My mums moving in tomorrow morning, declared Nick without so much as a warning shot, as he plonked another mouthful of shepherds pie into his gob. Uncle Colins bringing the van to shift her bits. Dont pull that face, Margarettheres no choice. After that scare at the GPs, Mum needs proper care, home-cooked meals, and a peaceful routine. And youre working from home anyway, so it wont be hard for you to pop in with a bowl of soup and check her blood pressure now and then.
He delivered this royal edict while staring determinedly at his plate, the matter as closed as a British pub on Christmas Day. Margaret, poised mid-slice over a crusty loaf of sourdough, froze with the knife suspended in air. For a split second she felt cold inside; then rage swept in, making her ears go pink.
Quietly, with steely finality, she set down the knife and stared at her husband of twenty years, sat there in their well-loved, handmade kitchen. The sort of kitchen shed always dreamed of, decorated with patchwork mugs and faded bunting. Now, here was her Nick, issuing instructions as if she were an extension of his slow-cook pot. Or a free add-on with a blood pressure monitor.
Nick, she began, voice calm but with those warning notes he only picked up about three squabbles too late. Did it cross your mind to ask me? A yearly audits due at work and remote working isnt sitting about at homeits actually working. I need peace and focus. Not a new sideline as a home nurse with a moaning soundtrack.
At last, Nick looked up, a mix of confusion and mild annoyance flickering in his eyes.
Marg, come off it. Its my mum! Shes family, not some random from the street. Do you want me to park her at the hospital? Theyll throw her out in days. We cant afford someone to come inremember the car loan? Youre here all day, whats five minutes to you?
Five minutes? Margarets laugh was sharp. Your mumDorothycan keep me on my toes for twenty-four hours straight. Cast your mind back to last summer at the cottage: tea too strong, pillow too lumpy, sun too shiny. And that was when she was well. What do you reckon shell be like with a poorly badge on?
Youre being dramatic, Nick sniffed. Shes just particular. Anyway, its only temporary. Month or so, tops, and shell be back in her own flatgood as new. Besides, you ought to show some compassionlike a proper wife.
Oughtthat word grated. Margaret had spent her whole life ought-ing for other people. A good hostess, a model mum (till their son upped sticks to uni), an understanding spouse, and now, all of a sudden, with her own career finally taking off at forty-fiveyet another ought being shoved under her nose.
Dorothy, her mother-in-law, was quite a character. Ran her own drapery for forty years and never let you forget it. Any whiff of a sniffle became a five-act tragedy starring herself. And now, Nick clearly intended that Margaret become the full-time supporting cast.
I can’t, Nick, she said with uncharacteristic firmness. Ive got other plans.
What plans? He snorted. Binging Netflix?
Ive landed a big projectdoing the books for a whole chain of shops. Its major money and a big deal. I wont be able to drop it at will.
Turn it down, Nick shrugged, tearing off another bit of bread. We manage fine; Mums health is more important. Dont be selfish, Marg. Shell be here tomorrow for ten, so make sure Bens rooms ready, change the bedding, and whip up some chicken brothnothing fatty, mind.
With that, he tossed a napkin onto the table and sauntered off. After all, she always did grumble but then caved in, didnt she? Thats how it was: Margaret, Queen of Compromise.
Margaret sat until twilight, staring into the gathering gloom where the garden fence met the old streetlamp. One thought hammered in her head: If I cave in now, Ill end up a full-time nurse forever. Hypertension wasnt fluit was for keeps.
Then she remembered her call that morning with her boss, Mrs. Ellison:
Margaret, were setting up a new branch in Leeds. I need someone to get it running. Its a longish business tripmaybe six weeks. Decent hotel, double pay. Youre my first pick, but I need an answer tomorrow.
Earlier, Margaret had doubtsheading to Leeds, living out of a suitcase, leaving Nick to his own devices It almost felt wrong. Now, watching Nicks empty plate, she realised this wasnt just workit was a lifeline.
So, she loaded the dishwasher and headed for the bedroom. Nick, sprawled on the sofa, was deep in some footie pundits debate.
Whats up? he mumbled, not taking his eyes off the telly. Sorting your wardrobe? About time.
No, Nick. Im off, she replied, folding up her blouse.
He blinked, muted the TV.
Off where? To your mums place again? Shes in Norfolk!
No. Business trip. To Leeds. Six weeks.
Silence. Nick stared, as if shed grown a second head.
Youre joking. What about my mum? Wholl look after her?
You, Nick. Youre her son, not a random from the street.
Are you mad? Ive got my jobleave at eight, back at seven. Wholl give her meds? Wholl cook?
Take some annual leave. Or flexi-time. Or do what you told me toput family first. Time to show some of that famous compassion yourself.
This is a betrayal! Nicks face flushed. Youre punishing me deliberately!
No, Nick. The offer came this morning. I wasnt sure at first. You helped me decide. Youre right, we do need the money. Cant pay for a carer on my usual wage, but with this contractmaybe. If you cant hack it, that is.
Methodically, she packed her essentials: toothbrush, lippy, pyjamas, laptop. Nick stormed about, shouting, threatening divorce, turning on his best poor sausage act.
How can you leave a helpless old lady? he wailed.
Shell be with her beloved son, Margaret zipped her suitcase. Taxis on its way. Trains in two hours.
You wont dare! Nick blocked the doorway.
She stood toe-to-toe with him, eyes calm.
I will. Ive spent twenty years ironing your shirts, cooking endless Sunday roasts, tolerating your mothers moods. Im done with being convenient. Step aside, Nick, unless you actually want to split everything down the middleincluding the house.
He stepped away, thunderstruck. The docile Margaret was gone, replaced by someone hed never really met.
When the front door slammed, Nick was left all alone. Dorothy arrived next morning, regal as ever, with three oversized bags (mostly jam jars, tatty blankets, and a shrines worth of trinkets).
Wheres Margey? she asked, parking herself on Bens old bed. Could you fluff my pillow? Its ever so drafty.
Shes in Leeds, Nick muttered. Business trip. Had to rush.
Dorothy clutched her heart like she was auditioning for the West End. But wholl look after me? I need broth every three hours! My timetables ruined! How could she abandon her husbands frail mother? Its inhuman!
Ill care for you, Mum. Me.
Hell ensued.
He didnt take time off workthe boss refused, the project was on fire. Working half-days from home was a joke.
At 7 am, Dorothy woke him each day by banging her walking stick (which she didnt really need) on the wall.
Nicky, my BP! Quick, Im fading!
Nick, hollow-eyed, would shuffle in with the monitor. Her pressure was always idealfit for space travel. She moaned, demanded drops, tea with precisely two sugar cubes (unmuddled, naturally), and a hot water bottle.
Next came porridge, which Nick only vaguely understood. It burned.
Youre trying to poison me! Dorothy sobbed, stabbing the carbonised oats with a spoon. Margarets trained you to finish me off!
Hed bolt off to work, leaving tea and sandwiches on standby. His mobile rang every twenty minutes:
Nick, wheres the TV remote? Nick, this windows draughty! Nick, Ive lost track of my pillsred or blue? Get back here, love!
In the evening, hed return to a war zone. Dorothy, despite being allegedly housebound, had gone through every drawer, tutting at the state of the tinned goods.
Filthy, this place! I tried dusting but felt ever so faint. Your Margaretnever did keep a decent pantry. Lookrice in packets, not jars. Outrageous.
Tooth-grinding, Nick managed a microwaved dinner, a quick wash-up, and braced for the nightly moans about starvation and Margarets many shortcomings.
By weeks end he looked like hed done a tour in the trenches. He forgot his deadlines, earned a reprimand at work; at home, Dorothys voice rose to a constant drone.
Mum, watch TV? Let me get on with this spreadsheet? he begged.
Work over your own mum?! Out came the tears. Die in my sleepthatll learn you!
One day, home early, he found the mother of all scenes. Dorothy, whod just phoned in agony, was hopping about on a stool, dusting the chandelier like a gymnast. The sound of Nicks keys in the lock made her leap onto the bed and dive under the blanket.
Oh Nick, is that you? I cant stand today, darlingbring water, quick
Quietly, Nick said, Mum, I saw you.
Saw what? Dorothys eyes darted.
You, bouncing about up that stool. Youre fine. Youve played us all for mugs.
How dare you! instant transformation: I was cleaning for you! You live in squalor because of her! You ungrateful boy!
Im ungrateful? Nick laughed, though it sounded more like a cough. Four hours shut-eye a night, nearly sacked, Margarets left, and all for your games.
Margarets a snake! A proper wife would be here, washing my feet!
Shes a good wife, Mum. Its me who wasnt much cop. I made her do what I should have done. Or what nobody should have donebecause the problems imaginary.
That evening, he finally rang Margaret.
Hello? she answered, brisk, with the hum of an office in the background.
Marg… Hi. His voice wobbled. Everything alright with your mum?
Shes grand. Are you?
Im knackered. Mumshes an energy vampire. I caught her up a stool, doing the lights.
Margaret burst out laughing. I suspected as much. High blood pressure never stopped anyone auditioning for Strictly!
When are you coming home? he asked, hopefully.
A month yet. Projects still on. Im not dropping it.
A month oh, help. I cant cope.
You can. Its character-building, Nick. A crash course in understanding housework and how much caring isnt as easy as it sounds.
He said, Sorry, Marg. You were right. I get it now. Your work matters. You matter.
Glad to hear it! Meeting nowhang in there. Tell Dorothy I send my love.
The next day, Nick made a decision. He entered Dorothys room, firm.
Mum, GP appointment first thing tomorrow. Private cardiologistfull check-up. If you need care, Ill get an actual nurse in. Strict, professional. If the doctor says youre fine, back you go to your own flat, with Meals on Wheels twice a week.
A nurse? Dont waste money! I dont need
No, Mum. Youre illso you need experts. Or youre fine and you go home. Either way, I need my life back.
So began a cold war. The doctor found no new problemsjust age. Dorothy tried to lay on the melodrama, but each time Nick called the NHS for an ambulance, the paramedics shrugged and left. After the third false alarm, Dorothy realised her son had changed.
Ill go back! she announced one morning. At least my neighbours are civilised. Since Margaret left, youre so cold. Shes ruined you.
Nick drove her home, filled her fridge, and promised to visit at weekendsbut no more live-in arrangements, Mum. It works better this way.
When Margaret returned, she found the flat sparklingand Nick on the platform clutching roses. He looked worn, but there was a new respect in his eyes.
I missed you, he said. Less because of houseworkjust because, well, without you, its not a home.
I missed you too, she smiled. Jobs done. Got a fat bonus, maybe even a promotion. Might need a few more trips.
He tensed, then nodded. Youre a star. Im proud of you.
And Dorothy?
Ringing up to whinge about the neighbours. But her backs better. BP too. Mrs. Thompson from downstairs checks in for a tenner a weekworks for everyone.
Margaret squeezed his hand.
See, Nick, Im glad it happened. Sometimes you have to hit rock bottom to see what really matters.
He grinned. Like the fact your wife isnt staffshes your partner.
From then on, new rules took root. Margaret found her no, and Nick realised running a house and keeping up with family wasnt a womens thing. Dorothy, of course, was still Dorothybut her games now fizzled on the solid wall of a united front.
The next time his mum called with her signature Im dying, come now! Nick replied serenely:
Ill ring 111, Mum. If the paramedic takes you to hospital, Ill visit. If not, put your feet up and sip some tea.
Funny thingdeath never did turn up.
And so Margaret learned the golden rule: always defend your boundariesespecially from the ones you love. After all, its your script to write, not someone elses. And if that means taking a job in Leeds for a bit, so be it. Sometimes a train ticket out is worth more than gold.
