Lady of the House
Annie, youve forgotten to put the butter dish lid on again Margaret sighed, pulling her chair closer to the kitchen table with a noisy scrape. Now its spent all night soaking up smells from the fridge. Tom, darling, just have some cottage cheese on toast, its fresh I picked it up yesterday.
Annie felt the handle of the bread knife pressing into her tight grip. She kept slicing the loaf in silence, doing her best to keep the slices even though her hands were trembling just a little. Outside, October rain drizzled steadily, drawing weepy streaks down the window panes. The kitchen felt stiflingly small for three grown adults.
Mum, the butters fine Tom mumbled, not looking up from his phone as he absentmindedly chewed his sandwich.
Oh, of course! Im only saying it for your sake. You young people havent a clue how food goes off when you dont store it properly. And then you all end up with stomach aches, and who has to nurse you back to health?
Annie set the plate of bread on the table and sank onto her chair. Shed been dizzy all morning, with a foul taste in her mouth. She poured herself a mug of supermarket English Breakfast, hoping the warmth might calm the rising nausea.
Annie, youre not eating anything Margaret went on, giving her a pointed look over the top of her glasses. Youve gone awfully thin lately. Tommy, how do you hope to have children with a wife like that? A baby needs a healthy mum.
Something twisted sharply inside Annie. She sipped her tea, burning her tongue, and managed a weak smile.
Mrs Smith, Im just not hungry in the mornings. I never have been.
Never, never! In my day we went to work running a fever, not a word of complaint. Youngsters these days, off sick for every sniffle. When I was your age I was raising Tom all by myself, mind and still kept the house in order and went to work!
Finally Tom looked up from his screen.
Mum, come on, its not the same Annie was in the office until eight last night finishing the months reports.
Im not saying anything, Im just worried for you both. A young couple ought to be thinking about a family not falling apart over nothing…
Annie stood, taking her barely-touched cup to the sink. In the windows reflection, she saw Margaret carefully spooning an extra helping of cottage cheese onto Toms plate, patting his shoulder with loving authority. Her voice behind Annie was gentle, caring, always for Tom.
Love, dont be late, youve got that big meeting today. Ive ironed your blue shirt its hanging on the back of your chair.
Annie stood at the sink, holding her cooling cup, feeling something heavy and grey inside her chest. Like exhaustion, only worse. Like resentment but deeper than that.
Shed been so sincerely happy, just three months earlier, when her mother-in-law moved in.
***
Margaret had arrived suddenly at the end of July. She phoned late one evening, voice shaky and nearly in tears. The flat below hers in Nottingham had flooded, water had ruined the parquet and half the furniture, the place needed serious repairs. The builders promised theyd be done in a week, ten days tops.
Tom, can I stay with you just for a week? I cant afford a hotel, and Id be so lonely on my own she pleaded, and of course Tom agreed instantly.
Annie had actually felt glad. They didnt see Margaret often, just at holidays. She was a brisk, friendly sort of woman perhaps a bit fussy, but well-meaning enough. Since her husband died five years ago, shed lived alone, working at the records office and growing violets on her windowsill.
Itll fly by Annie said to Tom, already planning how best to clear out the spare room. We hardly ever get a proper visit with her.
Tom hugged her, kissed her head.
Youre wonderful, love. I know its awkward, but Ill feel better having Mum looked after that flats a disaster.
Margaret arrived with two enormous suitcases and a cardboard box tied with string. Annie and Tom fetched her from St Pancras, carrying her things together. Margaret looked exhausted, eyes red and lips pursed.
Annie, thank you for putting up with an old lady she said at their doorway, hugging Annie. Just for a week, honestly. Ill be gone the moment its finished, I promise not to be a burden.
The first few days were almost blissful. Margaret cooked lunch, tidied up while Tom and Annie were out working. In the evenings, they all had tea with ginger nuts Margaret had brought a whole box from Nottingham. Tom was lively, joking more than usual. It was clear how happy he was to have his mum around.
But by the end of the second week, something began to change.
At first it was just little things. Margaret rearranged the spice jars, explaining it was more sensible her way. Then she repacked Annies linen cupboard, folding everything differently. Annie would find her belongings in new places and feel lost, uncertain if she ought to say something. After all, it was so minor.
Annie, I noticed youve got dust on your curtain rails Margaret would say as she ladled soup. Whens the last time you wiped them down? Its unhealthy, it can cause allergies. I gave them a quick go with a damp cloth, spick and span now.
Thanks, Mrs Smith Annie mumbled, face flushing. The truth was, she barely had time to keep up with ordinary cleaning between work, and in the evenings she just needed quiet a book or a series.
Im not blaming, dear Margaret beamed. Just helping. Makes life easier for you!
Three weeks later, the builders from Nottingham called with bad news: repairs were taking longer dodgy wiring, more to fix, another ten days at least. Margaret took it well, at least on the surface.
Its fine, Tommy, Im not bothering you, am I? Just be patient a little longer, pet.
Mum! Of course not Tom hugged her tight.
Annie watched in silence. Worry began blooming in her, but she brushed it aside. Whats another week? No big deal.
A month passed. Then six weeks. Margaret quietly made herself at home in their cramped two-bed flat. She slept in Annies little study now full of Margarets suitcases and boxes. Annie wound up working on her laptop at the kitchen table, or in the bedroom never comfortable, but she was too embarrassed to ask for her own room back.
Every night Margaret cooked dinner. Good food, admittedly, but always what Tom liked: roast potatoes, bangers, shepherds pie. Annie preferred fish or veg, but it seemed petty to say.
Annie, youre barely touching your food Margaret sighed. Tom, look at your wife, shes wasting away. Should go see a doctor, in case its her stomach.
Anna, truly, youre off your food lately Tom frowned at her, worried.
Just not hungry Annie would repeat, and it was true. Her appetite was gone. Mornings brought waves of nausea, afternoons dragged with bone-weariness. But she didnt want to see a GP, afraid theyd tell her it was stress, overwork. Admitting to stress meant admitting Margarets presence was getting to her and how could she say that aloud?
***
By mid-September work had hit fever pitch. The tax office needed revised accounts, and Annie and her two colleagues were stuck at their desks until late every night. Shed slip in the door at nine, sometimes ten, head pounding.
Shed be greeted by the warm kitchen lights, the smell of food, the sound of Margarets voice.
Annie, there you are Tom and I have already eaten. I kept your dinner warm, love, just heat it up. And please dont move the pans I left everything as it is for a reason.
Annie would nod, trying to eat food she could barely swallow. Tom would stroll in, peck her cheek, tell her about his day. Margaret would sit nearby, knitting or flicking through a magazine, always there, always present. The air felt thick, every room heavy with someone elses presence.
Tom, do you think your mum plans to stay for a while? Annie asked quietly one night as they lay in the dark.
Well, the flats still not finished he mumbled, almost asleep. Try and have a bit more patience, love. Its not fit for anyone at the minute.
Its been two months, though…
Annie, its my mum. Shes on her own, shes struggling. Cant you see it from her side?
Something stabbed deep in Annies chest. She turned away and went quiet. Tom dozed off, while Annie lay awake, listening to the muffled noises Margaret made in the next room.
The next day, Margaret greeted Annie after work with a new suggestion.
Annie, love, lets do the cleaning together on Saturdays. Youre so tired, I see it itll go faster as a team.
Annie wanted to say no, but Margaret had the mop, the bucket, the rags already fetched. Together they swept, wiped, and dusted as Margaret narrated their every move.
Oh, theres a real mess behind the radiators should get the hoover in there. And those curtains need a wash look at the dust. And do you clean the fridge properly? Needs a scrub every fortnight, else bacteria multiply.
Annie nodded, scrubbed, listening, feeling irritation build with every comment. But sharp words wouldnt come. Margaret was only helping helping, always helping. How dare she complain?
By the end of September, Annie realised she felt like a guest in her own flat. Inept, inexperienced, just never quite enough. Margaret oversaw the kitchen, the bathrooms, the laundry cupboard. She did Toms washing herself, folded and starched his shirts.
Toms always liked a stiff collar shed say with a fond smile. Ive kept him tidy since he was little.
Annie would hurry her own laundry when the machine was free, feeling like she was sneaking round her own home, doing her best not to disturb anyone, not to stand out.
At night, she began having strange nightmares. Shed roam endless corridors, searching every locked door for her room, or find herself in the kitchen, trying to cook but losing every pan and ingredient along the way.
Shed wake, sweating and heart-pounding, lying there and listening to Tom breathe beside her. Sometimes she longed to shake him awake, to tell him how smothered and miserable she felt but every word dried up in her throat. How could anyone say out loud that their mother-in-law was suffocating them with kindness?
***
The first of October, things turned truly strange.
Annie woke feeling sick. She barely made it to the bathroom in time. As she hovered over the sink, pale and shaking, she heard Margarets anxious voice outside the door.
Annie, love, are you all right? Should we ring the GP?
No, no, Im fine she croaked, splashing cold water on her face. Mustve eaten something that didnt agree.
Didnt agree? Margaret sounded injured. I made those fishcakes myself, fresh ingredients, checked everything! Tom had plenty youre the only one…
Mrs Smith, its just my stomach. Im a bit sensitive, thats all.
All day, the weakness refused to let her go. At work, Annie could barely focus rows of figures swam before her eyes. Her colleague, Sarah, took one look at her.
Annie, you look dreadful. Maybe go home early?
I cant, the deadlines tomorrow.
Your health comes first. At least call your GP.
She didnt. That night, Margaret greeted her coldly, tension in every line of her face.
Ive been worried sick. Tom too. Do you realise how you frighten us?
Sorry, works just hectic.
Work, always work with you. What about home? What about your family? Your husband sat here half the evening, alone thank goodness I fed him properly.
Annie slipped away to the bedroom, shut the door, collapsed onto the bed. Her head pounded. Voices echoed through the wall Margaret and Tom, words unclear but tones sharp. Margaret complaining; Tom vaguely defending her.
Annie buried her face in a pillow, longing to scream, but as always she kept silent.
The next morning, as she got dressed, Annie found her favourite white silk blouse in the wardrobe marred by a strange yellow stain along the collar. It was spotless the night before, she remembered clearly.
Mrs Smith, do you know what happened to my blouse? she asked on her way to the kitchen.
Margaret spun round from the cooker, face full of blank innocence.
What blouse?
The white one. Its stained now and…
Annie, darling, I dont touch your clothes. Maybe you spilt something and forgot?
Annie gazed at her at the round-cheeked, bright-eyed face and realised, Margaret was lying. She knew. Shed done it.
But there was no proof, so Annie just left it. Pulled on a different jumper and left for the office, a heavy stone lodged in her chest.
The oddities multiplied. Her treasured mug, a ceramic one Tom gave her for her birthday, vanished and never surfaced. Margaret just shrugged.
Maybe you smashed it and forgot, love? I havent seen it.
One morning her nearly full shampoo bottle was suddenly empty overnight. Margarets only comment was, Mustve leaked those caps are a nightmare.
Annie stopped asking questions. Every day, slick and dreamlike, she worked by rote, spent evenings at the kitchen table with her laptop anything to keep from entering the room that wasnt hers anymore. Tom grew withdrawn, irritable. They nearly snapped at each other more than once.
Annie, youre so tense lately Tom said. Is it all work?
No. It isnt work.
Then what is it?
For an instant Annie wanted to say it, that she could not bear his mothers constant presence, that she was suffocating, a stranger in her own flat. But the words dried up, as always.
Just tired. Sorry.
He held her, kissed her hair.
Just hang on a little longer. Mum will be off soon, her builders say theyre nearly done.
But nearly done never came. Each week Margaret phoned the builders, coming back with fresh worries.
Another few bits to finish theyre painting now, putting in skirting boards. Honestly, just another week.
Weeks stretched into months.
***
By late October, Annie couldnt sleep. Or rather, she managed scraps of uneasy sleep, waking as tired as shed been before. Dark hollows settled under her eyes; her hands trembled.
One night she woke to an odd sound a faint, stealthy scuffle, coming from Margarets room. Annie propped herself up on one elbow, listening. The sound came again, then silence.
Did you hear anything odd last night? Annie asked Margaret at breakfast.
No, dear, I sleep like a log. Why?
Just sounded like someone walking about.
Youre working too hard, love. You need to see a doctor about your nerves.
A few nights later, Annie caught the distinct scent of hot wax church candles drifting through the flat. She sniffed round each room; the smell was strongest at the door to Margarets room.
Mrs Smith, are you burning candles? Annie enquired that evening.
Candles? No. Why ever would I? Is that what you meant by a smell?
It smelt like wax.
Must be coming in from next door, through the air vent, love.
But the waxy sweetness returned, always at night, always faint but unmistakable. Annie started to wake from it, lying stiff and scared, heart pounding.
Once, on an afternoon off when Margaret was out, Annie slipped into the spare room. Everything looked normal. Sofa neatly made, magazines stacked on the desk, violets on the windowsill. In the wardrobe, Margarets dresses hung in tidy rows. Her suitcases, and the cardboard box. Annie crouched down, reaching for the box but just then, she heard the front door. She jumped up and hurried out. Margaret came in with shopping, all smiles.
Annie, youre home! Feeling any better, love?
Just a migraine. I thought a bit of rest might help.
That night, the waxy smell again. And later, on her way to the loo, Annie glimpsed something on the hall shelf: their framed wedding photo, the one that never left the bedroom dresser. Annie picked it up the glass was unbroken, but her own face in the photo was scratched over, faint thin marks as if gone over with a needle.
Her heart thudded so loud she went dizzy. She stood in the hall, clutching the frame, staring at the maimed version of herself.
Annie, whats the matter? Tom called from their room.
Tom… look at this.
He took the frame, frowning.
Whats happened here?
I dont know I just found it. On the shelf.
Weird. Maybe someone dropped it and the glass scraped the print?
The glass is fine. Its the photo thats been scratched, deliberately.
Well, who on earth…? he looked incredulous. But who would?
She fell quiet. They both knew who else lived here but neither could say it. It was too bizarre.
Probably just a printing error, I guess she muttered.
That night, sleep didnt come at all.
***
November brought the first true cold. Annie felt chilly all the time, wrapping up in a cardigan even in the flat, but none of it warmed her bones. The nausea worsened. She barely ate just tea and dry biscuits when Margaret wasnt looking.
Annie, you look utterly ill Margaret said with open concern, but Annie thought she caught a flicker satisfaction? Yes, satisfaction in the older womans eyes.
At work, Annies boss called her in.
Annie, youve made some real mistakes in your recent accounts, and youre late on deadlines its not like you.
Sorry, Mrs Harris. It wont happen again.
Are you all right, Annie? Do you need some time off?
Annie imagined time off at home, with Margaret ruling every corner, and her chest clenched.
Ill be fine, thank you.
But she wasnt. Her days were grey and listless; she moved through them without thought. Tom tried to get through to her but she answered him in single words, never meeting his eyes. He was short-tempered and snappish, then distant.
Annie, whats wrong? Youre so far away, as if youre not even here.
Sorry. Im just tired.
Should you see a doctor? Mum says youre eating nothing.
Mum says. Annie looked at him.
Your mum says a lot of things.
What? Tom frowned.
Nothing. Doesnt matter.
She withdrew to the bedroom. Tom didnt follow.
It was a Thursday evening, coming home from work early, when everything finally fell apart.
She let herself in. The flat was silent, eerily so. No EastEnders on the kitchen TV, no Margaret on the phone to her sister.
Annie took off her coat and went to wash her face. From the small room at the back, she heard it: a low, droning voice whispering. It crawled under her skin.
She tiptoed to the door. It was ajar the corner of the table was visible, lit by candlelight. Real church candles, two of them, burning slow and bright.
Her heart hammered. She pushed the door wide.
Margaret stood, her back turned, bent over the table. Photos lay spread out: one of Tom, a big print from his university days, and, beside it, a photo of Annie. Across Annies face a thick black cross had been drawn with marker.
Margarets hand moved slowly above the pictures, murmuring words. In her other hand, a gleam a long sewing needle. She bowed low and started to prick at Annies photo.
Mrs Smith, Annie choked out, voice trembling.
Margaret spun round, eyes wide, pale.
Annie you… I didn’t see you I…
What are you doing?
Margaret snatched her hand back, hiding the needle, her expression flickering from surprise, to embarrassment, to something cold.
Nothing. Stay out of my business.
Candles, photos… what is this?
I said its nothing! Get out of my room!
Something inside Annie broke. The months of exhaustion, hurt, fear crashed out in one wild wave.
Your room?! she strode forward, hands shaking. This is MY flat! MINE! And youve been living here for three months three! In my room!
Annie, dont shout…
I bloody well will shout! You you sit here with your candles and needles, scratching out my face, destroying my things and poisoning my life!
Ive never destroyed anything! Margaret drew herself up, angry now. Youre ruining everything yourself! Youve made my son miserable. Hed have a family by now, children, with someone else with you, its just work, and work, and youre not even a wife to him, youre a burden!
The words struck like a slap. Annie stood, breathing hard, hot tears stinging her eyes.
How dare you…
I dare because Im his mother! I gave him my whole life! You youre nothing but a stranger who took him away!
Took him? Annies voice was thin with fury. We love each other. Were a family!
Family? Margarets mouth curled. Call this a family? You cant even give him a child. Look at you dried-up, sickly. Youre not good enough for him.
With that, something inside Annie snapped for good. She lunged for the table, knocking the candles aside. One rolled out, guttered. The other sputtered on its side, wax pooling. Annie grabbed the photo with her scratched-out face and ripped it in half.
Get out she whispered, voice full and strong. Get out of my house. Now.
What? Margaret grew ashen. You cant
Oh, I can! This is my home, and I say you go! Pack your things and leave. Now!
Tom wont ever forgive you for this!
Thats between me and Tom! But you your time here is finished.
The front door slammed. Tom was home. He rushed in, hearing the raised voices.
What the hell is going on?
Margaret flung herself toward him, grabbing his arm.
Shes throwing me out! Your wife after all Ive done shes thrown me onto the street!
Tom looked at his mother, then at Annie who stood, breath shaking, torn photo in hands, tears streaking her cheeks.
Tom she whispered look. Look what shes done.
Tom stared at the scattered photos, needles, melted wax. His face ran through confusion, comprehension, then a grim kind of shock.
Mum… what is all this?
I was just just praying for you…
With a needle? With my wifes face scratched out? Toms voice was leaden and cold. Mum, what on earth is wrong with you?
I was trying to help! Shes not right for you, you must see…
Enough! Tom barked, so savage that Margaret recoiled, and even Annie shrank back slightly. Just stop it, Mum!
He pulled a suitcase from the wardrobe, slammed it onto the bed.
Pack up. Ill drive you to the station. Now.
Tommy…
Now, Mum. I mean it.
***
Within an hour, Margaret was gone. She packed in stiff silence, Tom helping her wordlessly while Annie stood in the hallway, shaking.
When all was done, Margaret paused at the door, turning to Annie with a stare full of warning.
Youll regret this, you mark my words.
Annie said nothing. Tom hoisted the cases and left. Margaret followed. The door clicked shut.
The silence rang throughout the flat. Annie went back into what had once been her study and looked round remains of melted wax, torn photos, the bitter stink of burnt candle. She tidied up, dumping everything on the balcony, then opened the window to the November air, watching drizzle sweep along the grey rooftops.
For the first time in months, she could breathe.
Tom got home after midnight, shattered. He sank onto the bed in his clothes.
Put her on the train to Nottingham. Shes gone.
Annie sat beside him and squeezed his hand.
Im sorry.
For what?
For all of it for how things ended.
No, love. I should say sorry. I didnt see I didnt want to. Thought it was just work stress. I never realised…
He buried his face in his hands.
Shes lost it. I never thought shed go that far.
Shes so lonely. Since your dad… Tom, youre all shes got.
Doesnt excuse it, does it? What she did that was cruel.
They sat quietly. Tom hugged Annie hard, and she felt him trembling.
I was so scared youd leave. The last few weeks, you seemed so distant. I thought… I thought youd stopped loving me.
No, Tom. I just couldnt breathe.
Youll breathe again, Annie. I swear.
The morning light sifting through the curtains felt different. Annie listened for noises, but the flat was quiet no footsteps, kettles, or Margarets voice.
She wandered through the rooms. The study was hers now: empty but hers. On the kitchen counter, Tom brewed coffee.
Morning.
Morning.
They ate together in rare, companionable silence. Annie managed a piece of toast for the first time in ages.
You sure you shouldnt see the GP? Tom asked. Youre still peaky maybe Ill get you an appointment.
All right.
He booked her in at the surgery. Annie went off to work, feeling lighter, not happy exactly but as if some unseen pressure had finally lifted.
That evening, as they sat together, Tom said quietly:
About Mum she hasnt called.
Do you think shes angry?
I imagine so. But Annie, I cant cut her off entirely shes my mum. But I wont lose you ever.
I know.
Maybe when things calm down, she can come to stay I mean, just visit. For a day. Well talk, work it out.
Annie agreed. There was still a cold ache of fear inside her, but she understood what Tom meant. She couldnt ask him to cut off his mother forever.
***
The next day, Annie went to the GP. The doctor a gently-spoken older woman listened to her symptoms, then asked:
When was your last period?
Annie thought and realised she couldnt remember. It had been a tumultuous month.
Over five weeks ago, maybe longer.
Wed better run a quick test.
It was positive.
Congratulations, Annie the doctor smiled. About six weeks, Id say. The sickness and tiredness are perfectly normal. Ill refer you to the midwife.
Annie sat in the waiting room, stunned. Pregnant. A baby. Theirs.
She wept, quietly, with relief, joy, terror everything.
That night, she told Tom. He didnt believe her at first, then hugged her, whirled her round the room.
Really? Its true?
Six weeks along.
Annie, I this is everything…
They sat late, holding hands, full of plans and promises.
***
Three weeks after, Margaret still hadnt called. Tom tried, but she wouldnt pick up. Eventually, she texted: Alive and well. Dont worry. Nothing more.
Annie slowly recovered. The sickness faded a little. Her appetite came back. She and Tom cleaned and rearranged the study her study choosing new curtains, reclaiming the space at last.
The flat seemed brighter, calmer. Annie cooked things she liked for once, with Tom laughing by her side.
One evening, as they lounged together, Tom said:
When the baby comes, shell want to visit. Is that all right?
Annie thought, then nodded.
She can visit. For the day. But she wont stay here overnight, not anymore. Thats my one condition.
Deal.
And at first, the babys not to be alone with her at all not until Im sure. Maybe one day, if she changes but not now.
Agreed. Totally.
Tom, I dont want to be cruel. But I cant risk what happened not ever again. Our child wont grow up in a house where were always walking on eggshells.
No more. Well set boundaries clear, firm, together. Mum will accept them or she wont. But we come first.
Annie relaxed against him, closing her eyes. The rain battered the glass, but inside was peace.
Think well manage it? she whispered.
Manage what?
All of it the baby, us, your mum.
Well manage. Because were together. And now we finally know what not to allow.
Annie nodded. Fear lingered, but now she felt something new strength. Shed said no. Shed stood her ground. Fought for her home, her life, herself.
Tom she said, resting her hand over her belly, where their child was growing. Promise me, if it ever gets like that again, youll listen. Dont pretend everythings fine.
I promise, Annie. Ill listen. Always.
