Either Mum, or No One
Em, well need to get one more ticket for the theatre.
Emma looked up from her dinner plate. The meal was barely lukewarm, but James was already glued to his phone, poking at the screen with the intensity of someone cracking a national secret.
One more ticket? Whos coming with us? she asked.
James didnt even glance up.
Mums really keen. I mentioned last night that we were going, and she got all excited about it.
Emma quietly placed her fork on the rim of her plate, stood up and turned to the kitchen counter under the guise of getting a glass of water. Her expression twisted of its own accordshe couldn’t help it, and didn’t even try. The only thing that mattered was that James didnt see her face. She had neither the energy nor the will to explain what was wrong again…
Of course. Mum wanted to come. Naturally, she did. Brenda Wilson had always wanted to be involved in everything.
Emma stood at the sink, filling her glass, and in her mind flickered through their wedding photos. All two hundred and forty of them, sent over by the photographer on a USB stick with a smart ribbon. Shed spent three evenings flipping through them, trying to find at least one shot where it was just her and Jamesjust the two of them, no guests, no relatives. There wasnt a single one.
In every photo, Brenda Wilson was in the background: straightening her sons tie here, putting her arm around his shoulders there, standing right between the bride and groom and grinning at the camera as if it was her special day. Emma had thought, back then, it was just a coincidence, a matter of unlucky camera angles. She didnt think that anymore.
From the moment they married, her mother-in-law acted as though Emma was not Jamess wife but simply a flatmate brought in for the time being. The flat, for the record, belonged to Emmabought with her money. But Brenda came over whenever she pleased, without notice, and always had a view on everything. The curtains were wrong. That saucepan was wrong. The roast was over-salted. James had lost weight. James looked pale. James hardly ate any more.
Emma sipped her water and set the glass down.
Every outing ended up the same. The cinema last month? All three together. Skating at Christmas? The three of them. Even to that little coffee shop on St Martins Lane, which Emma had wanted to visit just with James, just to talk in peace. For some reason, hed invited his mum. Brenda arrived, plonked herself between them at the tiny table, ordered lemon tea, and spent forty minutes talking about her high blood pressure and their neighbour whod flooded her ceiling again.
The theatreEmma had waited for this show for over a month and managed to get seats right in the third row. Shed hoped it would be their evening. Just their own.
Em, why are you so quiet?
At last, James tore his eyes off the screen.
You see, Mum gets lonely, he added, in that well-worn tone Emma knew too well. Did he realise how often he used that line himself?
She turned and nodded.
All right. Get the ticket.
What else was there to say? Shed tried talking to him before, plenty of times. Every discussion ended the same: James sulking, shutting himself away in the bedroom, silent for hours, then Brenda would ring the next morning, full of injured righteousness, asking if everything was all right. It was a never-ending cycle that Emma had long ago stopped trying to break.
James flashed a grateful, distracted smile and dived into his phone again.
The third row was as perfect as Emma had hoped. You could see every detail of the set, every fleeting look on the actors faces. But in the end, she watched alone: from the first moment, James turned towards his mother and never looked back.
Mrs Wilson sat to Jamess right and instantly began discussing the programme, then the foyer, then some chap she claimed to recognise in the cloakroom queue. Emma sat to the left, staring at the stage long before the curtains even rose. At the interval, James and his mother nipped off to the bar, leaving Emma in her seatno one asked her along, and she didnt want to push. When they returned, Mrs Wilson narrated the first act to her son as if hed been watching in a different building. Emma flicked through the programme in silence, thinking the third row wasnt worth the money after all.
The journey home was the same. First, they dropped Brenda off, and Emma sat ten minutes in the car while James saw his mother to her front door, helped her with the lock, listened to her chat at the threshold. When he finally returned and started the engine he looked satisfied, relaxed.
That went really well, didnt it?
Emma nodded, turning to the window. She claimed to be tired, but the truth was she just couldnt bear talking to James that night. Anything she said would hang there, going nowhere.
The following two months unfolded exactly as Emma expected. Brenda popped over regularly, James spent more and more time with her, and Emma was left alone more and more often in her own flat, listening to echoes of their laughter from the kitchen, their endless conversations. Dinners for two became rare, weekends together only meant another duty visit to Brenda or a walk somewhere as a trio. Emma went to bed first, woke up with a familiar heavy ache somewhere under her ribsa heaviness that, after two months, felt utterly routine.
In mid-March, some extra money came through at worka decent bonusand Emma thought about it for three days before finally deciding. Fifteen days in Spain. All inclusivesea, sun, a decent hotel with good reviews. Shed spent a whole week comparing packages, reading forums, checking the distance to the beach. It could be a reset for them, a chance to be a couple again, just the two of them.
James, Ive booked us a holiday, she said one evening as they sat down to dinner, sliding the printout of the bookings over to him. Spain, fifteen days in June. All-inclusive. I spent my bonus on it, but itll be worth it.
James glanced over the confirmation, looked up, and the faintest hint of a smile appeared.
Oh, cool! That sounds lovely, Em.
Emma exhaledperhaps not everything was lost. Maybe they just needed to get away, and itd all sort itself out. She slept that night better than she had for weeks.
The next evening, James came home, sat at the table, waited for Emma to dish up the meal, and then, casual as you like, said between bites of his fishcake:
Em, I told Mum about Spain. Shes keen to come along, toocould you sort one more booking?
Her fork paused halfway to her plate. Emma slowly set it back down and stared at her husband, trying to work out if this was some sort of joke, or if he genuinely didnt hear himself.
This time, Emma didnt stay silent.
No, James. Im not going on holiday with your mother.
James stopped chewing and looked at her, as if shed just uttered the worst profanity in church.
Em, come on. She gets lonely, she hasnt been on holiday for three years. Why does it matter to you?
Emma stood up, made her way to the window, gripped the worktop till her knuckles turned white. Something hot and powerful bubbled up inside, something months in the making, finally breaking free.
Let her go with her friends! Shes got five of them, Jamesfive women over every week for tea. Let her take one of them to Spain, and for once, let us be!
Em, shes my mother, can you…
I know shes your mother! Emma turned to face him, months of pent-up frustration shattering her calm. Im well aware, because shes in our lives every single second! The cinema with her, the skating with her, the theatre with her, dinners with her! Im sick of being the other woman in my own marriage, James. Do you even get that?!
James shoved his plate aside and stood, arms folded.
Youre heartless, Emma. You just dont understand what its like for her.
No, I dont! Emma stepped right up to him, eyes blazing. And I dont have to! Youre my husband, James, my husband! I want a proper holiday with you, just us, to finally feel like a couple again. Not a fortnight on the beach watching you and your mum talk about her blood pressure while I sunbathe on my own, not needed by anyone!
James narrowed his eyes and stepped back.
Youre cruel. You know what? Either Mum comes with us, or Im not going anywhere.
Emma froze. She studied him for a long moment, and something pivotal, silent, shifted inside her.
All right then. Ill go without you.
She walked past him to the bedroom, pulled her suitcase from under the bed, tossed it onto the cover. James appeared in the doorway almost instantly.
Em, what are you doing? Stop, lets talk this out.
We do talk, James. Every time, it ends with your mother. Emma lifted a dress off a hanger and laid it neatly in the suitcase. Im filing for divorce. I cant live like this anymore, three people in a marriage, and Im always the spare part.
He fell silent, leaning on the doorframe, and his face finally showed understandingEmma wasnt arguing. Shed made up her mind.
Two months later, Emma was stretched out on a sun-lounger by the hotel pool in Spain, the very same spot shed picked after all those reviews and photos. The sun warmed her skin, the sea breeze carried that salty Spanish air, and an icy cocktail dripped condensation onto her hand. No one nearby moaned about their blood pressure, complained of draughts, or recounted calls from the neighbour. There was no one at all, and that was perfect. Emma sipped her drink, shut her eyes, and thought she ought to have sorted things out long beforeshouldnt have hung about for two years for a man who never learned to grow up.
