Mums moving in tomorrow morning. Ive sorted it with Uncle Colin; hell give us a hand with moving her things. Dont pull that face, Laura we havent any other choice. Mum had a hypertensive episode, she needs proper care, decent cooked food, and peace and quiet. And youre working from home, so it wont be hard for you to bring her some soup or take her blood pressure.
Matthew said all this in that final tone of his and then buried himself in his stew, as if to show the subject was closed. Id been slicing up a crusty loaf, knife paused above the thick, brown crust of a seeded batch. Inside, I suddenly went cold, then hot as a kettle.
Deliberately, I set the knife down and gazed at my husband. Matthew the man Id been with for twenty years just sat there, in our little kitchen Id so carefully made a home, making plans for my life as if I were an accessory; just another kitchen gadget on standby.
Matt, my voice was quiet, but it had the steel in it he never noticed until the storm, did you even ask me? Ive got the annual accounts due. I dont sit at home, I work from home. Thats a world of difference. I need peace and time to concentrate, not dashing about with pills and hearing grumbles all day.
He finally looked up, genuine confusion and a hint of irritation on his face.
Laura, why are you making a drama out of this? Shes my mum! Not some stranger from the street. What do you want me to do, put her in hospital? They wont keep her there; carers are too expensive and you know were up to our eyes with that car loan. Youre at your desk most of the day. Its five minutes to heat soup up!
Five minutes? I tried not to laugh, bitter as it was. Your mother wants twenty-four hour attention. Think back to last summer at the cottage she ran me ragged. Tea too hot, pillow too hard, sunshine in the wrong place. And she was healthy then. How do you think shell act if she fancies herself ill?
Youre overreacting, Matthew waved a hand. Mum just likes order. And anyway, its only temporary. A month or so and shell be back to herself. And, as a woman, you need to show a bit of sympathy.
Need to. That phrase cut deep. All my life Id needed to do something for someone. Needed to be a perfect hostess, a loving mum (until our son left for university in Leeds), a patient wife, a reliable employee. Now, at forty-five, with my own life and career looking up they wanted to hand me another need.
Margaret my mother-in-law was a particular sort of person. Shed spent her life in retail, used to being in charge and expecting the universe to revolve around her. Every minor ache became a tragedy needing urgent family intervention. And this time, Matthew seemed determined to unload all care onto me.
I cant, Matt I said, more firmly I have other plans.
What plans? Matthew huffed. Watching telly?
I landed a major contract. They want me to do the accounts for a whole chain of shops. Its big money and a massive opportunity. I wont be able to do it if Im on call.
Turn it down, Matthew replied with barely a pause, breaking off bread. We earn enough your works not more important than Mums health. Dont be selfish, Laura. Were bringing her at ten tomorrow. Get Nicks room ready, put new sheets on and make some chicken broth. She cant have anything fatty.
He stood up, tossed his napkin onto the plate, and left the kitchen, knowing hed left the last word behind. That was always the way Matthew knew I might moan, but Id bend in the end. Id settle, adapt, give in for that precious peace.
I stayed at the table as dusk thickened outside. The streetlight on the corner swayed in the June breeze. The thought wouldnt let go: If I fold now, its all over. Ill become a free nurse till the end of her days. High blood pressures no cold; its for life.
This morning, my boss Diana said to me, Laura, were opening a new branch in Manchester. I need someone to get the whole accounts system up and running. Month, maybe six weeks. Well sort your flat and double the pay. But Ill need an answer by tomorrow.
At the time, Id hesitated. New city, a rented place, leaving Matt alone… It didnt feel right. But as I looked at Matthews empty plate, I finally saw this wasnt just work. This was my lifeline.
I tidied the plates into the dishwasher and went to our bedroom. Matthew was already lounging on the sofa, remote in hand, watching some quiz show.
Silently, I dragged the suitcase from the wardrobe.
What are you doing? he muttered, not looking up. Sorting clothes? You really should, loads to throw out.
Im leaving, Matt, I answered calmly, folding my blouses.
He thumbed the remote, muting the TV and turned to face me fully.
Leaving? Where? Your mums still in the village.
No. Im going to Manchester. A business trip. Six weeks, maybe a bit more.
Silence, thick as fog. Matthew stared as if Id grown a second head.
Youre joking. What business trip? And Mum? Wholl see to her?
You, Matt. Youre her son. Not some random fella off the estate.
Youre mad! Matthew jumped up. I work! Im out from eight till seven! Wholl give her tablets? Wholl cook?
Take leave. Or arrange flexi-hours. Or do what you told me: drop a project for the family. Show some sympathy yourself.
This is betrayal! His face was brick-red. You cooked this up just to spite me!
No, Matt. The offer came this morning. I wasnt sure. But you helped me decide. Youre right we need the money. The car wont pay itself off. And now, we can afford a professional carer on my day rates, at least. That is, unless you manage yourself.
I kept packing, measured, calm. Toothbrush. Makeup bag. House clothes. Laptop. Matthew was storming about, waving his arms, threatening divorce or pity pleas.
How can you abandon a helpless old woman? he blustered.
Shes not abandoned, shes with her loving son, I replied as I zipped up the suitcase. Ive called a cab. Trains in two hours.
You wouldnt dare! He blocked the door.
I stepped up and met his eyes.
I would. Twenty years Ive done your washing, cooked your dinners, tolerated Margarets moods. Im tired of being convenient. I want my own life. Move, Matt. Or youll find were splitting more than Mums care well split the house.
He stepped aside, stunned. Hed never seen me like this. The gentle Laura had gone; in her place stood someone he didnt quite know.
When the front door slammed, Matthew was alone in a silent flat. By morning, his mother arrived.
Margaret entered like a banished queen tragic expression, dragging giant bags stuffed with old jumpers, jars of marmalade and an armful of family photos.
Wheres Laura? she quavered, settling onto Nicks old bed. Could you fluff my pillow? Theres a draught.
Lauras gone on business, Matthew muttered, lugging in the final bag. Called away last minute.
His mum froze, pressing a hand to her chest.
Gone? But wholl look after me? Im so frail, I need broth every three hours. Ive got a routine! Matt, how could she leave her husbands mother like this? Its heartless!
Ill look after you, Mum. Me.
Hell began.
Naturally, Matthew didnt take leave his boss refused, the office was heaving. He tried a working from home deal, but it was a joke.
At 7 am, Margaret woke him by banging her stick on the wall (shed brought that, though shed walked in perfectly well).
Matty, my blood pressure! Quick! I feel dreadful.
Bleary-eyed, he dashed in with the monitor. It was 130 over 80 healthy as an ox. But she moaned for drops, lemon tea (two sugars, not stirred!) and a hot water bottle.
Next came porridge. Matt could just about fry eggs and do toast. The porridge burnt.
Do you want to poison me? she wept, prodding the black lump. Lauras put you up to this so Id die of neglect!
He fled to work, leaving her a flask of tea and some sandwiches. His mobile pinged every half hour.
Matt, wheres the TV remote?
Matt, theres a draught, do you know how this window shuts?
Matt, have I taken the red pill, or was it the blue? Youll have to come check!
At night he came home to chaos. Margaret, despite her bed rest, had rooted through every cupboard.
Its filthy in here! she announced. I tried cleaning but got dizzy. Lauras a slattern. And look at that pasta, all in bags. Mothsll get in!
He clenched his jaw, bunged a ready meal in the oven, washed up, listened to a litany of how his wife was no good, and how he, poor darling, looked half-starved.
Within a week Matt looked like a zombie. Hed missed maintenance reports, earned a warning from his boss, and his home life was a nightmare. His mother was relentless she wanted attention, conversation, and pity on tap.
Mum, could you watch TV? I need to work, he pleaded.
Work! Work! shed wail. Your jobs more important than your mum! Ill die tonight and then youll see!
One day, home earlier than usual, he caught a sight: Margarets door half-ajar. She was, not ten minutes earlier, groaning down the phone about unbearable aches, yet here she was, spry as you like, on a stepstool dusting the chandelier. At the sound of the key, she leapt off, dashed to the bed, and pulled the covers up.
Oh, Matty, youre back? she whimpered. Ive been unable to move, Im so parched
He leaned on the doorframe and watched her. Something inside him quietly snapped something that had been tugged one way only for years.
Mum he said gently I saw you.
Saw what? her eyes darted back and forth.
On the stool, cleaning the lights. Youre healthy. Youve nothing wrong with you. Youre just making fools out of me and Laura.
How dare you! she shrieked, forgetting her dying swan act in a heartbeat. I was cleaning, thats all! Youd have us live in filth! Ungrateful!
Me? Ungrateful? he laughed, bitter and shaky. Ive had four hours of sleep a night for a week. Nearly lost my job. Laura left because of your games. Youre just putting on a show.
Lauras a viper! his mum spat. She left her husband! A decent wife would be here, washing my feet!
Lauras a brilliant wife, Mum. Its me who let her down. I made her do things I shouldve done or maybe no one shouldve done, because this lot its all made up.
That evening, for the first time in days, Matt called me.
Hi, Laura. Its Matt.
Hello. Something wrong? Is Margaret ill?
Shes fine. Too fine, really. Laura, Ive been a fool.
I know, I answered, with a smile even he could hear. Why now?
Im done. I cant do it. Shes well, Laura. Shes just draining. I saw her on the stool cleaning the lights.
I laughed.
I suspected as much, Matt. Hypertensive crises dont usually include gymnastics.
When are you coming back? he asked hopefully.
One month. I cant drop the contract.
A month oh God. Ill go mad.
Youll survive. Youll learn, I hope. About what housework and care feel like. Its good for you, Matt.
Laura, Im sorry. I really am. I was wrong about your plans. Your work matters. You matter.
Glad you see that. Ive got a meeting. Stay strong. And say hi to Margaret.
He hung up, left with the prospect of a month more of this hell. But at least he understood now.
Back in his mums room, Margaret lay, back turned in full martyr pose.
Mum, Matthew said decisively, were off to the doctors tomorrow. A proper cardiologist. Full check-up. If he says you need care, Ill hire a professional. And itll be strict. This time therell be routines. No nonsense.
What? A carer? Why waste good money? I can manage
No, Mum. Youre ill, remember? You need professionals. And if the doctor says youre fine youll be back in your own flat. Ill sort the council meals twice a week.
Throwing your mother out?
Making sure youre happy, Mum. Its dusty here, apparently. At home, youll be happier.
The next three weeks were a waiting game. The consultant found nothing but normal age-related bits and pieces for a seventy-year-old. Margaret faked spells of illness, but Matt, a quick learner now, just rang NHS 111 every time. After the third false alarm, she realised her soap box had no audience anymore.
She packed without fuss.
Take me home, she announced. At least my neighbours are decent. Youre as tough as old boots now. Lauras changed you.
He drove her, helped her in with the bags, refilled her fridge.
Ill visit on weekends, Mum, he promised. But were living apart now. Its better for all.
When I returned, the flat was spotless. Matt met me at Kings Cross with a huge bouquet of roses, thinner and paler, but with something new in his eyes: respect.
Over dinner (which Matt cooked roast fish, not bad at all), we talked.
Ive missed you, he admitted. And not just because I was worn out. This place is empty without you.
Ive missed you too, I smiled. But the contracts finished. We got the deal. Theyve even offered me a promotion Ill be overseeing several branches now, might travel a bit.
He tensed, then nodded.
Thats brilliant. Youre brilliant. Im proud of you.
Your mum?
She rings. Complains about the neighbours, the government, the weather. Her backs better; blood pressure normal. Ive got Mrs Green to drop in for a small fee. Simpler for everyone.
I took his hand.
You know, Matt, Im glad for all of it, even the rough bits. Sometimes you have to get right to the wire to learn simple things.
Like that a wife isnt the help, but a partner, he agreed.
Things changed in our house after that. Im not scared to say no now, and Matt doesnt treat care work as womens work any more. Margaret is still herself, but her tricks dont work on us now.
The next time she called wailing Im dying, get here at once, Matt just said, calmly, Ill ring an ambulance, Mum. If they keep you in, Ill come to the hospital. If not, have some valerian tea.
And, oddly enough, the illness passed.
What did I learn? That you have to protect your boundaries, even with those you love most. Or youll wake up living someone elses story, never your own. Sometimes you have to go as far as Manchester to remember that but its worth it.
