Why do you have pillowcases from different sets on your bed? The words, from Susan Hartley, slipped out as soft and caring as everthough to Emma, they stung like nettles. Honestly, its poor form. Surely it cant be comfortablepolyester on one side, cotton on the other? All that mixed texture must irritate your skin.
Emma, at the hob, stirring a pan of stew, forced herself to take a steady breath. Her heart thudded as she braced for another Sunday lunchonce a family tradition, now a weekly ordeal. Susan perched at the kitchen table, back ramrod-straight, her gaze flicking across the room like a forensic sweep. Emma swore her mother-in-law could spot a missed crumb or a chipped tile at fifty paces.
It suits Tom and me just fine, Emma answered evenly. We honestly dont mind. What matters is its clean bedding.
Details matter, dear. Life is built on little things, Susan replied, carefully breaking off a piece of bread. Today its mismatched pillowcasestomorrow its a dirty mug left in the sink overnight, and after that, well, a marriage can soon unravel. Domestic lifes the cement that holds us together. Or pulls us apart, if the one in charge… well, isnt particular about the small things.
Tom, Emmas husband, hunched over his plate, pretending to be utterly absorbed in chewing his carrots. He truly was a good soulkind-hearted and reliablebut when it came to his mum, he became a silent bystander, desperate to avoid conflict. Emma knew better than to expect support during these tense exchanges.
Oh, and by the waywhen I popped to the loo earlier, I couldnt help noticing the state of your bathroom cabinet, Susan continued, sipping her tea. Creams, tubesjust tossed everywhere, really. You know, getting some organisers would help. Theyre on offer at B&Q, I noticed. Tidy cupboards, tidy mind, as they say.
Emma paused, ladle in hand. The top shelfthat was well out of reach without a step. So Susan hadnt just washed her hands; shed been snooping.
You looked inside the closed cabinet? Emma asked, turning to her mother-in-law.
Susan winced, feigning surprise. Goodness, Emma, thats rather direct! Looked insidehonestly! I was just after some cotton pads to fix my makeup. The door was ajar, thats all. I certainly had no intention of rummagingthough it is a bit of a muddle in there. I just thought it might be easier for you if things were properly sorted.
Lunch ended in stilted silence. When Susan finally left, Emma collapsed onto the living room sofa, drained. This sticky feeling of having her space invaded had haunted her ever since Susan was given a spare set of keysjust in case, Susan had insisted, in case a pipe burst or the cat needed feeding if they were late home. Since then, strange things kept happening.
Emmas dresses, once hung by length, appeared reordered by colour. The coffee jar migrated to different shelves. Her underwear drawer, normally stacked by sets, was now rolled into tight little parcelsclearly not Emmas way.
Tom, your mums been in our things again, she told her husband as he cleared plates into the sink.
Oh Em, lets not start, he groaned. She probably justI dont knowtidied up a bit, checked something. Shes old-fashioned; order means a lot to her. Shes lonely, thats all. Dont read into it.
But helping is asking if I want help! Emma argued. When someone rearranges my knickers without telling me, thats crossing a line. I feel like a guest in my own home.
Ill have a word, Tom promised without conviction. But Emma could see from the look in his eyes that he wouldnt. Hed mutter a soft word, Susan would get upset and accuse them of pushing her out, and Tom would back down.
A week passed; Emma tried to let it be, throwing herself into work. As the lead logistics planner in a large firm, her days were hecticshe rarely got home before six. One Tuesday, she arrived home earlier than expected and immediately spotted faint footprints on the doormattrainer treads she didnt recognise. The air was faintly perfumed with Susans favoured lily-of-the-valley. Only Susan wore that.
Emma stepped into their bedroom, a cold ball of anxiety in her gut. Her top drawerwhere she kept passports and some savingswasnt fully closed. Not much, just a millimetre, but Emma always pushed it until it clicked.
She pulled it open. The mortgage documents werent under her passports, where shed left themthey were now on top. The envelope where they squirreled away cash for holidays was crumpled, as if someone had been counting the notes.
Anger surgedhot, suffocating. This wasnt tidying up. This was a full-blown searchan invasion using her emergency keys to check up on their finances.
Emma didnt start a row immediately; Susan would have an excuse readyshed say she smelled gas, or came in to water the plants and somehow nudged the drawer. And Tom would believe her. Emma needed proof.
Over lunch the next day, Emma confided in her friend Liz, a twice-divorced survivor who knew every trick in the book.
She really oversteps, doesnt she? Liz remarked, swirling her cappuccino. Counting your money? Classic move to see if youre wasting her precious boys pay. But honestlyare you sure its just the money shes after? Maybe she wants a bit of dirt on you.
What kind of dirt? Im not living a double life, Emma said. Work, home, thats it.
Exactly the sort of thing suspicious mothers-in-law love to prove wrong. Maybe shes after receipts for expensive frocks, or loaded up to tell Tom Your wifes spending a fortune on nonsense! Trust me, Em, women like that build dossiers.
That set Emma thinking. Dossiers. Proof.
I want to catch her red-handed. No wriggling out of it. And I want Tom to see it.
Get a cameraone of those Wi-Fi ones. Stick it in the bedroom, hide it in a book. Stage a little trap.
A trap?
Absolutely. Bait, Liz grinned.
That evening, Emma bought a tiny camera from Currys and, once Tom hopped into the shower, hid it behind the row of Penguin classics. The lens pointed neatly at the wardrobe and drawers, ready for action and linked to her phone.
But Lizs idea about bait echoed in her head. Emma decided Susan deserved a proper surprise.
In the top of her wardrobe, amongst the linen Susan was so keen to judge, Emma cleared a space. She found a shoe box, wrapped it in bright red paper, and scrawled across the top in bold marker:
PRIVATE! DO NOT OPEN! CONFIDENTIAL!
Nothing attracts a nosy person more than do not open.
Inside, she created a little tableau: a fake receipt from a novelty shop showing a purchase of £5,000 (printed at home), a feathered masquerade mask, and, crucially, a single A4 sheet on top:
Dear Susan: If you are reading this, youre poking your nose somewhere you shouldnt. Smileyou’re on camera! The video of your inspection will be sent to Tom in five minutes. Enjoy!
For good measure, Emma rigged the box with a party popperopening it would shower the place with glitter.
All that was left was to set the scene.
On Thursday morning, making sure Tom could hear (he loved retelling their plans to Susan), Emma said, loudly:
Brace yourself, darling, todays a marathonIll barely be home before ten. Big evening meeting.
Tom nodded. I told Mum that wed be flat out; she said she might water the plants. I told her not to bother, but she always pops by.
Oh, let her, Emma replied, barely hiding her smile. Keeps her out of trouble.
As they left, Emma checked the live cameratrackers on, the trap in position.
The day dragged. Emma checked her phone again and againnothing. Three hours nothing. Maybe Susan wouldn’t come after all.
At 2:30, her phone buzzed: Movement detected: Bedroom.
Emma slipped into the corridor at work, headphones in, and pulled up the feedblurry at first, curtains drawn, but Susans outline unmistakable, wrapped in a housecoat shed apparently taken to keeping in their hallway (yet another revelation).
She started at Toms bedside table, rifled and tutted, then moved to Emmas drawers, sorting laundry, judging (Emma could imagine her expressions). Emma tapped Record.
When Susan moved to the wardrobe, peering through the hangers, fingering labels, even sniffing the sleevesEmma clenched her jaw.
Then Susan found the red box.
She hesitated, looked around (no one there, of course), curiosity clearly winning over caution. She picked it up, placed it on the bed.
Very slowly, she lifted the lid.
POP!
Even with the sound off, Emma saw Susan jump as a spray of metallic glitter rained downlanding in her hair and all over her dressing gown. She clutched at her chest, then bent to peer into the box, found the note, and froze. Squinting at the page, her panic only grew. She frantically looked about the room, hunting for the hidden camera, face twisted with horror and shame.
Susan shoved the paper back inside, tried to brush the glitter off (only making more of a mess), then rushed out of sight. A minute later, Emmas phone pinged againmovement at the door. Susan’s hasty retreat.
Emma saved the video and rang Tom.
Tom, are you free? This cant wait.
Whats up, love? His voice was anxious.
Nothings wrong. Please, come home early tonightand we need to pop round your mums. Tonight.
Mums? But arent you working late?
Plans changed, Emma replied. Check your messages. I just sent you a video. Watch it, right now. Ill wait.
Silence. The fat of distant office sounds. Then the beep of a file opening.
A minute crawled by.
Is this today? Tom sounded stunned.
Twenty minutes ago.
She was searching your drawers? And that box You set this up?
I suspected, Tom. I just couldnt prove it to you. But you had to see for yourself.
He was quiet. Emma heard him breathing hard; his illusion of his mums innocence had shattered. How painful it must be to see your own mother root through your wifes private things, pawing at documents and clothes.
Ill leave now, he said at last. Lets meet at the car in half an hour.
Driving to Susans, Tom was silent, knuckles white on the steering wheel. Emma didnt push him.
Susan answered in a panic, her hair dampglitter still sparkling behind her ear and on her neckclearly having tried to tidy up the evidence.
Oh, Tom! Emma! Youre earlyhow odd she fussed, blocking the doorway.
Mum, we need a word, Tom said sternly, nudging inside.
They sat in the kitchen. Susan busied herself banging cups, not daring to meet their gaze.
Sit down, Mum, Tom said flatly. No need for tea.
She perched on the edge of a stool, hands clenched in her lap.
Weve seen the footage, Tom said.
What footage? she tried, voice wavering.
Dont, Mum. The bedroom camera caught everything. You rifling the drawers, opening the cupboard, opening that box.
Susan flushed, patches of red blooming on her cheeks.
You you filmed me?! Your own mother? Like a criminal? How could you!
How could you rummage through my knickers, Susan? Emma asked, voice steady but steel-edged. You let yourself in, went through our things. Looking for what? Evidence? Money? A secret?
II only wanted to tidy! Susan shouted back, tears welling in her eyes. Its chaos in there! Youre a dreadful housekeeper! Toms shirts arent even ironed half the time! I worry for himmy son! And youtraps, and those ridiculous glitter poppers. My heart nearly gave out!
Mum, Toms fist thumped the table. Enough.
Susan faltered.
Emma does the shirts, and theyre always fineand if not, its our business, not yours. You have no right to be in our home when were not there, let alone touching our things.
Tom held out his hand.
Keys.
What? his mother whispered.
Hand over the keys. Now.
Youre taking your mothers keys? For her? Over pillowcases? Oh, Tom, think! Ive done everything for you! Im your mother!
You crossed the line, Mum. You humiliated Emma and broke our trust. I wont come home wondering whos been through my things. The keys.
Crying in earnest nowreal, broken tearsSusan fumbled for the prized set of keys from the peg and dropped them on the table.
Go on, then! Live as you please! Your home will be filthy, youll drown in debts, but dont come running to me for help! Ill never set foot in your house again!
Good, Emma replied, scooping up the keys. Thats exactly what we want. Your visits only by invitation.
They left as twilight fell, the air outside crisp and fresh. Emma took a lungful, feeling months of anxiety dissolve.
Im sorry, Tom said quietly, once they were in the car. He stared straight ahead. I shouldve believed you.
You love her, Emma replied, taking his hand. Thats only natural. Its hard to think such a close person could betray your trust. Whats important is, its settled now.
It is, Tom nodded, finally looking at her. Respect shone in his eyes. Youre amazing. That boxtheyd have used you in MI5, you know.
Bit of improvisation, Emma smiled. Though Ill sweep up the glitter later, dont worry.
At home, they changed the beddingwith fresh matching pillowcasestrying to scrub away even the memory of trespass. They ordered pizza and poured out a bottle of wine.
Susan didnt call for a month. She sulked, then started sending Tom terse messageshappy Geologists Day, hows the weather? Tom replied politely but briefly. She never invited herself over, and they didnt invite her, eithera peace that suited Emma just fine.
Six months later, at Toms aunts family gathering, Susan sat across the table, lips pursed tight at the sight of Emma, but at least she didnt start drama.
Toms aunt was nattering on about her new china set: So lovely but so fragile! Ive locked it in the cupboard and told the children not to even lookchildren are so nosy these days
Emma caught Susans eye; Susan flushed and quickly stared at her salad. Emma smiled to herself and gave Tom a secret wink. Their boundaries were secureand the only keys belonged to them.
Sometimes, to restore true order, you have to sweep out those who create the chaos. And if it takes a glitter bomb to do itwell, so be it.
Thank you for reading. If you enjoyed this story, do subscribe and drop a likeit means the world to me.
