It was a scorching July afternoon when Evelyn Margaret set about cleaning the windows, fluffing the pillows, and reminding her daughter it was high time she and Oliver paid a visit to the countryside—the garlic was ready to be picked. Emma tried to argue: work was busy, the children had things on, but her mother was as insistent as ever.
“Summer’ll be over before you know it, and you’ll still be festering in town!” she snapped over the phone. “The blackberries won’t wait, the potatoes’ll go bad, and you two will just be glued to your screens!”
In the end, they agreed—they’d come for the weekend, help in the garden, and, as usual, relax in the evening.
Oliver wasn’t keen on the trip. The last visit had ended badly, and clearly, he still hadn’t forgotten. Back then, he’d only asked for a bit of sausage to go with the roast—and his mother-in-law had outright refused, so sharply he nearly choked on the shock of it.
They left early Saturday. The work was done quickly and efficiently—garlic pulled, sorted, packed away. Now, you’d think, came the reward: a cosy evening, a proper dinner. Oliver took a shower and stepped into the kitchen. Emma and her mother were setting the table. The smell of roast beef filled the air. Not wanting to wait, he opened the fridge, grabbed a stick of Cumberland sausage, and was about to make himself a sandwich when—
“Don’t you dare!” Evelyn’s voice cut through like a gunshot.
The sausage was back in the fridge before he could blink. Oliver froze, baffled.
“What’s all this about, Mum?” Emma asked, equally confused.
“Sausages are for breakfast, with toast!” Evelyn snapped. “Right now, it’s roast beef. Don’t ruin your appetite!”
Oliver sat down, took a bite—but there was no meat in the dish. He asked for just a slice of sausage. Another refusal.
“Why are you all fixated on it?” Evelyn huffed. “You’ve already eaten half the pack! Do you know how much these cost? I bought this to last the week!”
Oliver pushed his plate away. His appetite was thoroughly gone. He got up and walked outside. Emma joined him later. Her husband was sprawled on the sofa, staring at the ceiling.
“Let’s go home. I can’t stay here. Every move feels watched, like I’m stealing from you. God forbid I spread butter too thick—she’d snatch the knife right out of my hand.”
“There isn’t even a shop here,” Emma said guiltily. “Just the mobile grocer once a week.”
“We should’ve brought food, not strawberries and plums!” Oliver scoffed. “I’m leaving tomorrow. I’ll get you and the kids later. I won’t last here without a proper meal.”
“We’ll go together,” Emma said firmly.
And that’s exactly what they did come morning. Emma lied, telling her mother Oliver had been called in for urgent work. Evelyn saw them off with a sour look.
Nearly a year passed. They didn’t visit Evelyn’s. But she, of course, visited them—often. And the oddest thing? She’d open their fridge like it was her own, taking whatever she pleased without a word. Even Oliver laughed about it:
“Look at that—sausages! Must be a different set of rules here…”
But spring brought the calls again:
“So, when are you coming? The garden won’t tend itself.”
Oliver resisted at first. But Emma had a plan.
“Let’s bring our own food. That way, Mum won’t be tallying up who’s eaten what.”
Oliver agreed—on one condition: they’d stop at the supermarket on the way. And so, there they were, standing on the cottage doorstep again in the village. With bags full.
“What’ve you got there? More plums?” Evelyn pursed her lips—but then she peeked inside and saw the cheese, the beef, the sausages. She hesitated.
“This is so you don’t have to count how many grams I’m having,” Oliver said dryly.
Evelyn sniffed but said nothing. Later, in the kitchen when no one could hear, she muttered to her daughter:
“You should always bring supplies like this. Easier for me, less stress for you.”
Emma just nodded. It was equal parts irritating and absurd. But the important thing? Oliver was willing to visit again. Even if it meant bringing groceries. At least there were no rows, no lectures. And as it turned out, that was its own kind of family peace.
