The cottage sorts everything out
Have you completely lost your senses? I told Mavis you were coming! Went out of my way so shed save you the best piece!
Helen stopped, holding the carrier bag. Her mother-in-law, Margaret, stood in the kitchen doorway, arms folded, giving her the look one reserves for a highway robber.
Margaret, Helen managed, trying to keep calm, I simply couldnt get to the market. Had to pick up your dress from the cleaners after work, then the chemist
And you couldnt ring? Warn me? Mavis waited for you, kept the shop open! She was weeping down the receiver at me for an hour about how Id let her down!
Helen set the bag on the table, anxiety gnawing inside.
The meats good, she said, showing off the packaging, look, grass-fed beef, chilled
Margaret didnt even glance at it. She went to the table, nudged the bag aside with her fingertips as if it was something distasteful.
Supermarket muck. Full of chemicals. John wont touch it cant risk his delicate stomach.
John bought that same meat last week, Helen blurted despite herself.
A mistake. Margaret flushed crimson.
Exactly! My own son does the shopping, while his wife Well, who knows what youre up to? Three years, Helen. Three years in our family, and whats changed? You cant cook, cant keep a house, no children yet
Margaret, that isnt fair.
Unfair? Margaret snorted. Id sooner have kissed my own mother-in-laws feet than dare to say a word back. And you? Always raising your nose, ignoring advice, always doing as you please
She swept through the hall, yanking her bag off the hook, every gesture making Helen flinch.
Ive told John for ages: divorce her while you still can. Find someone decent, who knows how to look after a husband
Margaret slipped on her shoes without even bothering to adjust the heels.
Helen remained at the kitchen door, white-knuckled, gripping the wood.
Goodbye, Margaret.
No reply. The door closed, leaving the flat silent. Helen slid down the wall, sitting on the cold tiled floor. The beef, still on the table, looked forlorn along with the pristine kitchen and the wedding photos on the walls, Margarets tight smile captured for posterity.
Three years. Three years of effort: learning Johns favourite childhood recipes, enduring Sunday lunches with his mother each dish accompanied by an icy comment: John likes potatoes diced, not chipped. Helen would smile, nod, apologise for things she couldn’t control.
Still, it was never enough. Still, she was better off divorced. She tipped her head back, staring at the stained ceiling. Was due a coat of paint she would mention it to John. Though now, what did it matter?
For a fortnight, Helen crept about her own home as if she were hiding out behind enemy lines. John handled Margarets calls, Sunday lunches were excused for urgent affairs, and any accidental encounters ended with a brisk Hello, and hurried escape.
Then the solicitor phoned.
Helens grandfather who shed met all of five times had passed away. Turned out, the old man left her a cottage out in the countryside, in a little parish called Dawnfield, forty miles from the city.
Best take a look, John said, fiddling with a key ring adorned with a faded strawberry. Fancy driving down Saturday?
Helen nodded. Saturday would do.
She didnt bargain on one thing.
Johnny, Im coming too! Margaret appeared at the door half-eight in the morning, rubber boots on, basket over her arm. Supposed to be good for mushrooms round there, Mavis said.
Helen silently fetched the flask. The day ahead promised to be delightful, in the most ironic sense.
The cottage was exactly as Helen had envisioned: sagging roof, thicket for a garden, a fence holding up through sheer stubbornness and two rusty nails. Inside smelled of damp and faded newsprint.
John, Helen tugged his sleeve, voice low, shouldnt we just sell? What would we do out here? Trek up every weekend to weed beds Its not us.
John was about to answer, but didnt get the chance.
Sell?! Margaret popped up behind them, as if out of nowhere. Youve lost your minds! This is land! Your own plot! Id kill for this
She pressed her hands to her chest, eyes suspiciously shiny.
Give me the keys. Ill set it all straight, plant flowers, fix the house. Next year youll be thanking me!
Helen eyed her sceptically. Margaret stood amid brambles, wellies sunk in last autumns leaves, glowing with anticipation.
Margaret, itll take
Helen, John said gently, squeezing her elbow, Let her have it. Itll make her happy. Why begrudge it?
Helen couldnt say she begrudged it she mostly felt bemused, and more than anything, wanted no argument. She handed Margaret the battered strawberry key ring.
Two months vanished in a haze. A surreal haze, during which Margaret only called to talk business, never popped round unannounced, and unbelievably didnt mention market beef, grandchildren, or potato slicing. On the phone, she sounded chipper, almost merry: Johnny, Im grand! So busy out here, must dash!
Helen was baffled. Was it a ruse? Calm before the storm? Had Margaret taken ill, but refused to say?
John, she asked one evening, Is your mum really alright?
Perfectly, John shrugged, Shes busy with the cottage. Says theres not a minute to spare.
On Friday, Margaret rang herself.
Come to the cottage tomorrow! Im doing a barbecue, must show you what Ive managed! Youll see for yourselves!
John, Id rather not go, Helen shook her head as her husband relayed the invitation. Two months of silence, and now suddenly
Shes worked hard. Shell be upset if we dont.
Shes always upset.
Please, Johns eyes pleaded like a hopeful puppy, and Helen relented.
Saturday it was.
That Saturday, Helen barely recognised Margaret.
Margaret greeted them at the gate, linen dress fluttering, arms tanned, cheeks rosy. Not the strained mask of politeness: a real, vibrant smile softened her features, making her look a decade younger.
At last! Come here! Margaret opened her arms and, surprised, Helen stepped into an embrace. Margaret smelled of earth, dill, and somehow honey.
The plot was transformed. Neat beds ran along the fence, now sturdy as ever. New blackcurrant bushes sprouted bright leaves, marigolds danced beneath the windows.
Come, come, let me show you! Margaret pulled them along, voice bubbling. Look, strawberries here the neighbour gave me this variety, should fruit by June. Tomatoes over there, cucumbers. Ill bottle up preserves come autumn all for you, Ill only keep a jar or two.
Helen exchanged startled glances with John.
Mum, you did all this yourself? he gestured.
Who else? Margaret laughed, her tone light and youthful. Ive got two good hands, and a head that still works! The ladies round here such neighbours! Nothing like back in town.
Inside, everything gleamed: clean windows, fresh curtains, a tablecloth embroidered by hand. The musty smell replaced by fresh bread and herbs.
Here, Margaret laid out a jug of milk and a parchment bundle, From Doris down the lane, she keeps goats. The meats from her too. Some cheese and cream to take with you as well.
Helen stared at the parcel. Proper meat, from a friend, no mention of Mavis or the market.
Margaret, she couldnt help but ask, Are you happy here?
Margaret sat on a stool, something soft unfamiliar flickering in her eyes.
Helen dear, she said, calling her that for the first time, This is what Ive always wanted. My own bit of land, my own little house, hands in the soil, mind at peace. I was suffocating in town, never knew why. Here
She gestured to the window.
Here, Im alive.
The drive home was quiet. John steered, while milk and cheese rattled in the back.
So, he said at length, Maybe its time we had children. Somewhere nice to send them over the summer.
Helen snorted, but grinned.
You know, I wanted to sell the place. That first day. Thought, whats the use in a wreck like that.
I remember.
But that cottage Helen searched for words, Its fixed everything. Between me and your mum. Did in two months what I couldnt manage in three years.
John paused at the lights and looked her way.
Mum was just unhappy. Not anymore.
Helen nodded. The city lights flickered outside, their flat beckoned wedding photos waiting and for the first time in three years, she was glad to be going home.
We should visit her more, she whispered.
And she was surprised at herself, at how wholeheartedly she meant it. Wholeheartedly with all her heart.
