Hell be living with us
A sharp knock rings the front door, announcing someones arrival. Lucy peels off her apron, wipes her hands, and walks to open it. On the doorstep stand her daughter and a young man. Lucy lets them in.
Hi, Mum, her daughter kisses her cheek. This is Victor; hell be staying with us.
Hello, the young man says.
This is my mother, Aunt Lucy.
Linda, Margaret, Lucy corrects her daughter.
Mum, whats for dinner?
Pea purée and sausages.
I dont eat pea purée, Victor replies, slipping his shoes off and heading toward the living room.
Come on, Mum, Victor doesnt eat peas, Lottie gasps, eyes wide.
Victor drops his backpack on the floor and plops onto the sofa.
This is actually my room, Linda says.
Victor, Ill show you where well be staying, Lottie calls.
Im fine here, Victor mutters, getting up from the sofa.
Mom, think of something to feed Victor, Lottie urges.
Im not sure. We only have half a packet of sausages left, Lucy shrugs.
Thatll do, with mustard, ketchup and some bread, he answers.
Fine, Lucy says, heading to the kitchen. She used to bring home litters of kittens and puppies; now shes brought in a boyfriend and is told to feed him.
She scoops a ladle of pea purée onto a plate, adds two fried sausages, pushes a bowl of salad forward, and begins to eat with gusto.
Mum, why are you eating alone? Lottie walks in.
Because I just got back from work and Im hungry, Lucy replies, chewing a sausage. Anyone who wants food should serve themselves or cook it. And I have one question for you: why is Victor moving in?
How come? Lottie asks. Hes my husband.
Lucy almost chokes on her bite.
Husband?
Yes, thats it. Youre an adult now and can decide whether to marry or not. Im already nineteen.
You didnt even invite me to a wedding.
There was no wedding; we just signed the paperwork. Since were now husband and wife, well live together, Lottie says, eyeing her chewing mother.
Well, congratulations. Why no ceremony?
If you have money for a wedding, you can give it to us and well find something to spend it on.
I see, Lucy continues eating. Why here, though?
Because they have a onebedroom flat and four of us are living in it.
So renting wasnt an option?
Why would we rent when I have a spare room? Lottie wonders.
Got it.
So will you give us any food?
Lottie, the pot of purée is on the stove, the sausages are in the pan. If thats not enough theres another halfpacket in the fridge. Help yourselves.
Mum, youve got a soninlaw now, Lottie emphasizes the last word.
And what? Do I have to break out into a dance for that? Im exhausted from work, lets skip the ritual. Use your own hands and feet.
Thats why youre still single! Lottie snaps, slamming the door to her room. Lucy finishes her dinner, washes the dishes, clears the table and retreats to her bedroom. She changes, grabs a gym bag and heads to the local fitness centre. As a freespirited woman she spends several evenings a week at the gym and the pool.
Around ten oclock she returns home. Expecting a hot cup of tea, she finds the kitchen in chaos, as if someone tried to cook and gave up. The pot lid is missing, the purée has dried and cracked, a packet of sausages lies on the counter, and a stale loaf of bread sits uncovered. The pan is scorched, its nonstick coating scratched with a fork. Dishes pile in the sink, a sweet sticky spill creates a puddle on the floor, and the flat smells of cigarettes.
Blimey, this is new. Lottie never lets the place look like this, Lucy mutters, opening the door to her daughters room. The young couple is drinking wine and smoking.
Lottie, clear the kitchen. Buy a new pan tomorrow, Lucy says, heading back to her room without shutting the door.
Lottie jumps up and rushes after her.
Why do we have to clean? And how am I supposed to afford a new pan? Im a student, not working. Do you care about the dishes?
Remember the house rules, Lottie: eat, then clean; make a mess, then clean; break something, replace it. Everyone looks after their own mess. And yes, Im sorry about the pan; it wasnt cheap, and now its ruined.
You dont want us to stay here, Lottie snaps.
No, Lucy replies calmly. Shes tired of arguing; she never saw anything like this from Lottie before.
But this is my share, Lottie protests.
No, the whole flat is mine. I earned it, I bought it. Youre only on the register. Dont expect me to cover your problems. If you want to live here, follow the rules, Lucy tells her evenly.
Ive lived by your rules forever. Im married now, so you cant tell me what to do, Lottie shrieks. And youre old; you should give us the flat.
Ill give you the hallway in the block and a spot on the bench outside. You got married? No one asked me. Youre sleeping here alone or with your husband elsewhere. He wont live here, Lucy replies firmly.
Fine, youre stuck with your flat. Victor, were moving out, Lottie shouts, gathering her things.
Five minutes later Victor staggers into the flat, halfdrunk.
Alright, Mum, just calm down and everythingll be fine, he slurs, swaying. Lottie and I arent going anywhere tonight. If you behave, we might even be nice to each other later.
What am I to you, Mum? Linda retorts. Your mum and dad are still here, so get a grip and dont forget your brandnew wife.
Right now, Victor says, raising his fist and squeezing Lindas nose.
Enough, Linda growls, clenching her manicured fingers around his hand.
Let go of me, you lunatic, Victor screams.
Lottie, what are you doing? she yells, trying to pull her mother away from the boyfriend.
Linda pushes Lottie aside, kicks Victor in the groin, then elbows his neck.
Ill record this assault, Victor snarls. Ill sue you both.
Hold on, Ill call the police so they can document everything, Lucy says.
The couple retreats, leaving the modest twobedroom flat behind.
Youre not my mother anymore, Lottie cries, and youll never see my grandchildren.
What a tragedy, Lucy replies dryly. Ill finally have some peace.
She glances at her handssome nails are broken. All losses are yours, she mutters.
After theyre gone, she scrubs the kitchen, discards the ruined purée and the cursed pan, and changes the locks.
Three months later, her daughter appears near Lucys workplace. She looks gaunt, her cheeks hollow, clearly unhappy.
Mum, whats for dinner? she asks.
I dont know yet, Lucy shrugs. What do you want?
Chicken and rice, Lottie whispers, licking her lips. And a bit of egg salad.
Then lets buy a chicken, Lucy says. Youll have to make the egg salad yourself.
She doesnt ask any more questions, and Victor never reappears in their lives.
