My dear, why are you using pillowcases from entirely different sets? Claras tone was gentle, that falsely soothing edge that always made Graces left eye twitch. Its terribly improper. Not to mention, it must feel awfully strange, one cotton, one satin. All those textures, it cant be good for your skin, she lilted, breaking bread with the solemnity of a vicar.
Grace, stirring a bubbling casserole, took a deep breath and clung to her resolve. Sunday lunchby now a ritualised ordealwas in full swing. Her mother-in-law perched at the kitchen table, spine rigid as a prim schoolmistress, her eyes sharp behind oval spectacles. It seemed Clara missed nothing: no flake of dust nor the tiniest crack in the tiles.
Its just how Simon and I like it, Grace replied, keeping her voice smooth. We dont mind the small things. Clean sheets are what matter.
Small things, Clara sighed, tearing her roll with precision. But lifeoh, darling Gracelife is stitched together from small things. Today mismatched pillowcases, tomorrow an unwashed mug sulking in the sink overnight, and the next day, the whole familys in tatters. Home is like mortar. It binds. Unless, of course, the lady of the house is absent-minded about the details
Simon, Graces husband, busied himself with his roasted carrots, eyes fixed on his plate, chewing as if lost in existential contemplation. Simon was steady and kinda lighthouse in most stormsbut when it came to his mother, he became a nervous hedgehog: every confrontation sent him diving for cover. Grace knew better than to expect backup.
By the way, Clara sipped her tea primly, I noticed, when I washed my hands, your bathroom cupboard is a shambles. Creams, tubes, all muddled up. You ought to go to the homewares shoporganisers are half-price. Cupboards tidy, mind tidy.
Grace froze, ladle suspended midair. The bathroom? The top shelf? That was far too high to reach without a step-stool. Meaning Clara hadnt just been washing her hands. Shed been investigating.
You looked in the closed cupboard? Grace asked, turning to face her.
My dear girl, do calm down! I was looking for cotton padsto touch up my lipstick. The door was ajar. Im hardly to blame that your things are such a jumble. I only want the best for you. Itll be easier for you to find things, believe me.
Lunch ended in a brittle hush. Once Claras footsteps faded and the front door closed, Grace collapsed onto the sofa, utterly drained. The sticky residue of interference clung to her, just as it had ever since Clara was given a spare front door keyjust in case: a burst pipe, or feeding the cat, if they were running late. But gradually, odd things began happening.
Grace would find her dresses in the wardrobe rearranged, not by length, as she preferred, but by colour. The tin of coffee migrated mysteriously from shelf to shelf. Her knickers reappeared in tight, rolled bundlesnever the way Grace folded them.
Simon, shes been ransacking my things again, Grace said, watching him as he stacked plates.
Oh, Gracie, pleasenot this again, he muttered, weariness thick in his voice. Shes not snooping. She might take a look, sure, maybe tidy a bit. She means well. She just values order, you know? She gets lonely.
Real caring means asking before rummaging, Grace insisted. Shuffling my underwear without asking is a violation. I feel like a stranger in my own home!
Ill talk to her, Simon promised, but even as he spoke, Grace saw the old pattern in his eyes: hed say something mild and muddy, Clara would take offence, claim she was unwelcome, and Simon would retreat.
A week passed. Grace busied herself at the logistics companyhectic, never-ending workand tried to suppress her unease. But one Tuesday, arriving early after a cancelled meeting, she spotted faint boot prints on the hallway rug and caught a whiff of Enchanted RoseClaras heavy, inexorable perfume.
Her heart pounded as she tiptoed to the bedroom. The top drawer of the chestwhere they kept the passports and savingswas not quite shut, a sliver of air showing. The folder of mortgage documents was on top, not beneath, the birth certificates, and the holiday cash envelope was crumpled, as if the notes had been examined.
A hot plume of anger rose in her chest. This wasnt just tidying. This was a searchan outrageous, invasive inspection. Clara had entered their home, using her emergency key, and rifled through their finances.
Grace said nothing then. She knew Clara would twist it, cite the faintest gas smell or claim to have watered the plants. Simon would believe her. She needed proofunshakeable evidence.
At lunch the next day, Grace confided in her friend Beth at the puba quick-witted woman whose divorces had made her shrewd.
Shes absolutely lost her marbles, love, Beth declared, stirring her cappuccino. Counting your money? A classic. Needs to know youre not frittering away her precious sons earnings. Are you sure shes only after the cash?
What else would she want? Grace asked. My lifes really not that thrilling.
Who knows? Maybe searching for a diary where you call her wicked. Some people love a bit of blackmail for leverage. You ought to catch her outproperly, so Simon cant ignore it.
Catch her how?
Cameras, Beth said simply. Get a tiny Wi-fi one. You can put them in a teddy bear these daysanything. And plant some bait. Something irresistible.
That evening, Grace bought a minuscule camera, concealing it among the hardbacks on the bedroom shelf, the lens just covering the wardrobe and chest of drawers. Motion-triggered. Linked to her phone. But the setup needed a lure.
She chose the linen cupboardClaras favourite haunt for inspections. Grace emptied a space and set a vibrant shoe box, festooned with bright paper. In bold black marker, she wrote: PRIVATE! DO NOT OPEN! TOP SECRET!
Curiosity, after all, is like a moth to forbidden flame.
Inside she staged a tableau of harmless oddities: a gag shop receipt for £5,000, a ridiculous feathered mask, and, most important, a crisp white page:
Dear Clara, if youre reading this, youve gone poking your nose in somewhere it doesnt belong again. Smile, youre on hidden camera! The footage will be sent to Simon in five minutes. Enjoy the show!
As a flourish, she included a spring-loaded party popper, set to burst glittering confetti when the box was opened.
On Thursday morning, Grace announced loudly so Simon would overheara message sure to reach Clara: Today is madness. Not back before ten, easily. Big meeting.
Simon nodded. I mentioned it to Mum. She wants to water your geraniums, but I told her not to fussthough you know her.
Let her, if it pleases her, Grace replied, hiding a smile.
They left. On her phone, the cameras feed was perfect: the tempting box glowing quietly among the sheets.
Hours dragged. Grace checked her phone incessantly. 2:30pm: an alert flashed. Motion, bedroom.
She ducked into the corridor at work, headphones trembling in her hands.
On grainy black-and-white footage, Clarathe image of decorum, inexplicably in a dressing-gown she must stash in their hallghosted into the bedroom. She began with Simons bedside drawer: a shuffle, a tut, nothing found. Then Graces chest: underwear rearranged, a careful rebuke in every movement.
Then, the wardrobe. Clara pawed through the dresses, labels scrutinised, sleeves sniffed.
At last, the box.
Clara hesitated, her gaze darting to the doorwho would have seen her?then lifted the box off the shelf, set it on the bed, lifted the lid.
BANG!
Even without sound, Claras jump was theatrical. Glitter cascaded onto her hair, her gown, the patchwork quilt. She clutched her chest in melodrama. Recovering, she peered into the box, fished out the paper.
And as she read, Grace watched the mask of dignity crack. Claras eyes darted wildly about, scanning skirting boards and ceiling. She pawed at the glitter, only making it stick, spreading it over everything.
Realising the mess wasnt disguisable, Clara bolted, a shimmering trail behind her. A notification: movement in the hallwayClaras hasty retreat.
Grace saved the footage and called Simon.
Simon, can you talk? Its urgent.
Whats wrong? His voice was instantly anxious.
I need you home early. And we need to visit your mum. Today.
My mum? But you said
Ive sent you a video. Watch it now. Ill wait.
A silence, punctuated only by office voices. A faint clickfile open.
A minute. An eternity.
Thats today?
Twenty minutes ago.
She went through everything? That box Gracie, you set her up?
I had to, Simon. I tried to tell you. You wouldnt believe me.
Simon breathed, raggedly. Watching his mother pilfer through his wifes drawers, reading supposed secrets, was shattering.
Im leaving now, he said at last, subdued. See you at the car.
They drove wordlessly to Claras house. Simon white-knuckled the steering wheel. Grace left him his silence.
Clara answered the door, hair still damp, shining with clinging bits of confettithough shed tried to scrub it out, a few betraying flecks twinkled behind her ear.
Oh, Simon, Grace! Youve caught me unawares! she fluttered, denying them entrance.
Mum, we need to talk, Simon said, gently pushing inside.
In the kitchen, Clara busied herself with teacups, not meeting their eyes.
Sit down, Mum, Simon said quietly. No tea.
Clara perched on the stool, hands tight in her lap.
Weve seen the tape, said Simon.
What tape? she gasped, performing surprise.
Hidden camera. In the bedroom. We saw everything, Mum. The drawers. The wardrobe. The box.
Clara flushed, crimson blotches spreading across her cheeks.
Soyouve been spying on me? Your own mother? Filming me like some criminal? How dare you?
And how dare you rifle through my wifes knickers, Clara? Grace said softly. You come in uninvited. You inspect. What did you hope to find? Evidence? Cash? Secrets?
I only wanted order! blurted Clara, eyes bright with indignant tears. You live in chaos! Simons shirts are creased! I worrybecause I love you both! But you lay traps and confettimy heart nearly gave out!
Mum, enough, Simon said, slapping the table. Grace irons my shirts. If they arent pressed, thats our affair. You dont have the right to enter and meddle. The keys. Now.
Clara stared, stricken. What? You want my keys? Your own mother? For her sake? Over sheets?
Youve overstepped, Mum. Betrayed our trust. I wont live in fear of you reading my letters or counting my savings. The keys.
Clara wept. Not her manipulative tears, but the wrenching sob of someone whos lost her hold. Shakily, she removed the bear-shaped keyring from its peg and tossed the keys on the table.
Take them! Live how you want! Drown in mess and debtdont come to me! You wont see me again!
Thank you, Grace said, collecting the keys. Thats all we ever wanted. Youre welcome with an invitation, no more.
They left, greeted by crisp evening air. Grace breathed deep, her shoulders lighter. Months of tension vanished like a bad spell.
Im sorry, Simon murmured as they sat in the car, staring at the glow of London lights. I should have trusted you.
You just love her. Thats all. Its hard to think badly of someone you love. Its all right nowreally.
He took her hand, searching her face. Youre much cleverer than me. And braver. The boxingenious.
Sometimes you have to improvise, Grace grinned. Dont worryIll hoover the confetti.
That night, they changed the sheets first thing. Grace needed every trace of Clara gone. Then they ordered pizza and opened a bottle of wine.
A month passed. Clara sulked, sent Simon clipped textsHappy St Georges Day, Hows the weather?never asking to visit, never invited. The uneasy peace suited Grace fine.
Six months later, they met again at Simons aunts for a family birthday. Clara sat at the fringe, lips pursed at Grace, but didnt spark a scene.
Over cakes and teacups, aunt Edith held forth about her new bone china tea set. So dainty! I locked it away. Told the children not to toucha little curiosity, and disaster!
Grace caught Claras eye. Clara coloured and stared into her potato salad. Grace gave the faintest smile and a wink to Simon. Their boundaries were set and locked tight; only they held the key. No more visual noise fouling their home.
Sometimes, to restore true order to your life, you must clear out not only misplaced things, but also those who willfully disrupt your peace. And if that takes a handful of glitter, wellthe result is more than worth it.
