“No, no, and absolutely not! Margaret, you must understand—it’s simply impossible! We’ve only a small flat, not even a proper two-bedroom!” Edward paced the kitchen, arms flailing like a windmill.
“Oh, don’t be so dramatic, Eddie! The nursery’s snug, but I’ll fit perfectly. Little Oliver needs looking after—haven’t you noticed how exhausted Emily is?” Margaret folded her hands over her ample bosom, gazing at her son-in-law as if she were bestowing a favour by agreeing to stay.
“Mum, we’re managing, truly!” Emily interjected from the doorway, cradling the baby. “Edward’s right—there’s hardly space.”
“Emily, don’t meddle! ‘Managing’? Look at yourself—dark circles, no sleep, thin as a rake! If this goes on, you’ll drive each other to divorce!”
Edward inhaled sharply, forcing calm into his voice. “Margaret, Emily and I have been married five years. Never once have we quarrelled badly. A baby won’t change that.”
“Youth!” Margaret rolled her eyes. “You think you know everything! Have you considered how taxing childbirth is? Who’ll brew her fortifying teas? Stew bone broth to help her milk?”
Emily suppressed a groan. Once her mother started on tonics and broths, arguing was futile.
“I’ve already packed,” Margaret continued briskly. “My return ticket’s for two months’ time. I’ll help set things right, then we’ll see.”
“Two months?!” Edward and Emily cried in unison.
Ignoring them, Margaret bustled to the hall where two enormous suitcases waited. “Edward, be a dear and carry these to the nursery. And move Oliver’s cot into your room—I’ll take the settee. I’m not fussy.”
Edward shot his wife a desperate look, but she only shrugged helplessly. Resisting Margaret’s will was impossible—especially now, sleepless and frayed from newborn chaos.
“Fine,” Edward gritted out. “But a month. No longer.”
“A month, two—what’s the difference?” Margaret waved a dismissive hand. “We’ll see how things go.”
Emily forced a smile and hurried off to nurse Oliver, while Edward trudged after the luggage.
Margaret’s arrival upended their routines at once. She became a generalissimo, dictating feeding times, walks, baths, even Edward’s work schedule. “Edward! How disgraceful—going to work in a wrinkled shirt! What will your colleagues think?”
“Margaret, I usually iron evenings, but you had the telly blaring last night—Oliver wouldn’t sleep, so I was rocking him till midnight.”
“Exactly!” she crowed. “You’d be lost without me! Hand it here—I’ll press it. And mark this: my programmes are sacred. Forty years of evening telly—I shan’t break tradition!”
After a week, Edward felt his sanity fraying. He couldn’t speak to Emily without Margaret’s interruptions, couldn’t cradle Oliver without her correcting his hold, couldn’t eat without commentary on every bite.
“We must talk,” Edward whispered once Margaret left for the shops. “This can’t go on. Your mother’s taken over.”
“I know,” Emily sighed. “But what can I do? You know her—once she’s set her mind, there’s no shifting her. If I ask her to leave, she’ll never forgive me.”
“So we live like this? A foursome—counting Oliver? Emily, this isn’t normal! This is our family, our home!”
“She does help,” Emily said weakly. “I’m actually resting now, when she takes Oliver out… Maybe we endure it? She did say two months.”
“You believe that?” Edward scoffed. “I’d wager she’s plotting to sell her house and move in permanently.”
The front door clattered—Margaret was back.
Edward changed tactics. If he couldn’t oust her directly, he’d make her want to leave. He stayed late at work, but she simply waited up with supper. “Edward! Family comes first—lingering at the office is shameful.”
Next, he became an insufferable housemate: blared rock music she hated, strewed his belongings about, hijacked the telly for football. Undaunted, Margaret stuffed her ears with cotton, tidied his messes, and recorded her soaps on the ancient VCR she’d brought.
“Are you waging war on me, Edward?” she asked bluntly one evening. “Waste of effort, dear. I’ve patience enough. And I’m here for your family’s good.”
Edward had no retort. He’d gone too far—yet retreat was impossible.
Then, one morning, he overheard her phone call. “Nancy, imagine the luck! Their flat’s darling, Emily’s hopeless with the baby, and Edward? Well, he’ll adjust. I’m thinking—ought I let my house? Extra income, and I’ll stay here indefinitely. The neighbours should thank me—my telly drowns out Oliver’s wailing!”
Edward’s vision darkened. She meant to stay forever! Desperate measures were needed.
That evening, he crept into the nursery and rummaged through her luggage—finding her return ticket. The train left in three days.
Suddenly, Edward became the model son-in-law: agreeable, even washing up after supper. Margaret eyed him suspiciously but held her tongue.
Next day, he arrived home early with a grand bouquet. “For you, Margaret—thank you for all your help.”
Flustered, she accepted, muttering about a mother’s duty.
“I’ve been thinking,” Edward pressed on. “We’ve shown you nothing of London. How about tomorrow—the theatre? I’ve tickets to a splendid play.”
Margaret brightened. “Oh, Eddie, how lovely! Which play?”
“A surprise.” He smiled mysteriously. “You’ll adore it.”
That night, she was nearly pleasant. Emily watched Edward, baffled. Once Margaret retired, he whispered his plan.
“Edward, that’s deceitful!” Emily gasped. “She’ll be furious.”
“And her scheming to live here permanently—isn’t that deceit? Margaret’s wonderful, but this is our family, our rules. I’ll simply see her home—where she belongs.”
Reluctantly, Emily agreed.
Next day, Edward summoned a cab, and they set off—not to the theatre, but to King’s Cross.
“Why are we here?” Margaret frowned as the cab halted.
“Margaret, we know you planned to stay indefinitely,” Edward said evenly. “Emily and I are grateful, but… we need to learn on our own.”
“You’re ejecting me!” Margaret spluttered. “And I thought we were theatre-bound! Ungrateful child!”
“Mum, please,” Emily said softly. “We do appreciate you. But it’s time. Look—first-class ticket, air-conditioned carriage. And neighbours seem pleasant—I checked.”
Edward handed over the ticket and an envelope. “For the cab home, and a little extra. We’ve ordered groceries for your return.”
Margaret stared, stunned, then slowly took them.
“We’ll see you off,” Emily said, guiding her mother.
To Edward’s shock, Margaret didn’t protest. Perhaps she knew her plan had failed.
“Very well,” she muttered at the platform. “But don’t come crying when you’re overwhelmed. Who’ll read Oliver his bedtime stories now? He’s grown fond of my voice…”
“I will,” Edward said firmly. “And I’ll sing lullabies.”
“You?” Margaret scoffed. “Tone-deaf as a post! Poor child…”
As the train pulled away, they waved until the last carriage vanished. Then Emily burst out laughing.
“What?” Edward asked.
“Just picturing Mum telling the neighbours you kidnapped her onto a train!”
Edward laughed too, tension easing at last. Hand in hand, they left the station.
“You know,” Emily mused, “she did teach me so much—how to swaddle Oliver just right, brew teas for colic…”
“Then her visit wasn’t wasted,” Edward smiled. “But now we’re ourselves again. Well—you, me, and Oliver.”
Home was blissfully quiet. No commentary, no blaring telly. That evening, rocking Oliver, Edward reflected: Margaret’s stay, however vexing, had drawn them closer.
“Perhaps,” he said later, “we might invite her for a fortnight next summer. When Oliver’s six months. Only a fortnight, mind!”
Emily beamed. “Really? She’d be thrilled.”
“On one condition: no evening soaps at full volume.”
“Agreed.” Emily laughed, hugging him. “I love you.”
“And I you,” Edward said, kissing her. “And our son. And even your mother… occasionally… from a distance.”
