Mother-in-law
Margaret Wilkinson cuts a striking figurenot simply walking, but parading. Her gaze isnt a look but a glare. She doesnt speak, she pronounces. Place her on a plinth and shed be a monument, not a woman.
Margaret owns a wholesale grocery warehouse and has two spells in prison behind herone for disorderly behaviour and one for accidental manslaughter. Between those stretches, she managed to give birth to three daughtersand consequently gained three sons-in-law.
On each daughter’s wedding day, Margaret had the husbands sit down for a formal reading of their duties and responsibilities, along with a detailed list of punishments for any infringements.
To her credit, Margaret didnt meddle in petty argumentsshe spared her nerves, and forbade her daughters from bothering her with trivial matters. They were only allowed to call if something or someone important disappeared, or, as she put it, if they needed help hiding a body.
Her sons-in-law respected her hands-off policy; they didnt push their luck. None dared challenge her, because manslaughter during a fit of rage was pretty much written on her brow.
But Margarets youngest son-in-law, Matthew, didnt have much contact with her, so he wasnt scared. Living with his family in a neighbouring town gave him the illusion of independenceuntil he decided to join the Saturday antics of his manager and agreed to hit the spa with him and three colleagues.
Matthew told his wife he had to work late, finishing a project. His wiser colleagues covered their tracks betterone packed a tent and fishing rods and even ordered a bucket of live fish for his wife, claiming he was going fishing with mates. Two others brought laptops for a supposed online gaming marathon. The manager made no effort to hide the spa trip from his wife.
As midnight approached, drinking and steaming lost its charm, so the group pooled their money for escorts. Budget only stretched to two, and they turned out to be less than inspiring. The manager wanted to swap them for one pretty girl, but the others decided more vodka was the better investment.
Past midnight, Margarets youngest daughter, now utterly frazzled, decided to call her mother.
Make it quick, Im unloading a lorry, Margaret barked.
Mum, Matthews not home, his phone isnt working, neither is his work mobile. I cant reach his colleagues or his boss. Somethings happened, Mum!
Bloody hell, the useless git! Dont fret, darling, Im on it!
Margaret fired off instructions to her warehouse staff, jumped into her car, and set off for the neighbouring town, making several calls on the way.
Within half an hour, she knew which spa her son-in-law was at and who was with him. In another hour, she was approaching the town, and fifteen minutes later, escorted by an anxious attendant, she burst into the bored-looking company. Her arrival caused instant chaos. Matthew suddenly gained a bulletproof alibicomplete with bruises and a broken tooth.
The manager tried to bluff:
Who do you think you are, barging in like this? Im calling the police!
Unfortunately for him, he had no idea about Margaret Wilkinson. She stopped kicking Matthew, snatched up a knife with one hand and grabbed the managers throat with the other.
Go ahead! Ill cut your tongue out! Im the mother-in-law of this scoundrel!
Silence, you lot! she shouted at the escorts, who shrieked at the sight of the knife, spinning it deftly and heading toward Matthew.
Well, do you have something uncomfortable in your underwear?
Mum! Matthew pleaded, crawling away, You cant seriously do this!
Whats going to stop me?
I didnt cheat on your daughter! Ask anyone!
Margaret turned to the escorts.
No cheating, the manager croaked, rubbing his throat.
I can see thatthese girls are not exactly top shelf! Why did you even hire them?
Margaret poured a glass of vodka and handed it to Matthew.
Drink. Its for the pain.
Matthews teeth clattered against the glass, but he downed it.
What on earth is going on here? she demanded, surveying the scene.
We tried to relax, said the manager. It just didnt work out. The escorts were disappointing.
Margaret took a seat, sliced off a generous chunk of sausage, and chewed.
You lot have zero imagination, she declared. Whats that? she nodded at the fishing rods.
My alibi, muttered the fisherman.
This? She nudged the bucket of live fish.
Yeah.
Well thought out, mate. What would you idiots do without me? Lucky for you!
She upended the bucket into the poolfish darted everywhere.
Here, she handed a fishing rod to the fisherman and another to the gamer. Youre going to fish. Hey, girls! Into the poolearn your pay!
The escorts hurried into the water.
Heres how it works: Men fish with rods, girls fish with their hands. Whoever catches one, gets to leave intact.
And you, she pointed to the other gamer, youre scoring. The manager and I are betting. Im backing the girl in the yellow swimsuitshell catch the first fish.
No way, said the manager. Im backing Mick. Hes a hardcore angler.
Hey, Yellow! Margaret called. If you catch the first fish, you get a days bonus on your way out.
What about me? protested the second escort.
You get a bonus if you catch more than Yellow.
Half an hour later, the spa attendant peeked nervously through the door. The room was filled with noise, laughter, and shouts. The girls were struggling to catch fish with their hands; Mick was fishing with a bread ball. The gamer was chasing an escort; Matthew and the second gamer tried to haul fish using a towel as a net. The manager perched on the pools edge, enthusiastically orchestrating the mayhem.
Margaret fired off a text to her daughter: Some strangers attacked Matthew while he was heading home. He got beaten up, but hes alive, relatively fine, and is giving a statement to the police. Ill bring him home when its all sorted. Love, Mum. And yes, her daughter’s peace of mind meant more than her son-in-laws broken tooth or her sleepless night at the spa. Nevertheless, she transferred a generous sum to Matthews bank card for dental repairshe wasnt at fault, but let this be a lesson about late-night adventures.
