If you argue, my son will toss you out on the pavement, declared the mother-in-law, conveniently forgetting whose flat this actually was.
Emily, bake a steak and kidney pie for supper tomorrow, Margaret declared, bustling into the kitchen and plonking herself at the table. I havent had a decent pie in agesyoure always fussing about with these foreign dishes.
Emily turned from the hob where she was frying bangers for dinner. Her mother-in-law sat there, lips pursed in her usual disapproving pout, fiddling with her familiar beige cardigan.
Im allergic to kidney, Margaret, Emily replied evenly, flipping a sausage. I wont be making it.
What do you mean, you wont? the older womans voice turned shrill. Ive asked nicely, and youre refusing? Who do you think you are, speaking to me like that? In my day, daughters-in-law knew their place!
This isnt about respect, Emily said, nudging the pan to another burner. If I cook kidney, Ill have a nasty reaction. Make it yourself if youre that bothered.
Make it myself? Margaret shot up from her chair. Im not your skivvy! Youre the lady of the houseso cook what I ask! And this allergy nonsense is just an excuse. Too lazy to handle pastry, more like!
Margaret, whats laziness got to do with it? Emily turned to face her. I cook, clean, and do the laundry every day. But I wont make a kidney pie because I physically cant!
Wont or cant? The older woman narrowed her eyes. You think just because my son married you, you can swan about giving me orders? Well see whos really in charge here!
Keys jingled in the hallOliver was home. Instantly, Margarets expression melted into wounded martyrdom.
Ollie, darling, she fluttered to him. Thank goodness youre back. Your wifes being frightfully rude! I asked for a simple pie, and shes flat-out refused!
Oliver hung up his coat and shot his wife a weary glance as she stood by the stove, jaw tight.
Emily, whats all this? he asked, smoothing his tie. Why wont you do as Mum asks?
Im allergic to kidney, Oliver, Emily said quietly. Ive explained this to Margaret.
Allergy? What allergy? Oliver waved a hand. Mum, dont fret. Emily will bake the pie tomorrow. Wont you, love?
Emily looked at her husband, then at Margaret, who smirked triumphantly. Her chest ached with the sting of it.
No, I wont, she said firmly, untying her apron and heading for the door. Sort your own supper.
She shut the bedroom door behind her. Muffled voices drifted through the wallOliver and his mother were tucking into their meal, chatting about some triviality. As if nothing had happened. As if she hadnt just stormed off in tears.
The next morning, Emily rose early. Margaret was still snoringthe house was uncharacteristically quiet. Oliver sat at the kitchen table, scrolling through his phone while sipping tea.
Oliver, we need to talk, Emily said, sitting across from him. Properly.
He glanced up, brow furrowed.
About what?
Your mother, Emily took a steadying breath. Ive had enough of the constant nitpicking. Margaret criticises everythingmy cooking, my cleaning, even what I wear. Im tired of being ordered about in my ownourhome.
Emily, whats got into you? Oliver set his phone down. Mums perfectly pleasant. Shes just set in her ways.
Set in her ways? Emilys voice sharpened. Is that what were calling bossing grown adults about? Oliver, maybe its time your mum got her own place? Somewhere nearby, but separate. Were youngwe need our own space.
Oliver slammed his cup down.
Youre suggesting we kick my mother out? His voice turned icy. She asked to live with us, and you want to turf her onto the street?
Thats not what I said, Emily reached for him, but he pulled away. Just a flat of her own. We could help with rent
No. Absolutely not. Oliver stood, grabbing his briefcase. Mums no trouble. If anything, she makes life easiercooking, helping round the house.
When does she cook? Emily shot back. Oliver, open your eyes! I work, come home, cook supper, clean, do the washing. Your mother just complains!
Enough, Oliver snapped, shrugging on his jacket. I wont hear another word. Mum stays. End of.
The front door slammed. Emily stood alone in the kitchen, staring at his half-drunk tea. The bitterness of the conversation lingered like the dregs in his cup.
Half an hour later, Margaret swanned in, hair perfectly set, dressing gown cinched tight. Her face was a picture of outrage.
Well, what a performance last night, she sniffed. So ungracious! Did you really think my son would take your side?
Emily poured herself a cuppa, refusing to rise to the bait.
See? Margaret crowed, settling at the table. Oliver knows whos in charge here. And since thats settled, youll obey me.
Emily set the kettle down harder than intended.
Today, youll clean this flat top to bottom, Margaret decreed. Windows, floors, bathroomeverything sparkling. You prance about like Lady Muck while the place gathers dust!
Its not dusty, Emily muttered.
Not dusty? Margarets voice climbed an octave. I saw a cobweb in the sitting room yesterday! And the hall mirrors streaked! If you argue, Ill tell Oliver youre disrespecting me!
Something in Emily snapped. Years of biting her tongue, months of swallowing insultsit all erupted. She whirled on her mother-in-law.
No! I wont do it! Ive bent over backwards for you long enough! Ive lost myself in this! I cook what you demand, clean when you bark orders, stay silent when you shout! Enough!
Margaret leapt up, face puce with fury. How dare you? How dare you speak to me like that?
Emily raised her voice. I dare! Im a person, not your maid! And I wont take your nagging anymore!
If you backchat, my son will throw you out! Margaret shrieked, shaking a fist.
And thenlike a dam breakingyears of pent-up frustration surged out. Emily straightened, voice steady as steel.
Youve forgotten whose flat this is! Forgotten who lets you live here rent-free, bills paid, food in your belly! Let me remind youthis is my flat! Mine, bought before marriage. Before I ever met your son!
Margaret gaped, momentarily speechless.
Emily pressed on. From today, you dont dictate a thing to me. Or it wont be me on the streetitll be you. Clear?
Margaret rallied, face twisting. How dare you! Im Olivers mother! Youll show me respect!
Respects earned, not handed out with wrinkles! Emily shot back. And youve done nothing to earn mine!
Ill tell Oliver! Margaret screeched. Hell choose me over you!
Then the two of you can leave together! Emily said coolly. Ill stay in my flatthe one I pay for, clean, and cook in. While you do nothing but complain!
Margaret stormed off, slamming her bedroom door hard enough to rattle the china. Moments later, her shrill voice carried through the wall as she no doubt rang Oliver to tattle.
Emily finished her tea, calm settling over her. For the first time in years, shed spoken her mind.
That evening, Oliver stormed in, face thunderous. What the hells got into you? he roared. Mums in bits! How could you threaten her?
Threaten? Emily folded her arms. I stated facts. This is my flat. And I wont tolerate her nonsense anymore.
Ours, Oliver growled. Whats yours is mine!
Not legally, Emily said mildly. Bought pre-marriage, remember? So heres how itll beyou and your mum can find somewhere else to live.
Oliver gaped. Youre joking.
Dead serious. Emily opened the front door wide. Youve had a free ride long enough. Now chooselive with her, or with me. But not here.
Margaret scurried out, eyes wide. Whats happening?
Pack your bags, Emily said. Both of you.
