Chop that salad up a bit finer, would you said Margaret, then caught herself. Ah, sorry, love, Im doing it again
No, its alright Rachel smiled. Youre right, really. Tom does prefer it diced small. Show me how you do it?
Her mother-in-law demonstrated with the knife.
Hello, Rachel. Is Tom in?
Margaret stood in the doorway, as always, her old coat with the mink collar buttoned up and everything in its proper place: her sharp grey eyes lined, lips carefully painted, silver curls arranged as primly as ever. That worn-out ring with the cloudy amethyst glinting on her right hand.
Hes away on business Rachel answered. Didnt you know?
Is he? Margaret frowned. He didnt mention. Thought Id pop in for the day, see the grandkids before New Year.
Suddenly, Sophie burst out of the living room blonde pigtails flying, brown eyes bright, that endearing tooth-gap showing as she grinned. Grandma!
Margaret had swept through the door, peeling off her coat, kissing her granddaughter on the head before Rachel barely had a moment to breathe. Watching them, she felt that twist in her stomach. Six years. Six years shed endured this oversight.
I wont be long Margaret announced, glancing around the hallway. Just wanted to see the children and then Ill be off.
But fate had other ideas.
About two hours later, Margaret stepped out on the porch she never smoked around the kids and Rachel appreciated that and missed the icy step.
Rachel heard the cry and the heavy thud. Rushed outside and found her mother-in-law crumpled on the path, pale as chalk, clutching her leg.
Dont move Rachel knelt down, grabbing her phone. Ill ring for an ambulance.
The next four hours blurred together: the hospital, X-rays, waiting at A&E, that sharp tang of antiseptic everywhere. Broken ankle. Not serious, but a cast for six weeks is no joke.
Shes not going anywhere, the young doctor said, scribbling away. At least a week, strictly bed rest. Then crutches. No way shes getting on a train with that cast.
Rachel nodded in silent resignation.
In the car on the way home the silence was tense. Margaret stared out the window, twisting her ring restlessly. Rachel drove, thinking only of how the holiday had ended up completely ruined.
Seven days. At least a week under one roof with her. Without Tom. Just them. Well, four, if you count the kids. But children dont count in that quiet household stand-off.
On New Years Eve, Rachel was up at six.
Chop salads, roast something, figure out what to serve hot. Kids would wake up wanting food. Margaret would wake up wanting to instruct.
And so she did.
Youre chopping those bits far too big Margaret said, shuffling over on her crutches to the kitchen table. Salads best fine, makes it tender.
I know Rachel replied quietly.
And youve put far too much mayo. The whole thing will swim.
I know.
Tom likes more sweetcorn in his, you know.
Rachel put the knife down.
Margaret, Ive made this salad for twelve years. I know how it goes.
Im only trying to help
Thanks. But Ive got it.
Margaret pursed her lips Rachel knew that expression by heart by now and hobbled off to the lounge. The white cast flashed past the door, crutches thudding dully. Rachel grabbed her phone and slipped out onto the balcony.
Outdoors, it was so quiet now the holidays are all silent, no fireworks, just the odd fairy-light in a window.
She whispered into the phone to her friend Helen I swear I cant do this anymore. Shell be here all week, Toms just gone off, its like he hasnt even noticed. Six years and Im holding it together by pure grit. If it goes on, Ill just take the kids and leave.
She didnt know that behind the balcony doors, curled up by the Christmas tree, Margaret was listening. Hearing every word.
They greeted New Years in utter silence.
Sophie and Jack fell asleep by eleven, not even reaching midnight. Rachel and Margaret sat at the table salads, cold meats, TV humming quietly, songs drifting. They hardly looked at each other.
Happy New Year Rachel said when the clock struck midnight.
Happy New Year Margaret replied.
Glasses clinked. Each took a sip. Then off to bed.
On the first of January, Tom called.
Mum, how are you? Rachel, is she alright?
Shes okay Rachel replied. Cast and all. Week in bed, then well see.
Are you getting along alright?
Rachel paused, looking at the closed lounge door.
Were managing.
Rachel, Im sorry. I know its tough
Youre away, Tom. Youre there, and Im here. With your mum. For the holidays. Lets just not talk about it.
She hung up and broke down, quietly so no one could hear. In the bathroom, water turned on full. Brown eyes with dark circles stared back at her from the mirror.
Thirty-two, two children, six years of marriage. And the feeling shes frozen in someone elses cold, unfamiliar life.
That same morning, Margaret asked Rachel to fetch her documents from her handbag.
Passport and code, please she explained. I want to book a follow-up with my GP.
Rachel opened the old leather bag and rummaged. Receipts, a notebook, passport Suddenly, she came across an old photograph and, thinking it was some paperwork, she pulled it out automatically.
It was a black-and-white photo, worn at the edges. A young woman in a wedding gown. Maybe twenty-five, maybe a touch older. Beautiful but clearly weeping. Eyes puffy, mascara smudged, lips trembling.
Rachel turned the photo over. Faded ink read: The day I realised Id never belong. 15 August 1990.
Rachel just stared at it for a long time. Then at the writing. Then at the photo again. 1990. Thirty-four years ago. Margaret is sixty-one now. So that was her at twenty-five. A bride. In tears.
Did you find the documents? Rachel startled. Margaret stood in the doorway on her crutches.
I Rachel wanted to hide the picture but it was too late. Her mother-in-law had seen.
Her face changed in an instant. Something painful flickered in her grey eyes fear, maybe, or an old shame.
Pass it here.
Rachel handed it over, silent. Margaret gazed at it for a long while before slipping it into her dressing gown pocket.
Passports in the side pocket. Left hand side.
And she went.
Then, in the middle of the night on the third, Rachel woke to a curious rustling. Jack was curled up next to her, ever since Tom left. Sophie snored in her own little bed. The sound came from the lounge.
Rachel crept out quietly. In the dark glow of the blue fairy lights on the tree, she found Margaret, the plastered leg propped up, clutching that photograph.
Cant sleep? Rachel asked softly. Margaret started. My leg aches And otherwise
Rachel sat beside her, on the arm of the chair. The air was scented with oranges and pine. Fairy lights twinkling blue, gold, blue
Is that you in the wedding dress?
A long, heavy pause.
It is.
What happened, if you dont mind me asking?
Margaret spoke quietly, voice flat, eyes unfocused past the tree.
My old mother-in-law. Victors mum. She she broke me. Shattered me in three years.
Rachel held her breath.
Hated me for being different. I was a simple girl from the outskirts, and they well, they considered themselves a cut above. Victor picked me, and she never forgave him. Or me. The lectures, every day.
Everything I did from soup to shirts, from looking after Tom. She said I didnt deserve her son. Shed say it in front of him. In front of friends, neighbours, anyone.
Rachel recognised every single word.
Three years and I collapsed. Ended up in hospital.
Nervous break. Popping sedatives like sweets. Hands so shaky I couldnt even dish up stew. Doctors told Victor: either she moves out, or your wife wont make it. Victor chose me. Gave his mother the ultimatum. And she left.
And what then?
Then, she was gone. Six months later. Heart gave out I never got the chance. Not to forgive, nor say goodbye. All I have left is this ring. In her will, she wrote: To the daughter-in-law who took my son. Ive worn it for thirty years. Every day. To remember.
To remember what?
Finally, Margaret looked at Rachel. In the twinkling light, her eyes shone with tears.
I swore then never to become her. Never to torment my sons wife. Never to destroy his family with my own jealousy.
She dropped her head.
And I never realised when I became even worse.
Silence hung between them, just the distant crackle of the fairy lights power pack.
I heard your call Margaret said. On the balcony, that night. You said youd leave. Take the children. Because of me.
Rachels breath caught.
Margaret
Dont. I get it. Six years Ive come and only made things difficult. Interfering, picking at you, sticking my nose in where its not wanted. I convinced myself Im helping! I know best! Im the mum But really, Im just scared. Scared Tom will pick you, forget me. Like Victor picked me and forgot his mum. And in that fear Ive pushed it to happen faster.
Rachel sat in silence. Not sure what to say.
In that photograph, Im crying because just before, my mother-in-law told me: Youll never fit in this family. Youre a stranger here and always will be. Have I ever said anything like that to you?
Rachel lowered her eyes.
Not in words, no. But
But I made you feel it.
Yes.
Margaret nodded. Slowly, heavily.
Forgive me, Rachel. I didnt mean to. Truly I didnt. Thought I was different. But I never noticed how fear made me exactly the same.
They sat there until dawn. Talking. Falling quiet, talking again. Margaret told Rachel about Victor, whod passed seven years ago. How quiet the flat is when youre petrified your only son will move away, stop calling
Rachel spoke about her exhaustion. How it feels to be invisible in your own home. How she wanted to be good enough, but nothing ever seemed to work out.
As grey dawn crept past the window, Margaret said:
You know whats my biggest fear? That one day, Sophie gets married and I become the same looming shadow for her husband Ive been for you. Its like a sickness, it runs in families. My mother-in-law did it to me, I did it to you. This chain needs breaking.
Rachel took her hand. For the first time in six years.
Break it, then.
Ill try, love. I promise.
On the fifth of January, they cooked together.
Chop the salad finer Margaret started, then stopped herself. Oh, sorry, darling. Im at it again
No, its alright Rachel laughed. Youre right. Tom does like it small. Show me your way.
Her mother-in-law showed her. Then taught her how and when to salt, how to mix so the veg wouldnt turn to mush. Sophie circled, pinching sweetcorn straight from the tin.
Jack played in the next room.
Grandma Sophie asked, why didnt you stay with us for ages before?
Margaret caught Rachels eye. Rachel smiled warmly.
Grandma used to be very busy. But shell visit more often now. Right?
Right Margaret replied.
As long as you ask!
We will! Promise!
That evening Margaret called Rachel over.
Sit down, love.
Rachel sat beside her on the sofa. Margaret slipped off that old amethyst ring, fiddled with it.
My mother-in-laws ring. Only thing she ever left me. Thirty years I wore it as a reminder of the sting of being the outsider.
She took Rachels hand and slipped the ring onto her finger.
Now its yours. But let it remind you of something else. That things can change. That old hurts can be let go.
Margaret
Mum. You can call me Mum. If you want.
Rachel tried to say something, but her voice caught. She just hugged Margaret for the first time in all those long years.
Outside, snow fell soundlessly, thick and soft for once, it really felt like proper Christmas weather. The tree winked in the corner, lights flickering. Sophies laughter floated in from the other room.
Rachel realized, quite suddenly, the holidays werent ruined at all. They had just, at last, truly begun.
Thats the way it goes, really: sometimes, you have to slip on an icy step to find the path to anothers heart. Because the most tangled knots never unravel by force, only with a sincere Im sorry.
Happy New Year, my dear friend. Wishing you peace and plenty of love.
Ever managed to find common ground with someone just when youd lost all hope of understanding?
