Emily was putting away the freshly washed tea towels new ones, with a lovely floral print when her phone buzzed. She sighed: three missed calls from Sarah, a colleague from work. It was likely nothing urgent. Emily went back to the cupboard, but the phone buzzed again.
“Em, why arent you picking up?” Sarah chattered. “Did you know Margarets throwing a big do on Saturday?”
Emily stiffened, clutching the tea towel in her hand.
“What do you mean?”
“Its her seventy-fifth. Lucy rang meshes been invited with her husband. Says Margaret sent out invites weeks ago.”
The tea towel slipped from Emilys fingers. Thirty years married to James, and shed never missed a family occasion. But nowMargarets celebrationand not a word.
“Maybe it slipped her mind?” Emily murmured, though she knew better.
“Slipped her mind? Lucy says theres a guest list of twenty. Everyones inJames brothers, their wives, even their old neighbour from down the road.”
Emily sank onto a stool. Memories flooded back: nursing her mother-in-law after her hip operation, giving up holiday time so Margaret could get new hearing aids, babysitting her grandkids when no one else could.
“Look,” Sarah went on, “its probably about that trifle last Christmas. Remember how you got the wrong one?”
“Sarah, the trifle had nothing to do with it. Shes just never really accepted me.”
The front door clickedJames was home. Emily quickly ended the call.
Her husband strode into the kitchen, shaking rainwater from his coat like a schoolboy. Emily studied the familiar lines of his face, the crinkles around his eyes. Thirty years together. And stillan outsider.
“James, is your mum having a party on Saturday?” she asked, keeping her voice steady.
He paused by the fridge, not turning.
“Yeah, something small.”
“Why didnt you mention it?”
James opened the fridge and stared inside as if hed never seen it before.
“Mum didnt want a fuss. Just close family.”
“Close family,” Emily echoed. “And Im not part of that?”
“Em, dont start. You know how she is.”
“How she is?” Emily felt a flare of heat. “Ive put up with how she is for thirty years! This isnt just quirks, Jamesits”
She waved a hand, lost for words.
“I looked after her after her op when you were away. I gave up my holiday so she could get those hearing aids. I minded her grandkids when Rachel went off to Spain. Thirty years of trying, James. And this is how it ends?”
James pinched the bridge of his nose.
“Em, must we keep score? Who owes who what?”
“Im not keeping score!” Her voice cracked. “I just want to belong. To your family. Is that too much?”
James exhaled and dropped into a chair.
“Youre blowing this out of proportion. Mum just wanted a quiet thing.”
“Quiet? With twenty people?” The words scraped her throat. “Even the neighbours invited!”
“How do you?”
“Does it matter how?” She snatched up a tea towel and scrubbed at the spotless counter. “Thirty years, James! What did I do wrong? Tell me!”
He reached for her hand, but she pulled back.
“Em, you know she thinks you stole me away.”
“Stole you?” She gave a bitter laugh. “You were twenty-eight when we met! Not eight!”
She remembered the first time shed stepped into Margarets house, baking a Victoria sponge from her nans recipe. Her mother-in-law had pursed her lips and said, “We dont make them like that in our family.”
“All my life,” Emily went on, “Ive tried to please her. And whats she done? Remember how she told everyone I was spoiling William? Or how she said to my parents I couldnt cook? And youve never said a wordnever!”
“What dyou want me to do?” James voice sharpened. “Pick a fight with my mum over a party?”
“Not the party!” Emily cried. “The way she treats me! That shes never seen me as family, and youve let her!”
She turned to the window. Outside, drizzle streaked the glass, grey and dismal, just like her mood.
“Em, stop being dramatic,” James said, wrapping stiff arms around her. “Want me to talk to her? Maybe its a mix-up.”
“A mix-up?” She shrugged free. “No, James. Thatd be a mix-up if it were the first time. This? This is a slap in the face.”
The next days passed in a fog. At work, she forced smiles. At home, silence. James tried to smooth things, but each attempt only deepened the hurt.
“Youve no idea how upset she was about that trifle,” he said Thursday over supper. “Mum thinks you did it on purpose.”
“On purpose?” Her fork clinked against the plate. “I went to three shops to find gluten-free because of her allergy!”
“But you know she only likes the sherry kind, and you got the raspberry.”
“Because theyd sold out of the sherry!” Her eyes stung. “You think I spent hours hunting a trifle just to spite her?”
James fell quiet, and that silence said everything.
Friday evening, Emily went to her sons room. William was visiting for the weekend, glued to his phone.
“Will, Grandmas do is tomorrow.”
“Yeah,” he said, not looking up. “Dad told me.”
“And youre going?”
William finally glanced at her.
“Grandma asked. What, Im not going?”
Emily nodded, swallowing the sting. Even her son didnt see the insult.
“Of course,” she said softly. “Of course, go.”
Saturday came, and the house stood empty. James and William left early, arms full of gifts. Emily wandered room to room. In every photo, Margaret stood slightly apart.
She traced a finger along a frame. It was a family shot from five years backWilliams wedding. Shed worn navy, James in a smart suit, the newlyweds beaming. Margaret looked like shed swallowed a lemon.
“Even then,” Emily whispered to the photo. “Even on her grandsons wedding day.”
She remembered how her mother-in-law had pulled James aside and announced, loud enough for all to hear, “At least my grandson married properly, unlike some.” And how James had said nothing.
That night, James and William returned, tipsy and cheerful, reeking of Margarets expensive perfume.
“How was it?” Emily asked, keeping her voice flat.
“Brilliant!” James flopped into his armchair. “Mum was chuffed. You shouldve seen her face when”
He stopped, catching her expression.
“Sorry, Em. Didnt think.”
William shuffled awkwardly.
“Off to bed,” he muttered, vanishing upstairs.
“Give your mum my regards,” James added after a pause.
“Regards?” Emilys stomach twisted. “She remembered I exist?”
“Em, come off it”
“No, you come off it!” The dam broke. “Stop pretending this is fine. Your mother humiliated me. Again! And you dont care!”
“I do care,” James stood. “I just dont want to be piggy in the middle. You both”
“What do you mean, both?” Emily cut in. “Finish that. Both what?”
James rubbed his temples.
“Both blow things out of proportion. Making a mountain out of a molehill.”
“Ah,” Emily gave a thin smile. “So my pains just a molehill?”
She turned and shut the bedroom door behind her.
Ten days passed.
Emily and James spoke in clipped tones. William left. Life resumed.
Emily stopped her Sunday calls to Margaret. Stopped asking after her health. And oddly, instead of guilt, relief settled over herlike shrugging off a heavy coat shed worn for decades.
On the eleventh day, her phone rang. “Margaret” flashed on the screen. Emily froze. The phone kept ringing. Finally, she answered.
“Hello?”
“Emily, dear,” Margarets voice was uncharacteristically soft. “How are you, love?”
Emily closed her eyes. “Love.” In thirty years, Margaret had never called her that.
“Hello, Margaret. Im fine, thanks.”
“Ive been ever so poorly,” Margarets voice turned plaintive. “After the party, I came over all queer. My blood pressures dreadful, my hearts racingI can barely walk.”
“Sorry to hear that,” Emily said. “Seen the doctor?”
“Doctors? Useless, the lot. I need a proper restsomewhere by the sea. James said youve holiday time saved?”
A chill ran down Emilys spine. Now she understood.
“Yes, we were saving for Cornwall,” she said carefully.
“Dar
