And those elbows? Who told you to rest your elbows on the table like that? In polite company, youd be told to leave before youd even touched your food, Margarets shrill voice cut through the gentle warmth of our family supper like a squeaky gate hinge. Edward, look at your son. Hes seven and holds his fork like a spade. Back in my day, youd have had a rap across the knuckles for that.
Sophie gripped her fork so hard her knuckles turned white. She took a deep breath, avoided her mother-in-laws glare and glanced at Michael. The boy, startled by his grandmothers scolding, hunched his shoulders, ducked his head and quickly tucked his hands under the table, nearly knocking over his glass of squash.
Margaret, were at home, not dining with the Prime Minister, Sophie said, firmly but politely. Michaels tired after football, let him eat in peace.
Exactly! Margaret triumphantly jabbed her spoon, still sticky from stirring her tea, at her daughter-in-law. Thats exactly the problem! Tired, young, let him have a break. Youre treating them like fragile little princesses, Sophie. A boy should be disciplined! Discipline shapes character. I raised Edward on my own, not a father in sight, and he turned out fine. Your household? Chaos.
Edward, head of the table, chewed his shepherds pie silently, his gaze fixed on his plate. Sophie recognised his strategy: disappear into the background and hope the storm passes. He hated rows, especially those involving his mother. Margaret was a formidable woman: loud, bossy and always convinced she was absolutely right. She visited once a month, and Sophie looked forward to it the same way one looks forward to a root canal.
Grandma, I got a gold star today in art! piped up five-year-old Abigail, hoping to break the tension. She was perched on her booster seat, swinging her legs. Want to see? I drew all of us! You too, and Dad, and Mum!
Margaret slowly turned to her granddaughter. There was no warmth in her eyes, only cold appraisal.
No talking at the table, Abigail. When I eat, I am deaf and dumb. Heard that saying? And dont swing your legs. Its unladylike. Sit up straight.
Abigail wilted, her smile vanishing. She folded her hands in her lap and fell silent. Sophie felt a silent fury bubbling inside. She could put up with criticism of her bangers and mash (not enough salt), her curtains (far too drab), or even her figure (too slim, men prefer a bit of flesh). But when it came to her children, her patience wore paper thin.
Mum, Edward finally spoke, leave it, will you? Theyre just kids. Let us eat, please.
Im only trying to help! Margaret threw up her hands. Wholl tell them the truth if not their nan? You lot just coddle them. But lifes not easy. Theyll grow up uncivilised, and then youll be sorry. Take my neighbour Pauline her grandsons at boarding school, all please and thank you, stands when you enter. And your Michael? Mumbled hello and ran off yesterday. Like a wild animal!
Michael did say hello, Sophie retorted. Hes just shy.
Shy! Margaret snorted. Rude, you mean. Thats down to his mother.
The meal ended in painful silence. The children hurriedly finished, muttered their thank you and dashed into their room. Sophie cleared the table, feeling Margarets beady eyes on her back.
Dont just pile those plates in that machine, came the next piece of advice. Wash them up by hand. Dishwashers just leave chemicals behind. Planning to poison everyone, are you?
Margaret, I know how to wash up in my own house, Sophie clattered the crockery into the sink.
The evening limped on. Margaret prowled the house, running her finger along shelves in search of dust, rearranging the hall cupboard (it makes sense this way), and loudly commenting on the news. Edward vanished to the bedroom with his laptop, supposedly finishing a work report.
The real storm struck on Saturday. Sophie had planned to bake a pie and take the children to the park, but it poured with autumn rain all day, and the kids stayed inside. Bored, they set to building a pirate ship out of sofa cushions in the lounge, shrieking and staging a naval battle.
Margaret, sat in an armchair with her knitting, grew gloomier by the minute.
Enough of that racket! she exploded at last. My heads splitting. Cant you play quiet games? Read a book, do a jigsaw?
But Gran, were pirates! cried Michael, waving a plastic sword. Pirates cant whisper! All aboard!
He leapt from the ship to the carpet, misjudging his jump and bumping a side table. Margarets tea wobbled, then spilled over her knitting and dressing gown.
Margaret shot up, livid.
You little brat! she screamed, brushing off her lap. What do you think youre doing? Blind, are you? Charging around like a mad thing!
Im sorry Michael whimpered, stepping back in terror.
Sorry? Its always sorry with you, because youve got no sense! All addle-brained! she seized him by the shoulder and shook him. Who taught you to behave like this? Your featherbrained mother?
Sophie, hearing the commotion, rushed in from the kitchen. The sight of her son being shaken snapped the world into focus.
Let go of him! she shouted, rushing to Michael and pulling him free. Dont you dare lay a finger on my children!
Michael flung himself at Sophie and began crying. Abigail, buried in cushions, burst into frightened tears too.
Dont you shout at me! Margaret screeched. Look what hes done! Ruined my knitting! Spilled my tea! This is because you let them do whatever they want. Growing like weeds, no manners or shame. Uncivilised, the lot of them!
The word uncivilised hung foully in the air. Sophie froze, hugging her sobbing son and comforting her terrified daughter.
What did you say? she asked quietly.
You heard me! Margaret was in full flood now. Rude, wild children. No respect for their elders. In a proper home hed be on his knees in the corner by now, begging forgiveness. And this one? Waterworks on. Disgraceful. He takes after your side weak.
Edward appeared, drawn by the noise.
Whats going on? Mum, why are you yelling?
Ask your wife! Margaret jabbed her finger at Sophie. Your son nearly scalded me, shes defending him!
Edward looked lost.
Sophie, well, you do need to keep an eye on them
That broke the last straw. If only hed stood up for her, if only hed stopped his mother But once again he played the peacekeeper or rather, the coward.
Sophie straightened, ice-clear inside.
Edward, take the children to their room. Let them watch cartoons.
Why? he blinked.
Just do it.
Edward saw she wasnt to be argued with and led the sniffling children away. Sophie faced her mother-in-law alone.
Margaret, she began, voice calm, please pack your things.
Margaret, whod expected pleading or a blazing row, was thrown.
What?
Pack your things. Youre leaving. Now.
Are you mad? Margarets eyes widened. Ive come to see my son! This is his house!
This is our house. And nobody has the right to insult my children here. To call them uncivilised, wild, to shake or belittle them. Ive tolerated plenty from you comments about my cooking, my home, my figure. But my children are the line. Youve crossed it.
How dare you! Margaret spluttered, shaking with outrage. I am your husbands mother! Im their grandmother! Im twice your age!
Age excuses nothing, Sophie cut in. You called my seven-year-old uncivilised because he accidentally spilled tea while playing. You humiliated them. If you think theyre so badly brought up, you wont have to endure their company again.
Edward! Margaret shrieked. Edward, come here! Did you hear what your wife just said? Shes throwing me out!
Edward came out, pale and nervous.
Mum, Sophie, come on. Lets calm down. Mum, you did overreact Michaels only seven
I overreacted? Margaret exclaimed. Im parenting, since no one else does! And now Im being thrown out! Edward, be a man. This is your house too!
Edward glanced at Sophie. She stood with arms folded, pale but steadfast. In her eyes he saw something hed never seen before: if he didnt choose now, hed lose his family. Not his mother, but his wife and children.
Edward, Sophie said flatly, your mother just called our kids uncivilised and manhandled Michael. If she doesnt go, I will. With the children. And I wont come back. Its up to you.
A heavy silence fell. Only the clock ticking and the rain on the window could be heard. Margaret smiled confidently at her son certain of his choice. Shed birthed him, sacrificed for him.
Edward looked at her. Memories flashed: the ruler shed spoken of, being sent to stand in the corner, endless humiliation over marks, muddy knees, dont stand like that, dont whistle like that. Dreading going home. He looked towards the childrens room, where Michael sat, frightened of his gran.
Mum, he said softly.
Yes, son? Tell her, put her in her place!
Mum, you should go.
The smile slid from Margarets face like a plastic mask.
What did you say?
I said pack up. Sophies right. You went too far. You cant treat children like this. Ill ring for a cab.
You traitor! she hissed. Chose your wife over your own mother! You spineless weakling! I gave you everything!
Mum, thats enough, Edward sighed. Please, get your things.
The next half hour was ugly. Margaret stuffed her bags, cursed Sophie, ranted about their pigsty, threatened never to set foot in this house again, and that they wouldnt see a penny of inheritance. Sophie stood silently in the hall, watching over her. She didnt argue. She waited.
When the taxi arrived, Margaret paused in the doorway.
Youll come crawling back, she spat. When your well brought-up children put you in a care home. Remember my words.
The door slammed shut.
Sophie exhaled, as if dropping a sack of bricks. Her legs gave out and she sat on the hall bench. Edward watched Margarets cab drive away.
Are you alright? he asked, not turning around.
Fine, she replied, voice trembling. And you?
Rotten, he admitted honestly. She is still my mum.
I know, Ed. Sorry it went like that. But I couldnt let her break our kids. You remember what she was like with you? Do you want that for Michael?
Edward turned to look at her. There was pain in his eyes, but a new kind of strength too.
No. I dont. All my life I tried to impress her. Thought if I grew up, became a good dad, a good husband, shed finally say, Well done, Edward. But she cant love anyone, just control and criticise.
Sophie hugged him. He rested his chin on her head.
Thank you for standing with me, she whispered. It meant everything.
That night, once the children had calmed down and were quietly playing (LEGO, now, not swashbuckling pirates), Sophie and Edward sat in the kitchen.
What happens next? Edward asked. Shell tell everyone what vile monsters we are. Shell phone Aunt Linda, Uncle Colin. Itll be a witch-hunt
Let her, Sophie shrugged. Anyone who actually knows what shes like will understand. And for those that dont? Never mind. Most important is that our home will be peaceful now.
What if she comes round? Next month, or later? Cools off and turns up.
Not happening. I was serious. She doesnt cross this doorstep again until she learns to respect us and the children. And until she apologises to Michael. Genuinely.
Edward chuckled bitterly.
Mum and apologising? Not a hope. So thats that.
A week went by. Edwards phone rang off the hook extended relatives scolding him for throwing your own mother out in the rain. Margarets version, as it turned out, was that shed made some remark about the housework, Sophie set Edward on her, and she was thrown into the street, a defenceless pensioner. No mention of children or her insults.
At first Edward tried explaining. Then he just stopped answering. Sophie, meanwhile, found a curious sense of peace. For the first time, the atmosphere in the house was truly their own. No one checked for dust, no one criticised the dinner. The children started to relax, no longer jumping nervously when she called them down to eat.
A month later was Michaels eighth birthday. Friends came over, godparents, Sophies side of the family. It was noisy, laughter everywhere, wrapping paper and cake smudges all over. Children shrieked, stuffed their faces with cake using their hands.
Sophie caught Edwards eye. He was watching Michael laugh, cream smeared across his cheeks.
You know, he said, coming up to her Mum would say that was disgraceful. Cakes supposed to be eaten with a dessert fork, sitting upright.
Shed have ruined the party, Sophie nodded.
Yep. But just look at him. Happy. His eyes are sparkling.
Because he knows: hes loved no matter what. Even with sticky fingers.
The doorbell rang, making them both jump.
Edward went to answer. A courier stood at the front step with a huge parcel.
Parcel for Master Michael Edwards, said the lad.
Edward signed, brought it inside. Everyone quietened.
Whos it from? Michael asked.
Edward opened the card attached. Inside was the expensive train set Michael had dreamed of. And a note:
For my grandsons birthday. Grow up right, not like your parents. Gran Margaret.
Edward read the note to himself, scrunched it up and stuffed it in his pocket.
Its from Gran Margaret, he announced.
Wow! Brilliant! Michael bounced. Is she coming?
No, darling, Sophie said, taking Edwards hand. Grandmas very busy right now. Shes working on herself.
Michael didnt push for details, already absorbed in his new toy. Sophie and Edward exchanged knowing glances. The gift was an attempt to buy back her place, one last jab from afar. But it had no hold anymore.
That night, when the guests had gone and the children were asleep, Sophie found the crumpled note in Edwards pocket. She smoothed it, read it, and, with a small laugh, tossed it in the bin.
What are you up to? Edward called from the bathroom.
Nothing, she smiled. Just taking the rubbish out. Actually we should probably get the locks changed.
Already booked the locksmith for tomorrow, he replied. And Ive blocked Mums number. For now. I need some time.
Sophie hugged him. She knew how hard it was. Cutting ties with a parent even a toxic one always leaves a scar. But she also knew that scars heal, while a damaged childhood is much harder to mend.
Life went on. Margaret never turned up at their door again. She kept sowing poison among relatives, posting snide comments online (which Sophie ignored), but she was shut out of their real life, for good. And it was the best thing that could have happened to their family.
Michael grew up lively, boisterous, occasionally unruly, but kind-hearted and open. He wasnt afraid to speak his mind, didnt hide his hands under the table, and could laugh freely. Watching him, Sophie knew shed done the right thing. Upbringing isnt about fear and drilling its about love and protection. And shed managed to protect her children, even at the cost of being the bad daughter-in-law to the whole clan.
Sometimes, all it takes for good weather at home is to close the door firmly on those who bring the storm. And Sophie had learned to turn that lock properly.
