Margaret woke that Saturday morning with a festive flutter in her chest. Sixty yearsa milestone worthy of celebration. Shed planned this day for ages, scribbling guest lists and agonising over her outfit. The mirror reflected a woman accustomed to everything going her way.
“Mum, happy birthday!” Edward was the first to appear in the kitchen, clutching a small gift box. “From me and Charlotte.”
Charlotte nodded silently by the stove, cradling a mug of tea. Mornings were never her forte, especially when it came to her mother-in-laws family affairs.
“Oh, Eddie, thank you!” Margaret accepted the gift with theatrical delight. “Have you two eaten?”
“Yes, Mum, all sorted,” Edward replied, glancing at his wife.
Charlotte set her mug in the sink, steeling herself for what was coming. Margaret had been in high spirits latelywhich, paradoxically, made her even more domineering. As if festive cheer granted her extra authority.
“Charlotte, darling,” Margaret began in that particular tone that never boded well. “Ive a small favour to ask.”
Charlotte turned, schooling her face into neutrality. Three years in this house had taught her to read Margarets inflections like a weather forecast.
“Heres the menu. Have it all ready by fivehardly fitting for the birthday girl to slave in the kitchen, is it?” Margaret handed over a neatly folded sheet of paper, her cursive immaculate.
Charlotte skimmed the list. Twelve dishes. Twelve. From simple canapés to elaborate terrines and hot appetisers.
“Margaret,” she ventured carefully, “this is a full days work.”
“Of course!” Margaret laughed as if Charlotte had stated the obvious. “What else would one do on such an occasion? Cook for the guests! You understand, dont you? All my friends are coming, the neighbours We cant exactly serve shop-bought nonsense.”
Edwards eyes darted between them, sensing the tension.
“Mum, maybe we could order something?” he offered weakly.
“Dont be absurd!” Margaret recoiled. “Feed my guests supermarket slop at my sixtieth? What would people think? No, it must be homemade, made with love.”
Charlotte clenched her fists. Love. Someone elses lovehers, to be precise, while she slogged in the kitchen.
“Fine,” she said curtly and headed out.
“Charlotte!” Edward called after her. “Wait.”
She paused in the hallway, breathing hard. Edward approached, guilt written across his face.
“Look, Id help, honestly, but you know Im hopeless in the kitchen All thumbs.”
“Of course,” Charlotte said tightly. “And your mother treating me like staff is perfectly acceptable?”
“Dont be daft,” Edward shrugged awkwardly. “Its just cooking for Mum on her birthday. She does so much for ushousing us, never charging rent”
Charlotte studied him. She could remind him how Margaret constantly held the house over her head, criticised her cleaning, nitpicked her meals. How she never missed a chance to mention shed “taken in a girl from the provinces,” as if bestowing some great mercy. But what was the point? Edward would never see it. To him, his mother was a saint, and Charlottes complaints mere petulance.
“Right,” Charlotte said and returned to the kitchen.
The next hours blurred into a frenzy of chopping, boiling, frying. Her hands moved mechanically while her mind raced. Then, as she stirred a sauce, it struck heran idea so simple yet elegant she nearly laughed.
From the cupboard, she retrieved a small box bought at the chemist weeks ago and never used. A gentle laxative. The label promised effects within an hour.
She scanned the menu. Salads, terrineseasy enough to lace discreetly. The hot dishesroast beef and potatoesshed leave untouched. Theyd need something to eat, after all.
By five, the table groaned under the spread. Margaret, resplendent in a new dress and her finest pearls, surveyed the kitchen like a general inspecting troops.
“Not bad,” she conceded. “Though the Waldorf couldve used more salt.”
Charlotte said nothing, arranging platters. Inside, she buzzed with anticipation.
The guests arrived promptly. Margaret greeted each with open arms, accepting gifts and compliments. Her friendswomen of similar age, equally bedeckedoohed over the table.
“Margaret, youve outdone yourself!” cried Beatrice from next door. “Such elegance!”
“Goodness, it was nothing,” Margaret demurred. “Charlotte helped, of course. Though I did most of the work.”
Charlotte, setting out plates, nearly snorted. Helped. Naturally.
“Edward,” she whispered, “dont touch the salads. Wait for the hot food.”
“Why?” he frowned.
“Just wait.”
He shrugged but obeyed. Charlotte sat back, watching as guests devoured the appetisers. Margaret held forth on her meticulous menu planning, her ingredient selections, her desire to please every palate.
“This terrine is my signature,” she boasted. “A family recipe.”
“Divine!” cooed Dorothy. “Youve magic in your hands, Margie!”
An hour passed. Charlotte checked the clock. Then it began.
Beatrice was first, clutching her stomach.
“Oh dear,” she groaned. “I feel rather off”
“Me too!” chimed another guest. “Margaret, are you sure everything was fresh?”
Margaret paled. “Of course! I bought it all yesterday!”
Then she, too, doubled over. With hurried apologies, she fled to the loo.
A queue formed.
“Charlotte,” Edward hissed, “whats happening?”
“No idea,” she said mildly. “Maybe something disagreed with them. Lucky we skipped the salads.”
Chaos ensued. Guests vanished into the bathroom, then made hasty exits, muttering about food poisoning. Margaret darted between them, desperate to salvage the evening, but it was too late.
By seven, only the three remained. Margaret sat on the sofa, ashen.
“Go lie down,” Charlotte said sweetly. “Well clean up.”
“What did you put in the food?” Margaret snapped when shed recovered slightly.
Charlotte calmly carved the roast.
“A laxative. Only in the cold dishes. The hots safe, if youre hungry.”
Margaret opened her mouth, but another cramp sent her scurrying.
“Charlotte!” Edward chided. “Was that necessary?”
“What choice did I have?” She turned to him. “Youve no idea how she treats me when youre not here. Half the time I dont even tell you because I know youll defend her. Mum means well, Mum helps us, Mum took us in. Meanwhile, she treats me like hired help, and you dont care.”
Edward sighed, chewing his beef.
“Maybe it was harsh,” Charlotte continued, “but Im tired. Tired of being nobody in this house. Of being used and then scolded for ingratitude. Today, she learned a lesson. Maybe next time shell think twice before dumping everything on me and taking credit.”
“But still” Edward began.
“But what? No one was hurt. Just a few hours in the loo. But shell remember.”
And remember she did. After that disastrous birthday, Margarets manner softened. She was never warm, but the edges smoothed. No more orders, no more dumping chores on Charlotte.
Six months later, Edward announced they were moving out.
“Weve saved for a deposit,” he said at dinner. “Time to stand on our own feet.”
Margaret stared, blindsided. But she only nodded.
“Perhaps it is time,” she conceded. “Young couples need their own nest.”
On moving day, as they hauled out the last boxes, Margaret approached Charlotte.
“You know,” she said quietly, “perhaps I was unfair to you.”
Charlotte paused, arms full of cr
