19 June 2025
Woke up on Saturday feeling like it was a special occasion. Sixty years a round number worthy of celebration. Margaret Hughes had been planning her golden birthday for months: guest list, outfits, the whole shebang. She stared at herself in the mirror, satisfied that everything would run according to her meticulous schedule.
Happy birthday, Mum! I was the first to appear in the kitchen, holding a small tin of biscuits. From Evelyn and me.
Evelyn gave a quiet nod, coffee mug in hand. Mornings are never her strong suit, especially when Mums demanding holidays are on the agenda.
Thanks, love, Margaret accepted the gift with a flourish. Have you had breakfast yet?
All good, Mum, I replied, glancing at my wife.
She set her mug down, already bracing herself for the day ahead. Lately, Margaret had been in high spirits a fact that only fed her bossy tendencies. She seemed to think a festive mood gave her licence to command everyone with even more vigor than usual.
Emily, dear, Margaret said with that unmistakable tone that always meant a request wrapped in a command, I have a little task for you.
Evelyn turned, trying to keep a neutral expression. After three years of sharing this flat, she could read Margarets inflections like an open book.
Heres the menu have everything ready by five. I dont want to be stuck in the kitchen on my own milestone, Margaret handed over a doublesided sheet, her neat handwriting filling the page.
Evelyn scanned the list: twelve dishes, from simple platters to elaborate salads and hot starters.
Margaret, she began cautiously, thats a full days work
Obviously! Margaret laughed as if Id just said the obvious. What else would I be doing on such a grand day? Cooking for the birthday lady, of course! The guests will be many all my friends, the neighbours I cant show my face in a mess.
I shifted my gaze between motherinlaw and wife, feeling the tension rise.
Mum, maybe we should order something readymade? I suggested tentatively.
What nonsense! Margaret snapped. Feeding guests with storebought food on my birthday? What will people think! Everything must be homemade, made with love.
Evelyn clenched her fists. Love, of course, but yours, not mine, she thought, already dreading a day spent at the stove.
Fine, she said curtly and headed for the door.
Emily! I called after her. Wait.
She paused in the hallway, breathing heavily. I approached, eyes lowered.
Honestly, Id love to help, but Im useless in the kitchen my hands just get in the way, I admitted.
Sure, Evelyn forced a smile. And you think its normal that your mother treats me like a servant?
Come off it I shrugged. Think about it cooking for Mum on her birthday isnt hard. She does so much for us, provides the roof, never asks for a penny for the bills
Evelyn stared at me for a long moment. She could have reminded me how often Margaret bargained with her about the house, the cleanliness, or my cooking when I fed the family. She could have pointed out how Margaret often boasts about taking a girl from nowhere into the family as if it were some grand favour. But what would it achieve? Id still see Mum as a saint, and her demands as the whims of a pampered wife.
Alright, Evelyn said, heading back to the kitchen.
The next few hours blurred into a frantic rhythm. She sliced, boiled, fried, mixed. Her hands moved on autopilot while thoughts swirled faster than the sauce she was stirring. Then, standing by the burners, an idea struck her simple yet elegant. She smiled to herself.
From a cupboard she pulled a small packet shed bought at the chemist a month ago a mild laxative, advertised to take effect within an hour.
She examined the menu again: salads, complex appetizers a few drops could be slipped in unnoticed. The hot main meat with potatoes she left untouched, figuring she and I still needed a proper meal.
By five the table was bursting with food. Margaret, in a new dress and draped in jewellery, surveyed the kitchen like a general before battle.
Not bad, she said indulgently. Though the capital salad could use a pinch more salt.
Evelyn stayed silent, arranging dishes, a quiet thrill humming inside her.
Guests arrived precisely at five. Margaret greeted each with wide embraces, accepting gifts and compliments. Her friends ladies of the same age, equally dressed for the occasion gushed over the decor.
Margaret, youve outdone yourself! shouted Patricia from next door, flinging her arms around me. What a sight!
Oh, stop it, I demurred, Evelyn and I did most of the work, but I handled the heavy lifting.
Evelyn, setting plates, almost laughed out loud. Helped, she muttered, as always.
Tom, she whispered to me later, dont eat the salads just yet. Wait for the hot stuff.
Why? I asked.
Just wait, alright? she replied, shrugging but obeying.
She took a seat, watching guests pile onto the buffet. Margaret beamed, recounting how long shed planned the menu, how shed chosen each ingredient to please every palate.
This salad is my signature, she bragged, pointing to the capital one. Grandmas recipe.
Divine! Laura exclaimed. Youve got golden hands, Margaret!
An hour passed. Evelyn checked the clock, then the inevitable began.
Patricia clutched her stomach. Oh dear, I feel awful
Me too! a neighbour at the table cried. Margaret, are you sure everything was fresh?
Margarets face went pale. Of course! I bought everything just yesterday!
But soon she, too, was rushing toward the bathroom. A line of guests followed.
Evelyn, I whispered, whats happening?
I dont know, she replied evenly. Probably something off in the food. Thank God we didnt touch the salads.
Chaos erupted. Guests slipped away one by one, muttering apologies and complaints of nausea. Margaret flitted between the bathroom and the living room, trying to salvage the evening, but it was too late.
By seven we were the only ones left. Margaret sat on the sofa, pale and bewildered.
Go rest, Evelyn said kindly, well clean up.
What did you put in the food? Margaret demanded, regaining her composure.
It was a mild laxative, Evelyn explained calmly. Only in the salads and cold starters. I left the hot dishes untouched, so theyre safe.
Margaret opened her mouth to protest, but another wave hit her and she fled again.
Emily! I said sharply, why would you do that?
Its the only way I could make her see Im not a servant, she replied. When Mums not around, she treats me like a maid. Half the time I dont even tell you because I know youll defend her. Mum tries, Mum helps, Mum gave us a roof. And the way she bosses me around never seems to bother you.
I chewed my meat slowly, speechless.
Maybe its cruel, Evelyn continued, but Im exhausted. In this house I am nothing. Used, then blamed for being ungrateful. Today she got a lesson. Perhaps shell think twice before dumping all the work on me and taking credit.
Still, it feels harsh, I began.
Harsh? No one was seriously hurt. Just a few extra trips to the loo. The lesson will stick.
The lesson did stick. After that birthday, Margarets tone softened a little. She remained stern, but the sharp edges dulled. No more patronising orders, no attempts to shift all chores onto Evelyn.
Six months later, I announced over dinner, Weve saved enough for a deposit. Time to get our own place.
Margaret looked surprised. She hadnt expected that decision. She merely nodded.
Probably its time, she said. Young couples need their own nest.
On moving day, as we carried the last boxes, Margaret approached Evelyn quietly.
You know, she said softly, maybe I wasnt entirely fair to you.
Evelyn paused, box of dishes in hand. Perhaps, she replied. But it doesnt matter now. Weve finally found common ground.
Yes, Margaret agreed. And that birthday it was unforgettable.
We both laughed, a genuine, unguarded laugh we hadnt shared in years.
In our new flat Evelyn often recollects that day, not with regret but with a strange satisfaction. Sometimes, to be heard, you have to speak the language people understand and Margaret only ever understood strength.
The biggest takeaway for me is this: when you see someone being pushed to the brink, listen. Even the most extreme actions can be a cry for respect. Ive learned to stand beside Evelyn, not just watch, and to recognise that true family harmony rests on mutual respect, not on commands from the kitchen.
