My mother-in-law decided to put Emily to the test. The result was unexpected.
Margaret Phillips called on Thursday evening. James answered, spoke with her for about ten minutes, then walked into the kitchen wearing the expression of someone about to relay unwelcome newsbut still deciding how best to frame it.
Mums coming to stay, he said. For a couple of weeks.
Emily stirred the soup.
When?
Saturday.
She switched off the hob.
A couple of weeks. Emily knew perfectly well what a couple of weeks meant to Margaret. Just like her season with a pinch of saltvague, entirely up to interpretation.
Right on the dot of noon Saturday, Margaret knocked at the doorarriving with a large bag rattling ominously and a face that said she was here on official inspection business. The sort of glance one gives a house before buying it.
Well, she nodded around the hallway, not dusty, at least. Thats a start.
James chuckled. Emily smiled.
Thats a start, apparently, counted as a compliment.
Margaret proceeded straight to the kitchen, peeked in the fridgepurely in passing, of courseand remarked thoughtfully,
Is that one-percent milk? James really needs whole milk, his stomach and all that.
He asked for that one, Emily explained.
Oh, did he now, Margaret shut the fridge with the air of someone whos just made a vital discovery and filed it away for future reference.
That evening, after James had gone for a shower, Margaret perched on the sofa, hands folded, and spoke quite calmly, almost gently:
Emily, love, dont take this the wrong way. I just need to see what youre really like.
Margaret was a professional in these matters.
She moved softly, like a restorer peeling off old paint, methodically revealing what lay beneath. Each remark was delivered lightly, with a smile, almost innocently.
Day two, she discovered the towels.
Emily, she mused, standing in the bathroom holding a towel, did you know you should hang towels with the loop at the bottom? They dry better that way.
I always hang mine like this, Emily replied.
Mm, quite, Margaret agreed, proceeding to hang hers properlyloop down, like a new regimes flag.
Jamess shirts hung in the wardrobeironed, sorted by colour, lined up on hangers. Margaret opened the doors, stared awhile, nodded, and finally commented quietly, almost to herself,
Collars are a bit rumpled. Unless thats the fashion these days.
Emily stood by, thinking: Thats no question. Its just a statement, perfectly phrased for no reply.
The plant on the window ledgea battered old rubber plant that had endured two house moves with Emilywas, according to Margaret, being watered all wrong.
Emily, rubber plants dislike top-watering. You need to pour into the saucer.
This ones lived with me eight years, said Emily.
Well, it could have had a better life, retorted Margaret.
The plant held its peacewisely, in Emilys view.
The fridges organisation prompted a full-on tutorial: dairy on the middle shelf, meat at the bottom in a container (not loose, never loose), herbs in a bag with holes or they’ll wilt, eggs in the proper tray, not the doortheres too much jostling in the door. Emily nodded and listened. The eggs stayed in the door.
In the evenings, Margaret made phone callsEmily overheard them, not on purpose but the walls were thin and Margarets teacherly voice carried.
No, Pam, in general she tries her best. But it’s obviousshes not a natural. Makes shepherds pie with kidney beans. With beans, can you imagine! James eats it up, sensitive soul, he wouldnt complain. But I see whats what. Hangs towels all wrong. No knack with the plants either
Emily, at the sink rinsing a mug, would think: How long can this go on? Feels as if shes already failed the test. What now?
James surveyed all these goings-on with that particular male detachment that suggests: I see everything, but if I act like I havent, maybe itll solve itself.
At night he said,
Dont let her get to you. She just worries.
I know.
She doesnt mean any harm.
I know, James.
She just wants to see were all right.
I know.
He looked at hersomewhat guilty, somewhat relieved. Thank goodness she understood. Thank goodness there was no row. Thank goodness it was peaceful.
Thank goodness, Emily thought, as she went to wash up.
On the tenth day, Margaret deliberately left the kitchen a mess. Emily arrived home from work around 6:30unclean cups on the table, bread crumbs about, butter tub open. Margaret watched telly in the lounge.
Emily tidied. Washed. Wiped.
That evening, Margaret quietly told James in the hallway, certain Emily was in the bathroom:
James, have you noticed the kitchens untidy again? She cant seem to keep up.
Emily stood in the hall with a towel, listening.
James said nothing.
Well, there it is, Emily thought. Now we know.
She didnt feel especially upset. At least, not enough for anyone to notice.
But the next morning, when Margaret announced over breakfast that her three sisters would be coming next weekJust to pop in for a chat, get acquaintedEmily smiled and replied,
Lovely. Well look forward to it.
James looked mildly surprised. Margaret looked a touch wary. Emily finished her coffee and went to get ready for work.
Well see, as Margaret herself likes to say.
The guests arrived that Saturday, half past two.
Margarets sistersJoan, Florence, and Lillianwere sturdy, opinionated women of a certain age, with voices honed by a lifetime of airing views and clipping roses. They entered, took a measured look round, as experienced as warehouse inspectors, and began to take off their coats.
Nice flat, Joan observed. Plenty of light.
When did you last decorate? Lillian asked.
Three years back, Emily replied.
So I see, said Lillian. What, precisely, she saw, remained unclear.
Margaret greeted her sisters in the hall as though directing a production; James helped with their jackets. Emily stood a little apart, composed, with a faint smile and not a flicker of fuss.
Margaret picked up on this.
They moved into the front room. Sat down. Joan looked round, plumped a cushion (out of reflex), and asked,
So, Emily dear, whats on the menu today?
And herehere came the surpriseEmily did something nobody expected.
She turned to Margaret. Calmly. No drama, no acts.
Margaret, I thought perhaps youd take charge of the kitchen today. Youve said yourself your cookings far better than mine, and everyone enjoys it so much more. Id just be letting the side down in front of guests.
Silence.
Margaret turned to Emily, who met her gaze with genial openness, as though making the most reasonable suggestion in the world and wondering at the pause.
I Margaret began.
All you needs there: chicken, veg, herbsI bought in fresh this morning. James always says how good your roast is.
James, in his armchair, suddenly found the pattern on the carpet fascinating.
Florence exchanged a look with Joan. Lillian watched Margaret with growing interest.
Well, if you insist,” said Margaret at last. And headed for the kitchen.
Emily sat beside Joan, as if nothing were amiss. Was the drive up all right? Any hold-ups?
Joan, taken aback at this turn, replied. Lillian chipped in about the motorway. Florence started to bemoan the traffic in her area on a Saturday. Soon, conversation flowed absentmindedly, as conversations do when theres nothing to do but talk.
Clattering came from the kitchen.
Fridge opened. Silence. Fridge again. Cupboards. Someone searching for something elusive.
Emily! came Margarets voice from the kitchen. Wheres your roasting tin?
Bottom cupboard on the right, Emily called back.
Pause.
Cant see it.
Under the baking tray.
Longer pause.
Oh, got it.
Joan cleared her throat. Florence studied a painting on the wall. Lillian gazed innocently out the window.
Emily asked Florence, Do you take tea? Ill pop the kettle on.
Gladly, said Florence, clearly thankful for distraction.
Emily went into the kitchen, stood briefly beside Margaret, who was hovering over the worktop with the air of a general unexpectedly told to peel potatoes.
They said nothing.
Emily set the kettle, gathered cups, and left.
Dinner was servedeventually, after an hour and a half. Not the fastest, a bit haphazard, chicken a tad dry, gravy too thin. Margaret laid the table with the expression of someone dutifully getting on with a job shed very much rather not be doing.
Joan tried some chicken and said, with careful diplomacy,
Margaret, youve always cooked so well.
The table was oddly quiet. Not uncomfortably so, just quietly so. Everyone understood, and no one was about to spell it out. The guests ate, discussed their own affairs, praised the meal, less than convincingly, but with an obvious effort to be kind.
Emily said nothing special, only asking about Florences grandchildren, chatting about gardening, pouring everyones tea.
Margaret sat at the head of the table in silence.
After the guests left and the washing up was done, Margaret came out of the kitchen drying her hands on a towelthe same towel now hung loop-down.
Emily sipped her tea in the lounge; James beside her.
Margaret lingered in the doorway, then entered, sitting in an armchair. She stayed quiet for a while. Outside it was pitch dark, and the neighbours telly murmured through the wall.
You handled that cleverly, said Margaret.
I just know what I want, replied Emily.
Margaret nodded, stood, and started for her roomthen, in the doorway, added, without turning,
The shepherds pie with beans, truthfully, wasnt half bad.
And she left.
James looked up at Emily.
So when did you hatch this kitchen scheme? he asked softly.
When you said nothing in the hallway, she replied.
He nodded. And asked nothing more.
Three days later, Margaret went home. She packed herself, booked a cab. Hugged James goodbye and, after a brief hesitation, hugged Emily as well.
Emily closed the front door. Then, in the bathroom, she hung her towel back up the way she liked itloop at the top.
If Ive learnt one thing, its this: theres no need to be anyone but yourself, even under the closest scrutiny. In an English home, thats the only way to feel truly at home.
