Elizabeth shuddered at the sharp ring of the telephone. The screen displayed “Margaret Whitmore”—her mother-in-law’s third call that morning. Drawing a deep breath, Elizabeth pressed the green button.
“Yes, Margaret, I’m here.”
“Ellie, why on earth don’t you answer?” Margaret’s voice dripped with reproach. “I’ve been ringing and ringing!”
“I was making porridge for Emily—my hands were full,” Elizabeth lied, though in truth, she’d simply dreaded another lecture on her parenting.
“Porridge again! I’ve told you—children need meat! My William grew up on proper meals, and look how strong he is! Your Emily’s pale as a ghost—a stiff breeze could carry her off.”
Elizabeth closed her eyes and counted to five. Their daughter was only three, and the doctor had assured them she was healthy—just slight, like her father’s side.
“Margaret, she eats meat too. Today we’re having meatballs for lunch.”
“Well, that’s something! Actually, that’s why I called. I’ll pop round today with some proper chicken broth—made with bones, the way William likes. And I’ve made my famous rissoles. None of these modern meatballs…”
Elizabeth winced. The way Margaret said “meatballs” made them sound like poison.
“There’s no need—we’ve plenty here,” she protested weakly.
“Nonsense! A grandmother can visit her only granddaughter, can’t she? Or am I forbidden now?”
That was Margaret’s signature move—framing any refusal as cruelty.
“Of course you’re welcome,” Elizabeth surrendered.
Hanging up, she pressed her forehead to the cool windowpane. Outside, sparse snowflakes dusted the bare branches. November had been dreary.
“Mummy, who was that?” Emily peered from her room, clutching a worn stuffed rabbit.
“Granny Margaret’s coming today,” Elizabeth forced a smile.
“Will she say I don’t eat enough again?” The girl frowned.
Elizabeth’s heart ached. Even a child noticed the constant criticism.
“Granny just loves you very much and wants you to grow up strong.”
Emily looked unconvinced but nodded and returned to her toys.
Elizabeth began cleaning. Though she and William preferred a lived-in home, Margaret expected spotlessness—anything less invited comments about “raising germs in squalor.”
Two hours later, the flat gleamed. She’d even baked an apple pie—the one dish Margaret reluctantly praised.
William was due back from work by lunch. They both usually worked remotely—he as a software engineer, she a graphic designer—but today he’d gone to the office for a client meeting.
The doorbell rang precisely at two. Margaret was Swiss-clock punctual.
“Hello, dear!” Margaret bustled in, arms laden with bags, her dyed chestnut hair perfectly set. “And where’s my angel?”
Emily shyly appeared.
“Come here, darling! Granny’s brought treats!”
The girl approached and dutifully offered her hand—a habit Margaret had instilled, insisting little girls must be “proper young ladies.”
“Hand-kissing is for grown women,” Margaret tutted, bending to hug her instead. “At sixteen, you may offer your hand to gentlemen. For Granny, a simple ‘hello’ will do.”
Elizabeth rolled her eyes when Margaret wasn’t looking. The woman’s contradictory rules could fill a book.
“Margaret, let me help with those bags,” Elizabeth offered.
“Oh, yes—take them to the kitchen. I’ve cooked enough to last the week! William needs proper meals, not whatever you throw together.”
In the kitchen, Margaret took command:
“Ellie, fetch the large pot. No, not that plastic thing—a proper one! And why is your bread in the fridge? Bread mustn’t be refrigerated—it goes stale!”
Elizabeth bit her tongue, fetching items on demand. After six years of marriage, she’d grown accustomed to Margaret’s unwavering certainty about everything.
“Emily looks peaky,” Margaret remarked, unpacking containers of homemade dishes. “Are you taking her out? Giving her vitamins?”
“We walk daily when the weather allows. And she takes the multivitamin the paediatrician recommended.”
“Paediatricians!” Margaret sniffed. “What do young doctors know? In my day…”
Here we go, Elizabeth thought.
“In my day, children played outside from dawn till dusk! And we toughened them up! I had William out in all weathers. And look how hardy he turned out!”
Elizabeth didn’t mention that William had suffered chronic bronchitis and tonsillitis as a child.
“Margaret, I’ve made pie. Would you like tea?”
“Lunch first. Everything in order. And where’s William? Why isn’t he home yet?”
As if summoned, the front door clicked.
“Ah, there he is!” Margaret brightened.
William entered, eyeing the shoes piled in the hall.
“Mum? You might’ve said you were coming.”
“I did! I rang Ellie this morning!” Margaret huffed.
Elizabeth gave William a guilty look—she’d forgotten to text him amid the chaos.
“Well, hello, Mum.” William hugged her. “How are you?”
“Oh, mustn’t grumble… Blood pressure’s up, ankles swell by evening. But we soldier on, don’t we? Wouldn’t want to burden anyone.”
Another classic—”not complaining” while listing ailments, and “not burdening” while hinting at neglect.
“Get changed quickly—I’ll heat lunch. I’ve been cooking your favourites since breakfast.”
William shot Elizabeth an apologetic glance. He knew how these visits wore on her.
Over lunch, Margaret reminisced about William’s childhood brilliance.
“Reading by four! And his recitations—marvellous! Emily, do you learn poems?”
The girl poked at her plate.
“She knows several,” Elizabeth interjected. “Em, tell Granny the one about the bear.”
“Don’t want to,” Emily mumbled.
“There, you see, William.” Margaret threw up her hands. “She’s becoming quite withdrawn. She ought to be in nursery—mixing with other children.”
“Mum, we’ve discussed this,” William said firmly. “We’re waiting until she’s four. No need to rush.”
“Rush? I put you in nursery at two, and you turned out splendidly! But she’s practically feral—shy, picky…”
Emily pushed her plate away.
“May I go play?”
“Certainly not until you finish,” Margaret decreed.
“Just a few more bites, love,” Elizabeth added gently, though inwardly seething.
Emily forced down a morsel.
“That’s better,” Margaret approved. “You indulge her too much. Children need discipline. When I raised William…”
And off she went, recounting her impeccable parenting.
After lunch, Margaret insisted Emily nap.
“Children must rest in the day! It’s essential!”
Elizabeth nearly objected—Emily had outgrown naps, and forcing one would mean a midnight bedtime—but William subtly shook his head: easier to acquiesce.
“Just quiet time,” he whispered.
While Margaret fussed over Emily, Elizabeth set out tea and pie.
“Hopeless,” Margaret returned half an hour later. “Children today have no respect! In my day, they obeyed!”
In your day, they were beaten for disobedience, Elizabeth nearly retorted but held her tongue.
“She’s just not tired yet,” William soothed. “Mum, try the pie—Ellie made it specially.”
Margaret scrutinised her slice.
“Not from a shop mix, I hope? Those dreadful ready-made…”
“All homemade,” Elizabeth assured. “Flour, eggs, apples from your garden.”
This mollified Margaret slightly.
“Well, you’ve improved. I remember when you married, you couldn’t even fry an egg properly.”
Elizabeth said nothing, though she could’ve mentioned her decade of independent living and perfectly adequate cooking—just not to Margaret’s exacting standards.
“William, dear,” Margaret leaned in, “could you come round this week? The kitchen tap’s dripping, and the cupboard light’s gone. I daren’t climb the stepladder—what if I fall and break my hip? Who’d want me then?”
“Of course, Mum,” William said guiltily. “Wednesday?”
“Wednesday’s my bridge club… Couldn’t you manage Tuesday?”
“Tuesday’s the client pitch,” William apologised.
“Oh, well. I’ll manage with the drip,” Margaret sighed. “Not the first time.”
Elizabeth clenched her jaw. Always the same—subtle guilt-tripping.
“I’ll come tonight and look at it,” William relented.
Margaret brightened instantly.
“Lovely! And while you’re there, perhaps the hallway wallpaper—it’s been five years. Quite shabby now.”
“Where’s Emily? It’s too quiet,” Elizabeth realised suddenly.
“In her room, looking at books. I told her to tidy her toys,” Margaret said.
Elizabeth went to check and froze. Emily was carefully cutting pictures from a brand-new book—a rare illustrated edition William had ordered speciallyWhen Elizabeth gently took the ruined book from Emily’s hands and saw the tearful confusion in her daughter’s eyes, she knew in that moment that while grandmothers might come and go with their opinions, the quiet strength of a mother’s love would always be the steady compass guiding their family home.
