26April
Ive never written a diary entry that began with a confrontation, but today forced my hand.
It all started when I discovered my motherinlaw, Agnes Whitaker, asleep in my own bed. Shed slipped in with her spare set of keys, stripped down to her nightie, and was munching on the biscuits the night before Id left for work. I had come home early because a migraine was hammering my temples, only to find the bedroom door ajar and her sprawled across the duvet, a halfdrunk cup of tea perched on the nightstand.
Oliver, can you hear me? I whispered to my wife, Eleanor, trying to keep my voice steady. Shes in our bed, in her underwear, eating biscuits, and we never invited her. Is this normal?
Olivermyselftried to defend her. She must have had a spike in blood pressure, I muttered, feeling the panic rise. She came from the market with heavy bags, felt faint, and thought the hallway rug would be a good place to sit.
Eleanors eyes narrowed. We have a sitting room with a lovely, soft sofa. Why would she choose our private bedroom, the one I dont even let the cat into? And why did she strip off? If someone feels ill, they call an ambulance or a relative, not set up a picnic in another couples bedroom.
The bathroom door swung open and Agnes appeared, already dressed in a floral dressinggown that had once been Eleanors. She clutched the robe around her arm like a badge of honour. I hear everything, she announced, taking her seat at the head of the kitchen table. And it pains me. I come to you with a full heart, and you repay me with ingratitude.
Eleanor turned slowly, her migraine still thudding, but her anger now louder than any painkiller. MrsWhitaker, explain to me what you call care. Is it walking into our flat unannounced when were not home? Or is it sleeping in our bed?
Agnes pursed her lips, looking at me for support. Oliver, look at her. Shes painting me as a monster. I was just on my way to drop off flowers for the geraniums in Eleanors garden. I felt dizzy, went into the bedroom because its cooler, thought Id rest a minute. The heat made me shed my dress. I wasnt trying to be improper.
Did the biscuits help your pressure? Eleanor asked.
I found the biscuits in your cupboard! Sugar fell, I had to pick it up. Dont scold me for a piece of bread. I gave your husband his life, so I deserve a cup of tea in his house.
The house is ours, MrsWhitaker, Eleanor replied. We pay the mortgage together and set the rules.
She placed her hand on the table, palm up. The spare keys.
A heavy silence fell. Oliver stopped pacing and stared at the fridge. Agness face flushed a deep red. What? she asked, as if Id spoken in a foreign tongue.
Give me back the duplicate set of keys to our flat. Right now, I said, my voice firmer than I felt.
Agnes shrieked, Youve gone mad! Oliver, youll let her treat me like this? Im his mother! What if theres a fire, a flood? A mother must always have a key! Its a safety law!
Well manage ourselves, Eleanor snapped. You crossed my personal boundaries. You used the keys not for emergencies but to meddle in our lives. I cant trust you any longer. The keys belong on the table.
Agnes clutched her handbag, her eyes wide. No! This is my sons home, and Ill come whenever I wish! Dont push me out! Oliver, say something!
Olivers face turned a deep crimson. He glanced between his angry wife and his mother, who was already rummaging for some tonic in the bag. Maybe we shouldnt be so harsh, he stammered. Mom, shes overreacting. It was just a mistake. Well keep the keys safe
Eleanors voice dropped to a whisper that sent shivers down Olivers spine. If you dont stand with me now, Ill change the locks tomorrow and file for divorce. I didnt sign up for a shared hallway. I want to come home and know that no one has slept in my bed, used my dishes, or rummaged through my things. Choose: be the man of the house or stay a mothers boy, but without me.
Agnes froze, a bottle of medicine clutched in her hand, waiting for her son to side with her as he always had. But memories of the past week flooded backhow shed thrown out an important cheque while organising my paperwork, how shed rearranged the livingroom furniture because of some feng shui advice, and how Eleanor had wept in helplessness each time.
Mother, Oliver said hoarsely, hand over the keys.
What? Agnes sputtered, as if Id just accused her of kidnapping. Youre kicking your own mother out over a tantrum?
Youve gone too far, I replied, keeping my tone low but firm. Sleeping in our bed is too much. Eleanors right. This is our home. Please give the keys back, for everyones sake.
Agnes stared at me with a lengthening, cold gaze. Slowly, with trembling hands, she produced the keyring with the tiny rabbit charm Id given her and flung it onto the table. The charm clinked mournfully.
Fine! My feet wont tread here any longer! Forget your mother, youve traded her for rags! When I die, dont weep at my graveyour hypocritical tears arent needed, she spat, grabbing her bag and stroking her chin as she stormed out, slamming the front door so hard the plaster on the hallway walls cracked.
Eleanor sank into a chair, her head spinning, the migraine roaring anew. Satisfied? Oliver muttered, not looking at her. Now her blood pressure will skyrocket and shell have to call an ambulance. Ill be to blame.
Youll be calm, not guilty, Eleanor said, slipping the spare keys into her pocket. And Ill be calm too. Thank you, Oliver. I know its been hard for you.
Its not hard, he replied, its just that shell keep calling and cursing for the next six months.
Well survive, Eleanor said, wrapping her arms around my shoulders from behind. At least now the house is truly ours.
But the story didnt end there. I knew Agnes wouldnt give up so easily; the returned keys might not be the only copies. The next day I took a halfday off, called a locksmith, and had the lock changed while Oliver was outtelling him later it was a broken lock that needed fixing.
Three days later, on a Saturday, we were lounging in bed, enjoying a lazy weekend. Around ten oclock we heard persistent clicking at the front doorsomeone trying to fit a key into the lock, then grumbling, trying again, then silence, then the noise again.
Eleanor and I exchanged looks.
Are you expecting someone? I whispered.
No.
We crept to the door, peeking through the peephole. A finger was covering the viewhole.
Blimey, whats that? a familiar voice shouted from the other side. Stuck? Wrong key? The one with the red ribbon?
Eleanors eyes lit up. She made a copy, I said quietly. She knew Id demand the keys and prepared.
The phone rang behind her. Hello, Lucy? Agness voice boomed, unashamed. Im standing outside the young couples flat! I thought Id surprise them with pancakes, set the table, make coffee. But the key wont turn! Looks like theyve changed the lock! Can you believe that? Mother versus sonwho will win?
Oliver covered his face with his hands, his forehead pressed to the cold door. Shall we open? Eleanor asked.
We have to. Otherwise shell make a fuss in the hallway, Oliver replied, turning the latch and flinging the door wide.
Agnes burst in, wobbling, a tray of pancakes covered with a towel in one hand, a phone in the other, and a bunch of keys jangling. Oh! Youre awake! she chirped, unfazed. Did you change the lock?
Yes, we did, Oliver said, his voice icy, a tone Ive never heard from him before. We changed it precisely to stop surprises like this.
What surprises? she feigned innocence, eyes wide. I brought you pancakes with cottage cheese, your favourite.
Mother, three days ago you threw a fit, flung the keys, swore youd never come back. Now youre trying to sneak in with a spare you hid away. Do you see how that looks?
I didnt hide them! It was an old set I forgot about in my winter coat! I wasnt sneakingjust trying to be helpful! Breakfast in bed, thats all!
We dont want breakfast in bed from you, Mum. We want privacy. You lied about returning the keys and came to test whether a backup would work, Eleanor shot back.
Its my right! I need your version of the lock! Agnes protested, placing the pancake tray on the hallway console. Live as you like, you selfish kids! Im being kind, and you She turned to leave, but at that moment the buildings nosy neighbour, Aunt Valerie, stepped onto the landing, carrying her rubbish bin.
Oh, Agnes! Good heavens, whats all this racket at dawn? I thought there was a robbery, she said, eyeing the scene.
Theyre robbing me, Valerie! Theyve stolen my sons love, changed the lock, wont let me in! I brought pancakes, and they turn them away! Agnes wailed.
Ay, love, Valerie chuckled, squinting. I heard you fiddling with keys for ten minutes. Thought maybe a burglar. Youre just dropping by unannounced with your own key?
Is that a crime? Hes my son! Valerie shrugged. I dont barge into my daughterinlaws flat. The young couple have their own lives. Maybe theyre naked, maybe Im just bringing pancakesawkward, huh?
Agnes flushed bright red, embarrassed by the public rebuke. She pressed the elevator button, turned her back on us, and fled, shouting, Youre all mad! The lift doors closed with a clunk.
Oliver snatched the pancake tray from the console. Mum, take the pancakes away. We dont need them.
Throw them out! she shouted, disappearing into the lift. Or give them to the dogs! I tried for you, and you
The lift doors shut. We locked the new, sturdy dooronly two sets of keys now exist.
The pancakes do smell good, Oliver admitted, placing the tray on the kitchen counter.
We wont eat them, Eleanor declared sharply. Who knows what she might have spiked with as revenge.
Oliver burst into genuine laughter, the tension of the past week finally cracking. Youre right. Forget her. Ill make scrambled eggsjust me, in our kitchen, with no audience.
Sounds perfect, I said, feeling the migraine fade as a smile tugged at my lips.
We ate together, planning the weekend. MrsWhitaker didnt call for a week, then two. Oliver was tempted to dial her, but I stopped him. Give her time. She manipulates through silence. If you call first, shell think shes won and the whole thing will start again. She must learn that the rules have changed forever.
A month later she phoned at work, dry and businesslike, asking for a lift to the vet for the family cat. I obliged, returning home calm. How was it? I asked Eleanor.
Fine, she replied. She was quiet all the way there. Then she said, Tell Margaret Ive got a cucumber pickling recipe you asked for a year ago. If you need it, let her rewrite it.
Is that a white flag? I asked.
Sort of, she said. She also wanted to know the brand of tea we useshe liked the one we had in the bedroom.
I bought the tea and a jar of pickles, but the keys? Never again.
Never, I confirmed. Your comfort and my peace are worth more than Mums whims. Well buy our own flowers if we ever go away, or get an automatic watering system.
Since then the flat has been tranquil. Agnes still offers unsolicited advice over the phone or during scheduled visits, but she no longer barges in unannounced. Shes learned that the door to her sons life now opens only from the inside, and that a proper knock is far better than a forced entry.
I can finally relax in my own home, having changed the linens, bought a new bathrobe, and knowing that when I step through the front door I am met with quiet, order, and a private little haven. Boundaries arent bricks between people; theyre doors that let love in at a safe distance.
Lesson learned: protect the space you share with the ones you love, and never let anyoneno matter how closewalk through without permission.
