Cross my word and my son will throw you out the door! I dont care whose flat this is! shouts the motherinlaw.
Emily sets a plate of breakfast on the table and glances at the clockseventhirty. Simon chews his eggs slowly, only occasionally looking at his wife.
I dont know about you, but Im thrilled that Mums coming, Simon says, sipping his coffee. Shes from the village. A bit of country air will do her good.
Emily forces a smile but says nothing. Mums visit, which was supposed to be a week, has stretched to twenty days, and theres no sign of her leaving.
Simon, didnt you say when Mum plans to go back? Emily asks as delicately as she can.
Simon puts down his fork and sighs. Please, dont start. Shes here to rest. Its hard for her to be alone out in the countryside.
I get that, but
A clatter erupts from the kitchen. Ethel Roberts, already awake, launches into her morning routinewashing dishes and cooking porridge. Emily closes her eyes. Every morning, the same thing.
Good morning, dears! Ethel bellows, stepping into the doorway. What are you snacking on, then? What about me?
Mum, Ive already helped myself, Simon explains. Emily needs to get ready for work.
Oh, of course, shes got a job, Ethel rolls her eyes. And who does the housework? In the village women do everythingfeed the cows, tend the fields, look after their husbands.
Emily clenches her fists under the table. Shes heard this monologue a dozen times already. Every day Ethel finds a reason to remind her that city women are lazy and spoiled.
Ethel, I really must rushI have a meeting at nine, Emily says, checking the clock.
A meeting, eh? Sit in that chair all day shuffling papers. Thats not work! Ethel retorts.
Simon retreats to his plate, trying not to get involved, as he always does.
When Emily returns from work, she finds her cosmetics laid out on the coffee table in neat rows, like a shop window.
Ethel, have you been going through my cosmetics? she asks, trying to keep her tone even.
Whats the big deal? Ethel replies, eyes glued to the television, volume turned up. Im just watching what youre putting on with that citymade stuff. In my day we didnt need all these bottles to have a decent complexion.
Emily quietly gathers her things and heads to the bathroom. It isnt the first time Ethel has rummaged through her belongings. Last week Ethel emptied every cupboard to tidy up, and Emily spent two days searching for important papers.
After dinner, with dishes piling up in the sink (Ethel only washes them once a week, on Sundays), she turns on a tiny radio and starts singing The Willow Tree, her voice loud and country, filling the whole flat.
Ethel, could you please keep it down? Emily asks. The neighbours are complaining.
What neighbours? Ethel snaps. In the village we sing until dawn and nobody complains!
We live in a block of flats, Emily reminds her. There are different rules here.
Rules, rules Ethel mutters, turning the radio off. You city folk are all the same.
When Simon returns from his shift, Emily tries to speak to him quietly.
Simon, could you talk to Mum? she whispers as theyre alone in the bedroom. Explain that our flat is tiny, the walls are thin
What am I supposed to say? Simon shrugs. Mum is Mum. Shes sixtyfive. Im not going to raise her.
Its not about raising her, Emily sighs. Its about mutual respect.
Fine, fine, dont exaggerate, Simon waves her off. Just be patient. Shes not staying forever.
Days go by and Ethel shows no sign of leaving. Instead, she makes the flat feel more and more like her own countryside cottage.
One afternoon Emily comes home to find the flat cold. All the windows are wide open, despite the outside temperature of minus fifteen degrees Celsius.
Ethel, why are the windows open? Its freezing out there! Emily exclaims, hurriedly shutting them.
Ventilating! Ethel declares proudly. Your city air is stifling. The country air is cleaner.
But the radiators cant cope with this cold. Were paying for heating, Emily protests.
Ah, there you go again with the money! Ethel scoffs. City folk only think about money.
By the end of the third week Emily feels like a guest in her own home. Ethel has rearranged the bed properly, reorganised all the kitchenware sensibly, even retuned the TV channels to what she calls decent programmes.
At lunch Ethel inevitably critiques Emilys soup.
This isnt soup, its coloured water, Ethel snarls, tasting the broth. In the village our borscht would even stand on a spoon! Your potatoes are undercooked, and youve barely put any meat in.
If you want, you can make it yourself, Emily snaps.
Fine, I will! Ethel booms. Ill show you how its done!
The next day she really does. The kitchen looks like a battlefieldgrease everywhere, a mountain of dirty dishes in the sink, the floor slick with oil.
This is real food! Ethel declares, placing a massive pot of something that vaguely resembles stew on the table.
The dish tastes good, but Emily cant enjoy it. She watches the mess and thinks of the cleaning that lies ahead.
Mum, will you wash the dishes? Simon asks timidly.
Dishes? Ethel raises an eyebrow. In our village men dont wash dishes. Thats a womans job.
But you just cooked, Simon points out.
Ive done the main jobfed the family! The dishes can wait until Sunday. I have my own rules.
Simon shoots a guilty look at Emily and goes to watch the football.
By the end of the month Emilys patience is frayed. She barely sleeps; Ethel snores so loudly the walls vibrate, then complains in the morning that the youngsters kept the bed creaking all night. In the bathroom Ethel mixes towels with cleaning rags, wipes the kitchen with a bath towel, and even uses Emilys facial cream to polish the heels of her shoes.
When Emily finally tells Simon that the situation is driving her to a nervous breakdown, Simon snaps.
Youre never satisfied! he yells. Mum does what she thinks is best, and you keep complaining. She cooks, she cleans
Seriously? Emily cant believe her ears. She doesnt clean. I clean after her every day. And after you, too.
Here we go again, Simon sighs. You cant go a day without a grievance.
After that argument Emily decides to accept that, sooner or later, Ethel will have to return to the village with her farm, garden, and neighbours.
Weeks pass, and Ethel settles more permanently in the city.
The final straw comes with the new curtains. Emily spends weeks choosing fabric, orders them to be sewn, and spends almost half her bonus on light, airy curtains that brighten the living room.
That evening Ethel is making dumplings. Emily works on an urgent project when the front door cracks open.
Emily, have the dumplings finished? I need to wash my hands, Ethel calls.
Emily walks in and sees Ethel wiping her hands on the fresh curtain fabric, leaving greasy smears on the pale material.
Something snaps inside Emily. She doesnt shout, she doesnt fling her arms. She simply says, quietly but firmly:
Ethel, these are new curtains. Use a towel for your hands.
Oh, its just a little stain, Ethel waves it off. Ill wipe it clean!
Its not about the marks, Emily continues, feeling resolve rise. Its about respect. Youve lived in our flat for a month and a half and youve never asked before moving my things, rearranging furniture, or changing the order of the house.
Ethels face flushes. What do you mean in your house? This is my sons home! Im not a guest!
Its our shared home, Emily says patiently. Id like you to respect our space.
Ethel slams a pot onto the table. Cross my word and my son will throw you out! I dont care whose flat this is!
The kitchen freezes in a ringing silence. Ethels words hang heavy in the air. Emily looks at her, and something inside clicks like a switch.
Emily does not shout back. She does not cry. She does not slam doors. She simply stands silent.
She walks to the bedroom, her movements calm and measured, as if performing a longplanned task. Opening the wardrobe, she pulls out the large suitcase Ethel arrived witha suitcase meant for a oneweek stay that has now been in the flat for six weeks. She unzips it carefully and places it on the bed.
Ethel appears in the doorway, surprise flickering to disbelief, then anger.
What are you doing?! she cries, watching Emily methodically open the dresser drawers and pull out Ethels clothessweaters, blouses, skirts, underwearfolding each item neatly to avoid wrinkles.
Ill call Simon! Ethel threatens, pulling out her mobile. Hell sort this!
Emily nods silently, as if agreeing. She then heads to the bathroom and gathers Ethels personal toiletriesshampoo, soap, toothbrushtucking them into the suitcase as well.
Hello, Simon! Ethel shouts into the handset. Your wife has gone mad! Shes packing my things!
Emily cant hear Simons reply, but the expression on Ethels face shows he isnt coming to her rescue.
With the suitcase zipped, Emily places it by the front door and opens a taxiapp on her phone. The village where Ethel lives is about forty miles awaystill a short drive.
The taxi will arrive in fifteen minutes, Emily tells Ethel, finally addressing her. Ive paid for the ride to your home.
Ethels mouth hangs open. She never expected such a turn. In the village no one would dare shout at her, let alone throw her out.
You you have no right to do this! Ethel finally manages. We havent even heated the house for a month and a half! Its cold!
You have a neighbour, Mrs. Whitaker, Emily replies calmly. You said she looks after the house. She probably keeps the heater on regularly.
Ethel opens her mouth to argue but finds no words. Her phone rings again; she snatches it up.
Son! her voice turns plaintive. Youve driven me out! Come quickly, do something!
Emily knows Simon wont come. He always avoids confrontation, preferring to hide behind a newspaper or his phone. He once again chooses to see nothing.
Fifteen minutes later the taxi pulls up. Emily lifts the heavy suitcase and walks to the hallway.
Are you leaving? she asks the stunned Ethel.
Ethel eyes her suspiciously. Do you think Ill just walk away?
You could stay, and Ill call the council, Emily says, shrugging. I have the lease, the documents. You decide.
Something in Emilys tone convinces Ethel that she means business. She grabs her coat, looks offended, and heads for the stairs.
Down in the lobby, Emily sets the suitcase by the car. The driver opens the boot and helps load the bags.
Youre kicking me out! Do something! Ethel yells into the phone, glaring at Emily.
Simon remains silent. He never steps in when a clear decision is needed, and today he is nowhere to be seen.
Ethel throws one last disdainful glance at Emily, climbs into the taxi, and it pulls away down the street.
Emily returns to the flat, closes the door behind her, and leans against it, feeling the quiet settle like a warm blanket on a winter night. For the first time in weeks she can simply stand and listen to the kitchen clock ticking.
She washes her hands at the sink, dries them with a kitchen towelnot the curtains. She glances at the clock: almost eight p.m. Simon will be home soon.
She doesnt cook dinner. Instead she brews a cup of tea and sits by the window, thoughts drifting calmly. Strangely, theres no anger, only relief and a quiet joy, as if a heavy burden has finally been lifted.
Her phone buzzes: a message from Simon reads, Running late. Dont wait up.
She smiles. Of course Simon doesnt want to return straight after everything thats happened. He fears conflict, the awkwardness of fixing things, the shouting. But there will be no shouting now. Emily feels calmer than she has in years.
For the first time in two months the flat is silent. No one blares the television, no clatter of dishes, no endless tales of country life. Just pure, beautiful silence.
Emily looks at the new curtains. The greasy smears from Ethels hands still linger, but thats finetomorrow shell take them to the dry cleaner, or buy new ones, even lighter and airier.
Her phone buzzes again; its Ethel.
Hello, Emily answers calmly.
…you you I knew you were a bad wife! Ethel fumes. Simon will see the truth now!
Ethel, Im not holding Simon hostage. If he wants to move back to the village, thats fine. But I will no longer allow anyone to treat my home or me with disrespect, Emily says firmly.
Youll regret this! Ethel hisses before hanging up.
Emily finishes her tea, heads to the bathroom, takes a shower, puts on the cosy pajamas shes kept hidden from Ethel, and settles into bed with a booksomething she hasnt done in ages, reading for pleasure instead of polishing the kitchen or ironing.
Around midnight a key turns in the frontdoor lock. Simon stumbles in, clearly tipsy. Emily switches off the lights and pretends to be asleep. The conversation can wait until morning.
In the morning the flat is still hushed. No pots clang, no TV blares, no radio crooning. It feels unusualand wonderful.
Simon sits at the kitchen table, eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep.
Mum said you evicted her, he begins without a greeting.
Yes, Emily replies, setting the kettle on.
She cried, said you were cruel, he continues.
I called a taxi and packed her things, Emily says, shrugging. I didnt shout, I didnt push, I didnt insult.
Simon stays quiet, gathering his thoughts.
You could have just endured it, he finally says. She isnt young any more.
Simon, Emily looks him in the eye, your mother threatened to throw me out of my own flat. She disrespects me and my home. Ive put up with it for a month and a half. Enough.
What now? Simon asks, a note of challenge in his voice.
Now you choose, Emily says calmly. You can pack up and go back to your mums village. Im not stopping you. Or you stay, but your mother will never cross that threshold again.
Youre giving me an ultimatum? Simon snaps.
Im setting boundaries, Emily replies, shaking her head. For the first time in five years of marriage Im saying no. This is my final decision.
Simon opens his mouth to argue, then stops. Something new flickers in his eyesa calm confidence that wasnt there before. Perhaps, for the first time, he feels genuine respect for Emily.
Ill think about it, he says quietly and leaves the kitchen.
Emily pours herself another cup of tea and walks to the window. The morning sun floods the room with bright light. The day promises to be good. Whatever Simon decides, Emily knows she will no longer let anyone disturb the peace and quiet of her home.
