangers.”
“I dont eat mash,” Dave said, toeing off his trainers and striding into the living room without a second glance.
“But Mum, Dave doesnt like peas,” the girl whined, eyes wide with accusation.
Dave flopped onto the sofa, dumping his rucksack on the floor.
“Thats my spot,” Margaret said coolly.
“Dave, come on, Ill show you where well be staying,” Emily called.
“I like it right here,” he grunted, reluctantly standing.
“Mum, can you think of something else for Dave to eat?”
“Dunno. Theres half a pack of sausages left,” Margaret shrugged.
“Thatll dowith mustard, ketchup, and a bit of bread,” he declared.
“Fine,” Margaret muttered, retreating to the kitchen. “Used to drag in strayskittens, puppies. Now she brings *this* home and expects me to feed him too.”
She piled mash onto her plate, added two fried sausages and a scoop of salad, then dug in with quiet frustration.
“Mum, why are you eating alone?” Emily asked, appearing in the doorway.
“Because I just got off work, and Im starving,” Margaret bit out, chewing. “If anyones hungry, they can bloody well serve themselves. And while were at itwhy *is* Dave moving in?”
“What dyou mean? Hes my husband.”
“*What?!* Your *husband?*”
“Yeah. Im nineteenold enough to decide if I marry or not.”
“You didnt even invite me to the wedding!”
“There wasnt one. Just a registry office. Were married now, so were living together,” Emily shot back, arms crossed.
“Congratulations,” Margaret deadpanned. “Why skip the wedding?”
“If youve got money for one, hand it over. Well put it to better use.”
“Right.” Margaret stabbed a sausage. “And why *here?*”
“Because his flats crammed with four people already.”
“So renting wasnt an option?”
“Why rent when Ive got a room here?” Emily scoffed.
“Got it.”
“Can you at least fix us some food?”
“The mash is on the hob, sausages in the pan. If thats not enough, theres half a pack in the fridge. Help yourselves.”
“Mum, youre missing the point. Youve got a *son-in-law* now,” Emily hissed.
“And? Want me to do a jig? I just got home from work, love. Im knackered. Sort yourselves out.”
“No wonder youre single!” Emily spat, storming off and slamming her door. Margaret finished eating, washed up, and left for the gymher usual escape.
By ten, she returned, craving a cuppaonly to find the kitchen wrecked. The pot lid was gone, the mash dried and cracked. Sausage wrappers littered the table beside a stale crust of bread. The pan was scorched, fork marks gouged into it. Plates piled in the sink, and something sticky pooled on the floor. The flat reeked of cigarettes.
“Charming. Emily never pulled this before.”
She shoved open her daughters door. The pair were drinking wine, smoke curling overhead.
“Emily, clean the kitchen. And youre replacing that pan tomorrow,” Margaret ordered, turning away.
Emily leapt up, chasing her down the hall.
“Why should we? Im a studentI dont *have* money for a pan! Care more about dishes than me?”
“You know the rules: You mess, you clean. You break, you replace. That pan wasnt cheap.”
“You dont want us here,” Emily accused.
“No,” Margaret admitted flatly.
Shed never fought like this with Emily before.
“But Ive got a right to be here!”
“No, you dont. *I* bought this flat. You want to stay? Follow the rules.”
“Ive lived by your rules my whole life! Im married nowyou dont control me anymore!” Emily shouted. “Youve had your turngive us the flat!”
“Tell you whatyou can have the hallway bench outside. Married? Didnt ask my opinion. Either he leaves, or you *both* do.”
“Keep your stupid flat! Dave, were leaving!” Emily snarled, yanking clothes from her wardrobe.
Minutes later, her new husband lurched into Margarets room, swaying.
“Relax, *Mum*,” he slurred. “Well keep it down, yeah?”
“*Mum?* Your parents still alivego bother *them.* And take your wife with you.”
“Yeah? How about” He raised a fist.
Margaret caught his wrist, nails digging in.
“Ow! Mental cowlet go!”
“Mum, stop!” Emily shrieked, pulling at her.
Margaret shoved her aside, kneeing Dave between the legs before driving an elbow into his throat.
“Ill sue you!” he wheezed.
“Go ahead. Ill call the cops myselfsave you the trouble.”
The pair fled, Emily shouting over her shoulder, “Youre *dead* to me! Youll never see your grandkids!”
“What a loss,” Margaret drawled. Finally, peace.
She glanced at her handsmanicure ruined. “Bloody nuisance.”
After scrubbing the kitchen and binning the ruined pan, she changed the locks.
Three months later, she bumped into Emily at work. Her daughter looked gaunt, hollow-cheeked.
“Mum whats for dinner?” she whispered.
“Dunno. Fancy something?”
“Roast chicken and rice,” Emily said thickly. “And a prawn cocktail.”
“Right. Lets get the chicken. Youre making the salad.”
