“Don’t you dare talk about my mother like that!” Oliver slammed his fist on the table, making the cups rattle. “She’s spent her whole life trying her best for us!”
“Trying her best?” Sophie spun around from the cooker, waving a wooden spoon. “Your darling mum borrowed our spare keys *again* and showed up unannounced! I was in my dressing gown, hair like a bird’s nest! And she has the nerve to lecture me about household tidiness!”
“What’s got into you? You used to adore Eleanor!”
“I used to be a naive twit!” Sophie’s voice shook with frustration. “I thought, ‘what a brilliant mother-in-law I’ve landed.’ Turns out, she’s just monitoring my every move!”
Eleanor froze in the kitchen doorway, overhearing the spat. Clutched in her hands was a bag of steaming sausage rolls – baked that morning to cheer them up. Her heart squeezed tight. Was she truly unwanted? Did Sophie really detest her this much?
“Mum?” Oliver turned, spotting her. “How long have you been standing there?”
“I…” Eleanor looked flustered from Sophie to Oliver. “Brought sausage rolls. Cheese and onion – your favourites.”
Sophie turned her back to the cooker, shoulders stiff as a board. The silence stretched out, thick and awkward.
“Mum, come in,” Oliver pulled out a chair. “We’ll have some tea.”
“No, I’d best… pop home,” Eleanor murmured, placing the bag on the table. “Seems my timing’s a bit rubbish.”
She hurried out, blinking hard against the sting behind her eyes, choosing not to decipher the hushed voices behind her.
Back home, Eleanor sank into her armchair beside the window, cradling a lukewarm mug of tea. How had it fallen apart? When Oliver first brought Sophie home, she’d instantly adored the girl – sweet, unassuming, kind eyes shining. Back then, Sophie seemed utterly sincere, calling her “Mum,” chatting about jam-making and curtain lengths.
And now this? Was she honestly sticking her oar in? Perhaps she really did pop round too often? But they lived right next door, barely a garden path away! And she longed to see her grandson, little Danny.
The phone buzzed late that evening. Sophie.
“Eleanor… could I pop over? On my own?”
“Of course, love. Come anytime.”
Sophie arrived, eyes puffy, cheeks flushed. She sat opposite the older woman, hands clasping her knees like anchors.
“I wanted to… well… apologize,” she stammered. “For this morning… In front of Ollie… Shouldn’t have snapped like that.”
“Sophie, love, what’s really upsetting you?” Eleanor leaned forward, concern etching her face.
“Oh, it’s everything piling up,” Sophie scrubbed her eyes with her sleeve. “They’re cutting jobs at work – not sure if mine’s safe. Little Danny’s been poorly for three weeks running, doctors baffled. Oliver… well, he hasn’t noticed I’m wound tighter than a clock spring. Job, house, toddler… Then you breeze in, and I’m a state…”
“Oh, petal,” Eleanor slid nearer, placing a gentle hand on Sophie’s shoulder. “Who cares about a bit of clutter? I’m not some nosy neighbour, I’m family!”
“That is precisely the problem,” Sophie hiccupped. “You’re the perfect homemaker – house pristine, meals wonderful. Next to you, I feel utterly rubbish.”
Eleanor stared, genuinely startled. “Sophie, whatever do you mean? Rubbish? You’re a brilliant wife and mum. The house? What’s a bit of dust when your wee one’s ill and work’s dangling by a thread?”
“Truly? You’re not cross?” Sophie lifted tear-drenched eyes.
“Goodness no, sweetheart. Been through it myself raising Ollie. Remember his chickenpox? Forty-degree fever, I didn’t sleep for a week. My own mother-in-law toddled in, saw unwashed dishes, and started lecturing me. Still rankles after all these years.”
Sophie managed a watery smile – the first in weeks.
“I thought you were silently judging me. ‘Look at her, house looks like a bomb hit it, can’t even feed her man proper dinners…’”
“My word,” Eleanor shook her head slowly. “I just wanted to help. Bake sausage rolls so you wouldn’t need to cook. Mind Danny while you sorted things. Seems I only managed to put my foot in it.”
“You didn’t,” Sophie whispered. “I was an idiot. Just worked myself up and took it out on you.”
“You know what?” Eleanor rose, heading for the kitchen. “Let’s have a decent cuppa, proper biscuits included. Tell me about work. Maybe we’ll hatch a plan.”
They talked until well past midnight. Sophie spilled worries about work uncertainty, her fears for Danny, the bone-deep drain of constant rushing. Eleanor listened intently, nodding, offering soft-spoken nuggets.
“Y’know, I’ve an old friend working with the council’s education lot,” she mused thoughtfully. “Could chat to her tomorrow, see what’s about, if worst comes to worst.”
“Really?” Sophie’s eyes widened hopefully.
“Absolutely. Ring Dorothy first thing.”
Leaving much later, their hug felt new – warm, genuine.
“Eleanor… could Danny and I nip over tomorrow? I’ve a job interview… awkward dragging the little chap.”
“Need you even ask? Bring him round. We’ll have a lovely time.”
Oliver blinked in surprise when Sophie returned home humming. “Where’ve you been?” he asked, eyes fixed on the telly.
“At *your* mother’s,” Sophie sat beside him, taking his hand. “Oliver, sweetheart, please forgive me about this morning. I was completely out of order.”
“Ah, forget it,” he shrugged. “Happens.”
“No, no ‘
She hurried home with her heart stinging from the overheard words, wondering if her well-meaning visits truly felt like invasions to Sophie.
