Mother-in-Law Times Two
— Well, would you look at that! — said George in place of a greeting as he saw the petite, wiry old lady in jeans at his door, lips stretched in a sly grin. Mischievous eyes twinkled under narrowed lids.
“Irina’s gran, Mrs. Valentine Peters,” he realised. “But how on earth — no warning, not even a call…”
— Hello, sonny! — she greeted him, still smiling. — Going to let me in, then?
— Oh, yes, of course! — George bustled, ushering her in.
Mrs. Peters rolled a suitcase into the flat. . . — Strong cuppa for me! — she instructed as George served up tea. — So, Irina at work, little Ella at nursery, and what about you—skiving off?
— Been sent on enforced leave, — he replied gloomily. — Two weeks’ ‘operational necessity,’ they call it. — Visions of a fortnight’s peace vanished. He glanced at her, hopeful: — You staying long?
— Bang on — nodded Mrs. Peters, dashing his hopes — Staying ages.
Another sigh. He barely knew her, only glimpsed her at his and Irina’s wedding—she’d travelled down. But he’d heard plenty from his father-in-law, who, whenever Mrs. Peters came up, would drop his voice and glance fearfully around, clearly respecting her—knee-knockingly so.
— Do the washing up, — she instructed him, — and get ready. City tour for me, you’re my guide!
George offered no argument—her drill-sergeant tone instantly reminded him of Sergeant Prichard from his army days. Crossing old Prichard was never worth it.
— Show me the riverside! — Mrs. Peters ordered. — What’s the quickest way?
— Taxi, — shrugged George.
Suddenly Mrs. Peters pursed her fingers and let out a piercing whistle. A passing cab screeched to a halt.
— Why whistle? What will people think? — George chided, helping her into the passenger seat.
— Oh, nothing at all, — she beamed. — If they think anything, they’ll think you’re the uncivilised one.
Hearing this, the taxi driver burst out laughing alongside Mrs. Peters. They slapped palms in triumph, like old mates pulling off a prank.
— George, you’re a decent, polite lad, — the sprightly granny said as they strolled the riverside. — Your gran’s probably all prim and proper, but I don’t know the meaning of it! My late husband, Irina’s granddad, needed ages to get used to me. He was as quiet as a church mouse, loved his books—then along came me! I dragged him up mountains, taught him parachuting—though he never did brave a hang-glider. He and Irina would wait for me below while I circled overhead.
George listened, amazed. Irina had never mentioned her gran’s adventurous streak. It explained a lot. Mrs. Peters fixed him with a look:
— Ever parachuted yourself?
— Army — fourteen jumps, — George replied, with a touch of pride.
— Good on you! — Mrs. Peters nodded approval, breaking into song:
“We’ll fall for a while, in this endless leap…”
George knew the tune and chimed in:
“A white silk cloud soars behind me like a gull…”
The song closed the distance between them; he no longer felt awkward with the extraordinary old lady.
— Time for a rest and a bite, — she suggested. — That food stall looks promising—smell that barbecue?
The kebab man—dark-haired, sharp-featured—was skewering meat for grilling, looking as though he’d happily skewer enemies much the same way. He radiated an urge to cry “Huzzah!” and break into a wild Cossack dance.
Taking their seats, Mrs. Peters winked and belted out in a surprisingly clear voice:
“Sing us a song, John dear, wouldn’t that be grand at a wedding cheer!”
The kebab man, caught off guard, joined in for a comic duet.
“Sing at a wedding, that’s the plan—John dear, won’t you join in!”
— Please help yourselves, honoured madam, — the kebab man beamed, setting out platters, pitta, and herbs with a flourish. He even brought two icy tumblers of Georgian wine, then pressed his hand to his heart and disappeared.
The aroma lured out a little grey kitten from the shrubbery, who peered up at them pleadingly.
— You’re just what we need! — Mrs. Peters smiled. — Come on, little lad. — She turned to the kebab man, “Sir, could you bring fresh meat for our friend—chopped up small, please!”
As the kitten ate, Mrs. Peters admonished George:
— You’ve a daughter, that’s all the more reason for a cat! It’s how you teach kindness, care for the weak, love for others. This little chap will help you!
Back home, she bathed their new friend while George fetched kitten gear—litter tray, bowls, scratching post, cosy bed. When George staggered back, the flat rang with girlie squeals: Irina and Ella clung to gran, who showered them with kisses. On the sofa, the kitten blinked curiously at his new family.
— For you, Ella, a summer shorts set — gran handed out gifts — and for you, Irina—nothing lifts a woman in her husband’s eyes quite like lacy knickers…
Olly skipped nursery all week. Gran whisked her away on daily expeditions; they’d return contentedly exhausted.
At home, George and the kitten—now Leo—awaited them, and in the evenings, Irina joined for family strolls, kitten in tow.
One evening, Mrs. Peters turned serious.
— George, I need a word. I’m leaving tomorrow—time’s up. After I’m off, hand this to Irina. — She pressed a document in a transparent wallet into his hand. — It’s my will. I’m leaving her my flat and everything in it. You get my late husband’s cherished library—signed first editions, incredibly rare.
— Mrs. Peters, please—! — George protested, but she silenced him with a gesture.
—I’ve told Irina nothing, but you should know: serious heart trouble. It could all end suddenly. Better to be prepared.
— You shouldn’t be on your own! — George objected.
— I’m never truly alone — she smiled. — Besides, Irina’s mum—your other mother-in-law—lives nearby. And you look after Irina and raise Ella well. You’re a good lad, reliable. So I’m like a double mother-in-law for you! — She laughed heartily, clapping him on the shoulder.
— Couldn’t you stay a bit longer? — George begged.
She smiled gratefully but shook her head.
Everyone came to the station, even Leo, in Ella’s arms, was subdued as they said farewell.
With her trademark finger-whistle, Mrs. Peters summoned a taxi which screeched to a stop.
— Come on, son-in-law, put me on my train! — she called, kissing Irina and Ella and hopping in beside George.
The driver gaped at her, having never been hailed quite so directly.
— What are you staring at? — muttered George. — Never seen a decent woman before?
The wiry gran gave a shake of her silvery curls, shared a high five with George, and burst into ringing laughter. Well, this is a turn up for the books! Tom blurted out instead of hello, when he opened the front door
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