James, are you absolutely sure we didnt forget the charcoal? Last time we had to drive all the way to that village shop and they only had soggy firewood, Emily turned to her husband, who was intent on steering the car around the usual potholes on the country lane.
Ive got the charcoal, love, the firelighters too, and your marinated steaks are in the cool bag, James grinned, glancing away from the narrow road for a moment. Just try to relax. This is a holiday, remember? Two whole weeks off, no neighbours, nothing but birdsong and your precious lawn. Honestly, you havent stopped going on about it since February.
Emily leaned back in her seat with a content sigh, closing her eyes for a moment. That lawn. The very word had become music to her ears. Three years ago, when theyd first bought that neglected plot with its dodgy little cottage, there had been nothing but shoulder-high nettles and piles of rubble. Emily herself had shovelled out the broken bricks, fought the brambles, then she and James brought in a team to level the land and lay down top-quality, roll-out turf. Pricey, but perfect.
The garden became her haven. A lush emerald blanket, soft and even, ideal for stretching out with a book, sipping morning coffee, or practicing yoga. She wouldnt let anyone play even a timid game of badminton there, not in clunky trainers one wrong move, the grass could be ruined. For Emily, the lawn was the ultimate sign that their country retreat was about leisure, not backbreaking toil the sort her parents generation considered essential.
I do hope your mum didnt forget to water it while we were away, she murmured. Its been sweltering, nearly thirty degrees all week.
Honestly, stop worrying, James waved off her concern. Mums reliable. We left her the keys and she promised shed check in every other day. She knows how fussy you are about your precious grass.
Mary, Jamess mother, was made of old-fashioned stuff. Bustling, forthright, and convinced the worst sin was letting land go to waste. Any patch of ground, in her mind, was meant for spuds, carrots, or at the very least, a few herbs. The first couple of summers, Emily had fought a quiet war, defending her right to a little patch of green serenity. Mary had grumbled, calling the lawn idleness for townies, but supposedly gave in, restricting herself to her greenhouse in the far corner.
The car crunched to a halt at the familiar gate. Emily jumped out to unlock it, breathing in the scent of sun-warmed pine and wild rose. She could already picture herself ditching her town shoes and strolling barefoot across the cool grass.
The gate creaked open. Emily stepped forward and froze, staring ahead. Her laptop bag slipped from her nerveless hand, landing softly in the dust.
Emily? Whats up? James called from the car, but she didnt reply. He switched off the engine and hurried over. Emily?
He followed her shocked gaze and fell silent, too.
The emerald lawn was gone.
In its place, a churned-up, blackened stretch of earth sprawled from the porch to the summer house. Deep, clumsy furrows criss-crossed the space, muddy turf heaped up at random. And in those furrows, something was already sprouting weak little shoots, as if nature was mocking her.
Amidst this devastation, standing tall with her spade in hand, was Mary. Clad in her ancient gardening coat and sunhat, she mopped her brow and beamed as if accepting an Olympic medal.
Oh! Look whos here! she sang out, spotting the stricken couple. Ive got a little surprise for you! Cut it a bit fine, but all finished just in time.
Emily felt the blood drain from her face, her ears pounding. She stepped through the gate, moving as if underwater, and stopped at the edge of her former lawn. Shreds of turf lay underfoot, the special mesh ripped to bits by Marys ruthless spade.
What… is this? Emilys voice came out low and steely, enough to make James shiver involuntarily.
What dyou mean, what? Vegetable beds! Mary stabbed her spade triumphantly into the earth. All that land, just sitting there complete waste! The best spot for sun on the whole lot. Grass is no good to anyone. Theres a row of onions there, carrots just next to them, and I put courgettes by the pergola. Can you imagine our own veg! Well fry the courgettes, make jars of chutney!
Mum… James sounded pained, stepping closer. What have you done? That turf cost us nearly two grand, new, three years back and thats not counting all the care, the feed, the mowing…
Oh, dont be daft! Mary cut him off. Two grand for grass? Somebodys seen you coming daft city types. Grass grows free all over the country! Proper food, thats what you need. Seen supermarket prices lately? Carrots cost a fortune! And these are clean, home-grown. I did it all for you, you know. Broke my back for three days while you were swanning off fancy.
Emily remained silent, surveying the ruined patch a swirl of rage growing cold and focused inside her. This wasnt just cheeky overstepping. This was blatant disrespect, demolishing everything she valued and toiled for.
Mary, Emily finally said, her voice controlled. We only asked you to water the flowers. Not to dig not to plant onions. This is our home and our garden.
So what now? Marys hands flew to her hips, her earlier cheer gone, replaced by combative defiance. Im your mother! I know better than you. Youre young green as the grass you love. Therell be a lean winter, and youll thank me for these veg jars. As for your lawn pfft! Nonsense. The neighbours feel sorry for you, you know. Everyone else has proper veg patches, but weve got a glorified golf course, they say. Even Margaret next door laughed said, What, your daughter-in-law cant even grow her own herbs?
I couldnt care less about Margaret, Emily replied, each word sharp. And I dont want your courgettes. James, get the bags, please.
Emily, wait James tried to catch her arm, but she pulled away. Mum, really, you went way too far. We agreed: the greenhouse is yours, the rest is for relaxing. Why did you ruin everything?
Ruin?! Mary shrieked, her face flushed scarlet. I work myself into an early grave for you lot! My blood pressures sky high but I still dig, just so youll have some vitamins, and all I get is ruined! Well! Youre youre all just selfish and ungrateful!
She clutched her chest theatrically, slumping onto the garden bench by the porch.
Emily marched into the house without a glance back. Cool air and the smell of old wood met her. In the kitchen, she gulped a glass of water. Her hands shook. She wanted to yell, smash something, cry but she refused to put on a scene. Mary thrived on drama, always painting herself as the victim.
A few minutes later, James crept in, looking miserable.
She meant well, Emily. Thats just how she was brought up. Empty land is a crime for her generation.
Its not upbringing, James. Its about respect. She thinks were her property and, by extension, the house and garden are hers too. She doesnt care what we want she just needs things done her way. To prove shes in charge.
Ill talk to her. Explain again…
No. Emily cut him off. Weve been explaining for three years. She always nods along, then goes behind our backs. Restoring that lawn isnt just a matter of raking some seed about its ruined. The soils all wrong, the ground uneven, the turf destroyed. Well have to hire a team again, remove the top layer, bring in fresh topsoil, buy new turf rolls… All over again. Itll cost a fortune and be a muddy mess for weeks.
James dropped onto a chair, defeated.
So, what? Tell her to leave?
No. She needs to fix what shes done.
Emily, be reasonable. Shes sixty-five. She cant re-turf the place herself.
The turf, no. But she can dig up her crops and clear away the beds. Rake back the soil as best possible. Then she can pay towards a new lawn.
She hasnt got that sort of money… just her pension.
Shes always boasting about her rainy day fund for grandchildren. Well, were her children and we need helping out by reversing the effects of her, lets call it, kindness.
Thats harsh, Emily.
Whats harsh is coming home to find your beloved garden reduced to a muddy wasteland. Whats harsh is having your wishes trampled on. Im going out there now. If she refuses, shes not welcome here again. Ill change the locks today.
Emily headed out onto the porch. Mary was no longer clutching her chest; she was busily gossiping over the fence with Margaret from next door, gesticulating wildly towards the house. As soon as she spotted Emily, her face fell into a look of pained martyrdom.
Mary, may I have a word? Emily called, taking the steps slowly.
What now? Mary grumbled. Fetch me some water; my mouths gone dry with all this upset.
Water can wait. Please listen carefully. You have until Sunday evening.
For what?
To clear away everything youve planted out here. Uproot every single sprout, every onion, everything. Heap up the earth, rake it level.
Mary stared, round-eyed, as if Emily had started speaking Greek.
Are you mad, girl? After all my work? Ask me to destroy living things? I wont do it! This is my sons place, not yours, Im not just some guest here!
This house and garden were bought jointly, Mary. By law, I own it as much as James does. I did not agree to any farming. If the site isnt back to a level patch by Sunday night, then well hire professionals to do it. And whatever it costs, youll owe us. And you will not be given the keys again. Please hand them over to James now.
James! Mary bellowed for her son, seeing him in the doorway. Youre going to let her talk to your own mother like this? Shes trying to kill me, your own mum! Say something!
James stepped out, pale. One look at Emily told him he was at a crossroads. If he didnt support her, their marriage wouldnt survive.
Mum, Emilys right, he said heavily. You shouldnt have done this. This is our home and we wanted a lawn. Its been ruined.
Oh, not you too! Mary wailed. Youve gone spineless! Shes bewitched you! I did it all for
Mum, enough, James interrupted, voice hard. Enough pretending it was for us. You did it because you wanted to. Now youll have to sort it out. Either pull out your beds, or this is it. You wont be coming back.
Mary was speechless, gasping for air. James had never stood up to her like that before.
Keep your blessed lawn! she spat at last. Im never setting foot here again! You can dig and rake it yourself! She grabbed her handbag and marched to the gate.
Keys, please, Mary, Emily reminded her.
Mary rummaged in her pocket indignantly, flung the keys into the dust.
Here! Keep your bloody keys. May nothing but thistles ever grow on that grass of yours!
With that, she disappeared through the gate, slamming it behind her. A moment later, they heard the spluttering engine of a taxi. Perhaps shed arranged it, or maybe shed take the next bus the stop was around the corner.
Emily bent to pick up the keys, brushing them off, and looked at James.
Shell be back, Emily said confidently. Shes left her seedlings and coat in the shed. Besides, shes not one to give up that easily.
James trudged over to the devastated plot, kicking a clod of earth.
What now? Are we supposed to do it all ourselves?
No, Emily shook her head. Shell say shes leaving, but shell be close by the bus isnt for ages. Shell be at Margarets, complaining.
Sure enough, over the fence came the unmistakable sounds of Marys voice, raised in lament, recounting how her heartless daughter-in-law had chucked out a frail old lady, forcing her to destroy the harvest.
Emily picked up her phone.
Who are you ringing? James asked.
A landscaping firm. I need a quote for full restoration, including clearing rubbish and topsoil.
The evening was thick with tension. They sat silently on the veranda, sipping tea that tasted of nothing, eyes fixed on the blackened earth before them, the mood thoroughly ruined.
Saturday morning dawned. Emily was making breakfast when the garden gate creaked. She peeked through the kitchen window: Mary had returned, not quite as defiant, more sulky and hesitant. She headed straight for her greenhouse, studiously resisting any glance at the house.
Emily stepped onto the porch.
Morning, Mary. Come to get your things?
Mary paused, then turned slowly.
Ive been thinking… that onion is a rare Dutch variety. Cost me good money.
Its a shame, Emily agreed. Restoring the lawn will cost plenty too. Ive checked the whole job, including fresh soil and new turf, is nearly eight hundred pounds.
Marys eyes bulged.
How much? Are you mad?!
Thats the going rate. I can show you the estimate. Since you caused the damage, its only fair you pay for it. Or, you can clear the beds yourself and leave a flat patch, and well just get grass seed, which is cheaper.
I dont have that kind of money! she shrieked.
Then pick up the rake and shovel. This is on principle, Mary. You need to understand: you cant just take over other peoples homes and set your own rules.
At that moment, James joined them.
Mum, Emilys right. Were not footing the bill for your experiment. Ill fetch the bags dig your onions, take them home, plant them on your balcony, whatever you like. But this patch needs to be level.
Mary glanced from son to daughter-in-law, searching for weakness, some opening to wheedle or guilt them into relenting. But found none Emily stood unyielding, and even James, though troubled, clearly wouldnt budge.
Mary sniffed, unwillingly admitting defeat.
All right, she muttered. Pass over your bags. Cruel, the lot of you.
The next two days felt surreal. Mary, groaning and making a show of clutching her back, dug out the veg shed planted, stacking onions and seedlings into crates, muttering curses under her breath. Emily kept her distance, reading on the last surviving strip of turf but watching the clean-up like a hawk.
James ferried soil in the wheelbarrow, fetching water for his mother and urging her to take breaks, but didnt actually do her work for her Emily had forbidden it.
If you pick up the slack, shell never learn, Emily told him late at night. Shell just cause more trouble, knowing her son will tidy it up. She needs to feel the consequences herself.
By Sunday evening, the garden was a sorry sight: bare black earth, but mostly level now and cleared of weeds. Enough for grass seed later, at least.
Mary slumped on the porch, filthy and exhausted, pride all spent.
Thats it, she growled. Happy now?
Emily inspected the ground. Far from perfect, but serviceable for re-seeding. Much better than starting over with turf. At least the groundwork was done.
Thank you, Mary, Emily said, without a hint of sarcasm. I do appreciate the effort.
Mary looked up tiredly.
So strict, Emily. I thought James would be happy with you, but you keep him under your thumb.
Im not strict, Mary, just firm about people respecting my wishes. If youd asked for a little veg bed behind the greenhouse, I wouldve said yes. But you destroyed something precious to me instead. Thats the difference.
Mary said nothing, brushing the earth off her skirt.
Will James give me a lift back with my seedlings?
Of course, Emily nodded.
And… well… will I get my keys back?
Emily glanced at James.
No, Mum, he said firmly. Well keep them for now. Well handle the watering, and bring you over as a guest, if youd like.
Mary pursed her lips but didnt argue. The line had been crossed, and shed lost the right to come and go as she pleased.
A month later, the grass was returning. Emily and James sowed hardy lawn seed; fresh green shoots were starting to cover the gardens scars, promising a new start.
Mary visited just once, in August, for Jamess birthday. This time, she kept quiet, bringing a homemade pie (with that rescued Dutch onion) and even complimented the lawn.
Very neat, she said, eyeing the smooth green patch. Looks… nice. Less gets walked into the house, I suppose.
Emily smiled, handing her a cup of tea.
Yes, Mary. Much better like this. Veg from the market or the greenhouse. This is where we relax.
The battles were over. The soil still bore traces of conflict, but somehow, the rules for living together were far clearer now. Their new boundaries, drawn with rakes and resolve, were more robust than any polite smiles ever could be.
