My mother-in-law stayed the night. Early in the morning, she barged into our bedroom with a shriek: ‘Get up, Emily! Have you seen the state of your kitchen?’ I leapt out of bed, still in my pyjamas, heart pounding like mad. I dashed down the hallway, tripping over my old dressing gown, sniffing the airwas something burning? Had I left the gas on? My mind raced with disaster: flames licking the walls, pots exploding, God knows what else. I burst into the kitchen only to find cockroaches. A whole battalion of the ruddy things scuttling over the table, the plates, last nights leftoversthe ones Id been too knackered to clear away. My mother-in-law stood there, hands on hips, drilling me with a look as if Id personally bred these insects just to spite her.
‘Emily, is it always like this?’ she began, her voice trembling with fury. ‘How can you live like this? Youve got children, a husband, and this kitchen is fit for a barn!’ I stood there, thunderstruck, lost for words. Alright, fine, I hadnt tidied upId been dead on my feet after work. The kids had been whining, my husband, James, muttering something about football, and all Id wanted was to collapse into bed. Whod have thought the bloody roaches would pick tonight for their grand parade? And more to the pointwhere had they even come from? We dont live in some derelict hovel; its a proper flat, everything in order. Well, mostly.
Margaret Hayesmy mother-in-lawwasnt done. ‘In my day,’ she huffed, ‘this would never have happened! Id clear every scrap, scrub every surfacenot a single crumb left behind. And you? Young people today are bone idle, glued to your phones!’ I nodded, swallowing back my irritationwhat could I say? She wasnt just my mother-in-law; she was a general in an apron, treating kitchen duty like a matter of honour. And I, apparently, had failed. I started cleaning like a madwoman: grabbing a cloth, swiping at roaches, wiping down the table, platesanything within reach. She loomed over my shoulder, critiquing: ‘Missed a spot there. Whats this stain? Do you ever scrub the tiles?’ I nearly bit my tongue clean off. I thought, ‘Alright, Margaret Hayes, youre no saintI bet crumbs landed on your table too sometimes!’ But I kept quiet. Arguing with her was pointless.
While I was battling the roaches, James finally dragged himself out of bed. He wandered in, took one look at the chaos, and instead of helping, just smirked: ‘Bloody hell, Em, you starting a zoo?’ I shot him a glare sharp enough to shut him up, and he slunk off to make tea. Margaret only tutted: ‘See, even your husbands no help. If I didnt look after my son, hed be spoiled rotten!’ Here we go, I thoughtnow shed start lecturing me on raising men. And sure enough, she sat at the now-spotless table and launched in: ‘In my day, men were kept in line. You lot give them too much freedomno wonder youve got roaches in the kitchen and him laughing about it!’
I listened, but my only thought was: how do I survive till she goes home? Not that I dislike hershes a good womanbut these attacks It wasnt just the roaches. To her, they were proof I was a bad housewife, a bad wife, maybe even a bad mother. So I scrubbed, polished, wiped, and still she found faultthe fork in the wrong drawer, the knife not rinsed properly. Im not made of steel! Two kids, a job, running around like a headless chicken, and now thisroaches throwing a bloody house party. And whered they come from? The neighbours? The buildings old, pipes leak, damp in the basementprobably paradise for the little blighters.
Finally, the cleaning was done. The kitchen sparkled like a detergent ad. Margaret seemed to calm a little, but still muttered: ‘Youve got to keep on top of things, Emily. This is your home, your family. If you dont, who will?’ I nodded, smiled through gritted teeth, while inside I screamed: ‘Just leave me be!’ James, sensing my mood, finally stepped in, taking his mother out for a walk so I could breathe. I slumped at the table, staring at this spotless kitchen, wondering: am I really that bad at this? Maybe Margarets rightmaybe I am doing it all wrong.
But then I remembereda family isnt a perfect kitchen, and love isnt just shiny plates.
