Whats this, then? Honestly, Emily, just run your finger over this. Thats not dust, thats practically carpet! You could plant potatoes, I swear! The sharp, disapproving voice of Mrs. Margaret Bennett sliced through the stillness of the flat like a carving knife through a ripe melon.
With a weary sigh, Emily closed her laptop and reluctantly stood from the kitchen table. It was already eight oclock; shed only just come home half an hour ago, her head spinning from crunching numbers for the quarterly accounts. The last thing she wanted was a lecture about cleanliness, but Mrs. Bennetther mother-in-lawwas a force not easily dismissed. Margaret stood imperiously in the living room, a china cat figurine clasped in her hand, her gaze a potent blend of outrage and dignity.
I cleaned on Saturday, Margaret. We keep the windows open, the roads just outsidedust blows in, its impossible, Emily offered, though she knew it wouldnt matter.
Everyones got windows, my dear, but not everyones wallowing in filth, retorted Mrs. Bennett, wiping her finger on a tissue shed pulled from her handbag as if it were a cherished ritual. James comes home after a long day, tired and hungry, and he finds this mess? A man needs comfort, Emily. Cleanliness, order! Not dirty mugs left in the kitchen sink. Two of them! Since this morning, I shouldnt wonder?
We were running late, Emily murmured, ducking into the kitchen to put the kettle on. James brewed his own coffee; he could have rinsed his cup.
Margaret shuffled after her, the soles of her slippers (she carried her own to avoid public pairs) scraping the floor with every indignant step.
A man shouldnt be washing dishes! she exclaimed, flinging her arms skyward. Thats a womans job. The lady of the house, Emily! Ever heard that phrase? But no, youre busy with your career: reports, numbers… Meanwhile, my sons walking around in shirts that havent seen an iron in weeks! I saw him yesterday when he popped round for the jars. His collar was limp as an unwatered daffodil! What a disgrace, Emily. The neighbours will talk: James is living like a bachelor, poor orphaned soulthough his wifes still breathing.
Emily fetched the tin of shortbread and did her best to close the cupboard door quietly. Five years married, and shed heard it all from Margaret. Five long years. Once, shed triedto please her: starching collars, cooking a full Sunday roast, cleaning until her hands blistered. But the job as senior accountant left her little time or energy. James didnt much care, content with frozen pizza on Fridays and the fine layer of dust only visible if you squinted. But his mother found it unthinkable.
Just then, the front door banged open.
Im home! James called cheerfully.
Darling! Margarets entire demeanour changed; she beamed, hurried into the hallway, her hair smoothed with a frantic touch. Ive brought you some pasties, cabbage-filledthe way you like. I know poor Emily hasnt a second to spare, working all hours…
James entered the kitchen, kissed his mother on the cheek, and gave Emily a brief, weary peck before collapsing onto a chair.
Oh, Mum, youre a star. Im starving. Emmy, is there anything for tea?
Emily stood, kettle in hand, frozen.
I just got in, James. Was going to whip up some pasta with beef mince. Its thawed.
Margaret gasped, clutching her chest.
Pasta! Again? Did you hear that, James? Stodge. You need a proper meal, sonhearty soup, a nice stew. Your late father, God rest him, had a fresh broth every single day and not once suffered a bad stomach. But this…
She pursed her lips at the empty hob.
Lets not start, Mum, James groaned, tearing a chunk from a pasty. Its fine. Emll sort something.
No, I must start! Margaret puffed up, ready for a fresh assault. Its for your own good! Look at yourselfdrawn, pale. Its all this neglect and chaos. A woman should make a home a place a man rushes back to. And what do you have? Dust, dishes, and pasta. James, your wife is not a housekeeperno, not a housekeeper at all. I said so even before the wedding
Margaret! Emilys voice was louder than she intended as she clapped the kettle onto the stand with a thud.
Everyone fell silent. Margaret blinked, unused to Emily raising her voice; shed always chosen quiet and patience over confrontation.
What, Emily? Cant I speak the truth? Margaret huffed. Ive lived a long life. I know what it takes to keep a family.
Emily glanced aroundthe tired slump of her husband, chewing and pretending not to exist; Margaret, triumphant in her righteousness; the packet of mince, bleeding slightly into the bowl. Something snapped in Emilys mind. She felt startlingly clear.
Youre absolutely right, she said, her voice so calm it was chilling. Im a terrible housekeeper, the worstno daily ironing, no fresh soup, no obsessive dusting. I work, I earn money, which pays for the car that James uses to drive you to the seaside. But, of course, thats no excuse.
See? You admit it! Margaret brightened, missing the trap. Admitting faultsfirst step forward.
But Im not going to fix it, Emily shook her head. I simply dont have the reserves. So, Margaretsince you care so deeply, and since you know best, and as youre retired with time to spare, why not take over?
Take over what? Margaret said warily.
The housetop to bottom. Consider me a lodger from now on; Ill pay my share of the mortgage and bills, but from today, youre in charge. Real show of the perfect housewife standard you so admireyou cook, iron, clean. Youre two bus stops away, and you have the keys.
James stopped chewing, staring at Emily.
Em, what are you on about?
Emily smiled sweetly. Mums quite right. You deserve better. Why shouldnt she show us how its done? Lets try a month, James. At the end, if you say its better this way, Ill register for home economics coursesor even leave work.
Margaret faltered, blinking hard. She relished pointing out flaws, but being pressed into full-on management of a grown man and a three-bedroom flat clearly hadnt featured in her plans. But her pride refused the chance to back down.
Ill do it! She tilted her chin defiantly. Ill show you how its done. James will finally eat properly, and this place will be respectable. But I must have full controlno interference from you.
Entirely your domain, Emily piped with a mock flourish. I wont even touch the cooker. Ill eat at work or the café.
Deal! Margaret barked. Ill come round tomorrow morning. This place needs a proper going overits an embarrassment.
The rest of the evening was thick with tension. James tried talking to Emily in bed, but she turned away.
Get some sleep, she told him. Tomorrows the start of your new, blissful lifewith crisply ironed collars.
Next morning, with Emily already gone, Margaret descended on the flat like a sergeant into battle. She scrubbed the windows, laundered the filthy curtains, emptied every kitchen cupboard, and rearranged all the dry goods.
When Emily returned at the end of the day, she barely recognised the place. It reeked of bleach and fried onions. Margaret, flushed and besmeared in flour, bustled over a bubbling cauldron. James sat, cowed, in front of a sweating mountain of stew, mashed potatoes, salad, and sausage rolls.
Back so soon, working girl? Margaret grunted, not looking back. Wash your hands and Ill deign to give you a plate. Real stew, none of your drivel.
Thank you, but I ate at the office, Emily replied politely, and retreated to the bedroom.
There, a surprise awaited: all her clothes had been rearranged by colour on the shelves, her personal items swept into a drawer. The novel shed read last night had vanished.
Emily re-entered the lounge. Margaret, do you know where my book went? It was on my nightstand.
That silly story? Margaret called, brandishing a tea towel. I tidied it away. Nightstands arent for hoarding junk. And really, Emily, your drawersa shambles! Pants and socks all together. Ive sorted it. A womans wardrobe should be as orderly as a chemists shelf.
Emily ground her teeth. Privacy, it seemed, was not part of the deal. Still, she bit her tongue: One month. Just endure.
The first week passed in a blur of culinary abundance. James was elated at first: every evening a banquet awaitedstarters, mains, puddings. Margaret would arrive by noon, cook, greet him, grill him about his job, and not leave until nine.
Emily now retreated to the bedroom with her laptop or a book. She discovered, surprisingly, she had three free hours every night. No need to dash to the shops, cook, or load the dishwasher (Margaret washed by hand, declaring machines never do it right). Emily took up swimming, read, strolled in the park after work.
By the second week, Jamess enthusiasm waned.
Em… he whispered in bed one night. How much longer is Mum going to be, er, this… active?
A month, darling. Its what you wantedfreshly starched shirts, proper dinner. Dream come true?
Well, the foods nice… but shes everywhere. I come in, want to switch off in front of the telly, but shes there, chattering about her ailments, the neighbours, how expensive everythings getting. Makes me eat more. Tries to rub my back. Feels like Im five again, not thirty-five.
Emily chuckled in the darkness. Thats the price of comfort. At least youre not living on Pasta King.
And she throws my things away! Yesterday I couldnt find my lucky socksrummaged everywhere. Turns out she binned them. Said they had a stain. Em, they were my socks!
Tell her that. She says its all for you.
I tried! She just gets upset. Here I am, doing everything, and youre ungrateful.
By the third week, it was Margaret who broke first. Age and inexperience with the intensive upkeep of a large flat started taking its toll. Managing three bedrooms, hefting shopping from the market (supermarkets sell rubbish), orchestrating meals for daysit was proving more than shed bargained for.
One evening, Emily came home to find Margaret sprawled on the settee, a damp flannel on her forehead, smelling sharply of camphor rub. James hovered helplessly nearby.
Whats happened? Emily asked.
Her blood pressure, James mumbled. Mum spent all day making boiled beef. Was on her feet for hours, then mopped the whole flat by handwont touch the mop, says it smears the muck. Came over faint.
Emily fetched the blood pressure cuff. Readings were high, but not dangerously so. You ought to rest for a few days, Margaret. This is too much.
But wholl feed James? Hell starve! You wont
I wont, Emily confirmed. Our deal, remember?
Oh love, never mind the food! James pleaded. Well get a takeaway. Or Ill stick some beans on toast on. Youre running yourself ragged.
Margaret snorted at the mention of takeaway, but didnt resist. All right, just for tonight. But Ive still got that pastry in the fridge…
Next day, though, she didnt come at allshe phoned, saying her back was out and she couldnt rise from bed.
James was unashamedly relieved. That evening, he and Emily ordered a curry, uncorked a bottle of wine, and sat in the peace of their own kitchen, relishing the absence of the field marshal in a pinny.
Em, can we please call off this experiment? James murmured, dipping a poppadom in mango chutney. I mean it. I love Mum, but… at a reasonable distance. She can visit on Sundays like before. Ill eat pasta til Im ninety, so long as no one moves my pants or tells me how to live.
What about your ironed collars? Emily teased.
Bugger the collars. Ill buy non-iron shirts. Em, you were right. Its bloody hard workand to do it as well as holding down a job? Ive no idea how you managed.
Emily smiled softly. This was exactly what shed hoped for.
The final act came a few days later, when Mrs. Bennett, feeling better, popped by to check on things. She saw the pizza boxes (James hadnt bothered to bin them), a dirty mug in the sink, and… said not a word. She slumped at the table, deep in thought.
Emily, she began, after a long pause, as Emily poured her tea, I spent those days thinking. Its a lot, all of it. Youve got a big place; scrubbing those floors is murder on the back. And James… She gave him a side-eye. My, is he untidy. Never noticed before. Leaves socks everywhere, crumbs on the table. I followed him around picking upkept telling him off, he just snapped at me.
Well, hes a man, isnt he? Emily couldnt resist the gentle jab, using Margarets own phrase. He needs his home comforts.
Comfort, yesbut a little respect wouldnt go amiss! snapped Margaret, quite indignant now. I spent all morning rolling cabbage leaves, and what does he say? Bit tough, this, Mum! I told him to do it himself if hes so clever. Dont nag, Mum, he says! Honestly!
Emily stifled a laugh. In the hard glare of reality, her sons golden-boy image didnt fare well when his mother became his domestic help.
Margaret, Emily said softly, taking the older womans well-scrubbed hand. Youre a wonderful homemaker. Ill never match your standardsnot that I want to try. But James and I, we have our own way. It might be messy. Sometimes we dine on beans instead of roast. But were happy. And when we want a proper English roast and immaculate rooms, well come see youif thats all right?
Margaret was silent for a moment, looking down at hands roughened by polish and scrubbing.
Of course, she sighed at last. Only give me warning. Ive my soaps to watch, seedlings to water… Actually, Im thinking about a little trip to the seaside. Im done with all this work for now. And Jamess shirtsfinished ironing them, theyre in the wardrobe. Next time, he can do it himself. Or you can. Or he can look rumpled for all I care. My health comes first.
She drained her tea, straightened her cardigan.
Oh, and your bookIve put it back on your nightstand. Dont know why you read such outlandish stuff, but never mind, up to you.
That evening, when James came home, the flat was peaceful, carrying only a hint of Emilys perfume and boiled sausages on the air. On the table stood an open tin of garden peas.
Mum finally gone? he asked, hope glimmering.
Shes resigned, effective immediately, Emily smiled. Citing health concerns.
He hugged her, burying his nose in her hair.
Thank you, he whispered.
For what? The sausages?
For being the wise one. For giving me back my peaceful life. I love youeven if youre a terrible housekeeper.
Im not terrible, Emily grinned, hugging him tighter. Im just modern. And these are premium pork sausages, by the way.
Margaret still offered advice from time to timeit was in her blood. But when she trailed her finger along a dusty shelf, she only sighed meaningfully. And if she started to mention a womans place, Emily would shoot back, Margaret, would you like to stay the week and help out? Im due on a business trip… Margaret would suddenly recall the kettle on the stove, her hungry cat, or her favourite soap about to airand promptly make her exit.
Peace was restored. The dust remained, bothering no one. Peace, it turns out, is found not in perfect order, but in simply letting each other be.
