The choice is yours, Agnes, he said, his voice low but firm, as if the words themselves could seal a fate. Either my mother moves in with us this Saturday, or Ill file for divorce. I cant stand watching a loved one suffer alone any longer.
Stephen slammed the teacup onto the saucer with a sharp clatter. The tea splashed across the tablecloth, forming an ugly brown blot, yet he paid it no heed. His eyes stayed fixed on Eleanor, and in that gaze she saw a new, unsettling resolve she had never glimpsed in the fifteen years of their marriage.
Eleanor froze, a kitchen towel clutched in her hand. The room fell into a heavy silence, broken only by the hum of the fridge and the ticking of the clock above the pantry door. She thought she had misheard. Moving in? Divorce? Just that morning they had been debating which wallpaper to put in the hallway, and now he was setting conditions that felt like an ultimatum.
Stephen, are you serious? she asked quietly, hanging the towel on the oven handle. Your mother lives just two bus stops from us. We see her every weekend. Whats the problem? What loneliness are you talking about? She has three neighbours in the block, she sings in the village choir and goes on walking club outings.
She cant be alone! Stephens voice rose as he rose from the table. You dont understand. Her blood pressure spikes. What if she has a night attack? Who will fetch her a glass of water? The ambulance might be too late. I cant sleep knowing shes alone behind those four walls.
Eleanor sank wearily into the chair opposite him. This argument was not new, but until now it had been little hints, tentative probes. Now it sounded like a demand.
Lets think logically, Stephen. We have a twobedroom flat. One room is our bedroom, the other is the study where I work and where our son sometimes stays when he comes home from university. Where do you expect us to put Mabel?
In the study, of course, Stephen replied, dismissively, as if it were obvious. Your son can stay in a student hall or rent a flat if he wants comfort. And your computer can go to the bedroom or the kitchen. Its just a laptop, not a factory machine.
Eleanors breath caught in protest. The study was her sanctuary. She worked as a remote accountant; she needed quiet, space for files, a printer. And her son, Arthur, though he studied in another city, visited often and always knew there was a home waiting for him.
So youre suggesting we evict our son, strip me of my work space, and cram your mother into that twelvesquaremetre room, which, lets be honest, has a rather difficult temperament? Eleanor asked, trying to keep her voice even.
A temperament is a temperament! Stephen snapped. Shes oldschool, demanding, but loves order. And shes my mother! She raised me, didnt sleep through the nights. I owe her a decent old age. And you, youre just selfish. You only care that your comfort isnt disturbed.
He stormed out of the kitchen, slamming the door. Eleanor remained, staring at the cooling dinner a mince pie with mash that Stephen loved untouched. Her appetite vanished.
Mabel, at sixtyeight, still looked spryer than many in their forties. Her voice boomed, her demeanor bore the discipline of a former school headmistress, and she was convinced she was always right. Alone for her meant no one to nag me round the clock.
Eleanor rose mechanically, clearing the table. The phrase Either mother or divorce looped in her mind. Could he really abandon fifteen years of life over a mothers whim? There were no grave diagnoses, only agerelated hypertension, common enough in the country and wellcontrolled with medication.
The night passed in oppressive silence. Stephen turned his back to the wall, pulling the blanket up to his ears. Eleanor tossed restlessly, watching the streetlamp paint shadows of tree branches on the ceiling. She recalled how they had bought the flat. Her parents had given the first deposit, the mortgage was paid jointly, but she had contributed more because her career had progressed faster. Stephen worked as a sales manager at a car dealership steady, but with little prospect. Now he treated the square metres as if they were his alone.
Morning brought no relief. Stephen, tying his shoes, called out from the hallway, I need an answer by evening. Mothers already packing. If youre against it, Ill pack my things and move in with her.
The door slammed shut. Eleanor slumped onto the settee, realizing the decision had already been made behind her back. Shes already packing it felt like a collusion.
All day Eleanor could not focus on her accounts. Numbers swam before her eyes. She phoned her friend, Irene.
Agnes, have you lost your mind? Irene shouted into the receiver. A mother in a twobedroom flat? Thats the end of everything! Youll be shouting in a week. Shes a nightmare, I remember her at your birthday, checking every cupboard for dust.
He gave an ultimatum, Irene. Hes talking divorce.
Let her go then! Irene snapped. Whose flat is it anyway? Joint? You could sell your share or buy her out. But living with Mabel is a slow death. Shell eat you alive. First shell take the study, then start bossing you in the kitchen, and finally she’ll be in the bedroom giving unsolicited advice.
Eleanor knew Irene was right, but the fear of breaking the family held her. Fifteen years was no joke. Habit, attachment, shared memories. Could Stephen truly leave?
That evening Stephen returned from work with a bouquet of daisies a bad omen, she thought. He always gave flowers when he felt hed forced a situation, as if to sweeten the pill.
Agnes, what have you thought up? he asked, stepping into the kitchen where Eleanor was slicing salad. His voice was soft, coaxing. I know its hard to decide, but trust me, this will be better for all of us. Mother will be looked after, well have peace. She promised to help with the housework and cook. Youll be free from the computer, free from the chores.
Stephen, Eleanor set the knife down, have you asked your mother what she intends to do with her threebedroom house if she moves in with us permanently?
Stephen hesitated, eyes darting away.
Well why leave a flat empty? We could letit out. The rent would be a nice extra in the budget, or go towards her medication and a spa retreat.
Ah, a business plan, Eleanor thought. Very clever.
Fine, she said, surprised at herself.
Stephens face lit up.
You agree? My clever one! I always knew you were gold!
Ill try, but on condition. Twoweek trial. If my life becomes hell, we revert. And my study stays mine. Mother sleeps on the pullout sofa in the lounge. Thats it for now. Well see later.
Stephens brows furrowed.
Which lounge? Thats the passageway! She needs peace!
We have no lounge, Stephen. The study doubles as a guest room. The sofas there. No other options. Arthur will be back for exams in a month, hell need a place too.
Alright, alright, Stephen waved his hands. Well sort it out on the spot. The main thing is youre not against the move. Ill cheer Mother up and fetch her on Saturday morning.
Saturday split Eleanors life into before and after.
Mabel arrived not with two suitcases, but with a loaded Ford Transit, brimming with boxes, bundles of houseplants, her favourite rocking chair that occupied half the study, blocking the bookcase.
Now well settle in, dear! Mabel proclaimed, lugging an icon in a heavy wooden box into the hall. Agnes, why are you standing like a stranger? Take the bags, there are jars of picklesdont smash them, theyre my special recipe, not your shopbought rubbish.
Eleanor swallowed the insult and began sorting the parcels.
The first clash erupted two hours later. Eleanor was working in the study when the door burst open without a knock.
Agnes, wheres the big pot? Mabel asked, eyeing the room like a housekeeper. And why is there dust on the monitor? Youre breathing in filth.
Im working, Mabel, Eleanor replied calmly, not turning. The pot is in the lower right drawer. Please knock before entering.
Knock, knock, Mabel muttered, but left the door ajar. Stephens hungry, and youre staring at a screen. A wife should be meeting her husband with a hot meal, not staring at a monitor.
Eleanor inhaled deeply, saved her document, and walked to the kitchen where chaos reigned. Mabel had already rearranged spice jars, cleared the coffee machine from the counterit just takes up space, a frivolityand was frying something hissing on the pan.
Mabel, why did you remove the coffee machine? Stephen and I have our morning coffee.
Bad for the heart! I brought chicory, good and tasty. Youll drink chicory. Ive put the machine in a box on the balcony.
That night Stephen sat at the table, delighted, devouring Mabels greasy meatloaves swimming in gravy. Eleanor poked at a salad with her fork.
Delicious, Mum! Stephen praised. Agnes only does steamed food, healthy stuff, boring.
Its nothing special, Mabel replied. A wife must try for her husband. Men only think about careers nowadays. By the way, Stephen, I checked your towels in the bathroomstiff ones. Ill bring my fluffy ones. Well replace yours.
Eleanors throat tightened.
Theyre Egyptian cotton, new. Not rags, she protested.
Dont argue with Mother, Stephen cut in sharply. She knows best, shes an experienced housekeeper.
That phraseexperienced housekeeperbecame the mantra of the coming week.
Mabel was everywhere. She turned the television up to full blast while Eleanor tried to focus on a quarterly report. She entered the bathroom while Eleanor was showering, claiming she only needed a towel. She critiqued Eleanors dress, her hair, her speech.
Stephen reverted to a child, refusing to wash dishes (Mum will do it), ignoring the bins, yet every evening he complained to his mother about his boss, and she patted his head and slipped him pastries. Eleanor became an invisible annoyance, or at best a nuisance.
On Wednesday Eleanor returned from the shop to find her desk moved to the window, replaced by the rocking chair and a television.
Much brighter! Mabel declared. And I can watch my programmes better, the sunlight was glaring on the screen.
This is my study, my work space! Eleanors voice trembled with anger. Who gave you permission to move the furniture?
Stephen did! Mabel announced triumphantly. Hes the master of the house. He said, Mum, do as you please.
Eleanor stormed into the bedroom where Stephen lay with his phone.
What are you doing? she hissed. Why did you let her move my desk? I cant work when the sun hits my monitor!
Come on, Agnes, dont start, Stephen grumbled. Mums home all day, she wants comfort. You could draw the curtains. Be flexible. Youre a wise woman, arent you?
Wise woman will now pack your things, Stephen.
Again with the threats? he sat up. You wont dare. Divorce over a desk? Ridiculous.
Its not the desk, Eleanor snapped. Its that you dont hear me, you dont respect me.
Friday brought the climax. Eleanor took a halfday off to visit the tax office, but returned early, slipping quietly through the front door with her key.
From the kitchen came voices. Mabel was on the phone, loud enough that Eleanor heard the other end. It was Aunt Vera, her sister.
Oh Vera, lovely! Mabel gushed, sipping tea. I live like a saints cottage. Stephens buzzing around me, the daughterinlaw grimaces but keeps quiet, Ive got her pinned.
What about the flat? Vera asked, interested.
We signed a contract yesterday. Three students, £350 a month plus bills! Can you imagine? Im a wealthy daughterinlaw now!
Will you help the youngsters with that money? Vera inquired.
Mabel laughed, a sound that struck Eleanor like a harsh scrape.
Help them? No. Stephens salary, Agness laptop earningsenough. Ill stash the money for a book. This summer Ill go to Bath, a luxury suite, finally get my teeth fixed, implants, no more bridge. Ill live for myself! Theyll feed me, look after the flat, I wont have to pay. All that alone nonsensejust a ploy. Stephens a softheart, a fool.
Eleanor stood in the hallway, keys clenched until they bit her palm. The picture formed: no loneliness, no fear, just cold calculation. She would rent the flat, live in a nursing home, torment the daughterinlaw, and save for a sweet life. Stephen was merely a pawn, the softheart fool.
She breathed out slowly, her rage cooling into icy composure. She walked to the bedroom, opened Stephens large suitcase, and began packing his shirts and socks.
At that moment Mabel popped her head in.
Oh, youre here early. Lunch isnt ready yet, I thought what are you up to?
Mabel stared at the open suitcase.
Im packing my husbands things, Eleanor said calmly, dumping the socks onto the suitcase.
Youve lost it! Where is he going?
To you, Mabel. To your splendid threebedroom flat. With you. Today.
What? There are tenants! Mabel protested.
Tenants? Oh, the students? £350 a month? Theyll go pay for their teeth and Bath trips?
Mabels face flushed.
You you were listening?
I came back to my own home. Heard enough.
The front door slammed open. Stephen entered.
Ladies, Im home! Whats that smell? Oh Mum, Agnes, where are you?
He froze, seeing the open suitcase and the fury radiating from Mabel.
Whats happening? Agnes, where are you going?
Its not me, Stephen. You are.
Excuse me? Stephen laughed nervously, not yet grasping the scale.
No jokes. Your mother just bragged to her sister how shed tricked you. She isnt lonely or scared; she simply wants to rent her flat and live off us, saving money for holidays. And you, softheart fool, as the story goes.
Stephens eyes flicked to his mother. Mabel straightened, ready to attack.
Whats that about? Im a mother! I deserve help! Yes, I let the flat go, but Im not a pauper. You youngsters will earn! And Stephen, push your wife aside, shes spying on me!
Mother is that true? Stephen whispered, the word fool hanging in the air.
Dont cling to words! The point is were together, family! Shes not needed. Look at her, swollen like a toad. Find you a nice, compliant wife. Well live with me if she drives me out of her little house. Oh, I have students well, well find something.
Stephen stared at his mother as if seeing her for the first time. The myth of the saintly, suffering matriarch crumbled, revealing selfish calculation.
Agnes he turned to his wife, reaching out. Im sorry. I didnt know. Lets talk. Mother will leave. Right now. Pack up, mother, go home. Send the students packing.
Never! Mabel shrieked. I have a contract! Penalties to pay! Im listed as resident Im a mother! I have rights!
Fine, but not in my flat, Eleanor cut in. Remember your ultimatum? Either mother or divorce. I choose divorce. Ive endured a week of this hell, your accusations, your transformation into a puppet. Ive had enough. I want my house, my study, my coffee machine, my peace, without either of you.
Dont be ridiculous, Agnes! Stephen panicked. Everyone makes mistakes! I love you!
You love comfort and pleasing your mother. You never listened to me. Leave.
Eleanor zipped the suitcase shut, rolled it into the hallway.
Give me an hour to collect mothers things. You call a van or manage it yourselves?
Youll regret this! Mabel wailed, clutching her chest. Youll be a spinster at fortyfive! An old lady with a trailer!
Arthur is an adult, Im still young, Eleanor replied coolly. Better alone than with such happiness.
The packing was loud and protracted. Mabel cursed the daughterinlaw to the seventh generation, tried to reclaim a set of towels shed giftedAnd as the final box was lifted onto the van, Eleanor shut the door behind them, feeling for the first time in years that the house was truly hers alone.
