Mum, what exactly did you say to my wife? She was about to pack her bags and leave.
I simply told her the truth. Look, darling, shes just not right for you. Emily would be so much better for you.
Emily? Who on earth is Emily? Mum, what have you made up this time?
I always knew my son was a special ladmy firstborn, apple of my eye and all that. When he grew up and tied the knot, accepting it was tricky, to put it mildly. I simply couldnt fathom that hed found someone to replace me as number one in his life. Letting go? Utter misery. I handed him off to another woman, but did my heart like it? Absolutely not.
Hes my pride and joy. Id do anything for him, no matter what. Single-handedly raised him, as his father was forever off in Aberdeen or Basingstoke on businessbut honestly, who knows what he was up to. I learned to change bike tyres, do kick-ups with a football, and lead an army of plastic soldiers into imaginary battle just to connect with my boy. He knows Ive always been Mum and the stand-in Dad too. Everything I do, I do because hes my treasure.
The thing is, his wife has never adored him as I have. She doesnt cookleaves takeaways in the kitchen for weeks, plates lolling about in the sink, and dont get me started on her uncanny skill for leaving a trail of debris wherever she goes. The phrase domestic goddess certainly wouldnt dare apply to her.
Yet, I simply longed to be close. I needed to care for him, as I always did. So I nipped over to their flat every week to fetch his dirty washing and bring it back home. I kept my own keyhe gave it to me, but still. Id let myself in while they were at work, quickly gathering his clothes before his dragon of a wife clocked me, and give everything a good clean-up.
Honestly, I couldnt sit idly by while his socks stewed in filth. With him up to his ears in work and study, the laundry mountain simply wouldnt shrink, and sheafter three years of marriage!still couldnt figure out how to wash his boxers or iron his trousers.
Back at mine, Id wash his clothes with a gentle baby powdernot that irritating stuff his wife haphazardly usesand iron each shirt perfectly. Then Id sneak his gleaming shirts and pants back into his wardrobe. Honestly, she never even realised hes allergic to half those cheap detergents; every time, shed slap everything into the machine together like a rugby scrum and hang them out crooked.
The jumper I lovingly knitted for his birthday? Ended up three sizes bigger and covered in bobbles because she washed wool on a boil wash, then flung it across the rotary line in the garden. I had to unravel and knit it again, which was much less of a faff than fixing her disasters.
But his wife simply doesnt get why I do this. She moans about boundaries and says I ought to teach my son to fend for himself. As if Id let him live ankle-deep in grime while shes collapsed on the sofa, scrolling Instagram. All I want is for my lovely boy to be healthy and happy. If I can help with that, why shouldnt I?
My husband would scold me about this (on the rare occasions he was home, mind). He said I mollycoddled our grown-up son, that it was time for him to manage with the woman hed chosen. But I couldnt sleep knowing my boy was home ironing, cooking and cleaning, while she binge-watched Midsomer Murders in her dressing gown.
So, I decided: one last big laundry marathon, and then Id try to keep out of it. Early one morning, soon after theyd both gone to work, I popped round, gathered every bit of washingeven some of hers because, frankly, it reeked and shed have chucked it next to my lads crisp white shirts. I packed everything up, turfed my husband out to the pub for a pint so I could get on with things in peace, and got cracking.
A few extra duvets later, it was all washed, ironed, foldeda massive bundle ready to go back. He lived just down the road, which was lucky, as the load was heavier than a fortnights shopping at Waitrose. Hes on the fourth floor, and, would you believe, the lift was out of order! Maintenance day. Of course.
So I struggled up flight after flight, huffing and puffing like an asthmatic dog, thinking, Why am I doing this for a grown man? Still, I sobbed most of the way up, overwhelmed, missing the days when my little boy needed me. All I want is to care for him, or at the very least see him with a decent, attentive woman whod actually hang up his shirts properly.
I finally reached his door, let myself in as usual (lovely having a key!), dumped my bag of freshly laundered clothes and tried to be as quiet as a dormousedidnt want to set off Mrs Wellingtons yappy spaniel next door. But then I noticed strange shoes scattered about the hall. When Id left last, the place was relatively neat. Now: chaos.
I pressed on towards the bedroom and spotted his trousers on the floor, just inside the door. Ah, I thought. Missed these last time. Ill iron them here, save another trip. As I stooped to pick them up, I heard noisesfrom the bedroom. And there, lo and behold, was my son, starkers in bed with another woman. His wifes a fair-haired girl, but this one was dark-haired!
I froze, staring. He noticed me and bellowed:
Mum, for heavens sake! Pleasego! Just let me have a moment to myself!
Flushing beetroot, I covered my eyes and sniffed, Darling, can you come out? We need a chat.
A few minutes later he appeared, wearing nothing but the bathrobe Id given him for Christmas.
Mum, why are you here? Have you got keys to our place?
Of course, love, you gave them to me last year. So I could bring around a shepherds pie or do your washing.
Mum, people usually let you know before they pop in. Its basic manners.
I just popped over to drop off your laundry, as I said I would!
Well, I thought you were coming tomorrow, not today, Mum.
Sorry, but is that your wifes new hair colour? She looks different.
No, Mum. Thats not my wife. Thats someone else.
Are you cheating on her, Harry?
Please, dont judge me too harshly.
Oh, darling, Ill always love you, no matter what mischief you get up to.
Thing is, Mum, I do like Emily more. Shes kind, keeps the place tidy, whipped up a shepherds pie, even did the washing up! But honestly, Ill probably stick with Kate. This is just a bit of fun.
Well, darling, whatever you decide, your mother will always be rooting for you. Your shirts are washed with your special powder, by the way. Ill let you be now, as long as youve got someone ethical and domesticated like Emily to look after you.
Honestly, seeing the flat all sparkling, the air thick with the scent of stew, I hardly doubted my son would throw over lazybones Kate for a much more respectable sort like Emily. My heart was at peace. After all, order and cleanliness are next to happiness.
A week later, I was in the corner shop and who should I bump into but Kate, doing her usual fancy, borderline-mad shopping: avocado, some peculiar green fruit, fat-free bread, organic buckwheat, and a tub of kefir. I couldnt resist.
Oh, Kate, going on a health kick now, are we?
Good afternoon, Mrs Robinson. Yes, your son and I are slimming down for a summer break in Majorca. Got to look good for the gram, apparently, she answered, with her usual frosty glare.
Sorry, what was that? You and my son? I thought youd broken it off.
Broken up? Who told you that?
Well, hes got Emily now.
Emily? No! Hes not seeing anyone else. We havent even had a row!
But Emily was round at yours, cooking and cleaning, and then they werewell, lets just say extremely cosy. Id assumed he’d told you everything, love. Good news, thoughyou can finally find a bloke who actually likes buckwheat.
Who is this Emily? And what kitchen? Have you completely lost your marbles, Mrs Robinson? Its bad enough you try to turn your son against me, now youre conjuring up floozies and dragging them into his bed? You know whatjust let us live our lives, please! Ive had it, honestly! And she stalked out, trolley abandoned, throwing me a glare that could wilt my spider plant. Turns out, besides being a slob, shes a diva too. But more shockingI discovered my son dumped Emily and seemed to have taken up with Attila the Hun in a dress.
Not long after, my phone rang:
Hello, darling, is everything alright? I asked as sweetly as possible.
Mum, what on earth did you say to Kate? Shes threatening to move out!
I merely told her the truth, love. Shes not for you. Emily would be so much better.
Emily? Who IS this Emily? Mum, what are you on about?
I thought you chose Emily and called it quits with Kate.
I didnt dump anyone. I was never with an Emily! Please, stop calling. Were changing the locks. Youre not to visit anymore. As far as Im concerned, you dont exist!
And that, apparently, is gratitude.
