The Second Mother-in-Law
A woman in a cleaners uniform peered carefully into the office of the owner of Eclipse Aesthetic Surgery Clinic. Her name was Janet, and she was doing her best to keep her voice down so as not to annoy the Big Boss.
I heard theres a job going for a junior masseuse, she whispered.
Tim Graham looked up, eyebrows drawn together in a glare that could cut glass. The day was off to a cracking start: hed just learned his big investor deal had crumbled to dust, and his head pounded like an apprentice drummer.
You, with the mopyou reckon youre going to massage our clients?!
Not really, sir. But Ive done online courses. And I wrote a CV, Janet mumbled, producing a well-crumpled sheet from her pocket.
Just then, Tims deputyLeonard Shawwalked in. Tim, massaging his temples, lost his patience entirely.
Leo, whats with the cleaners wandering in whenever they fancy? Throw her out. The mop lady thinks shes Florence Nightingale! Boot her and make it clear not to bother me with such nonsense again!
He grabbed Janets CV, tore it into confetti, and tossed it right at her feet.
Janet, biting her lip, crouched down to collect the sad remains. Tears threatened to fall. Without ceremony, Leonard hooked her by the elbow and marched her into the corridor, through the curious stares of customers and staff, and into the supplies closet.
She collapsed onto the edge of an antique sand box meant for emergency fires, which looked as though Noah himself might have used it, and sobbed her heart out.
Janet had only been at Eclipse a short while. Shed never dreamed of cleaning floors, but it paid more than anywhere else. Even the great Tim Nicholas Graham was someone people respected. Self-made man, that one. Built his clinic with his own hands, people whispered reverently.
And true enoughTim had grown up in a childrens home. Hed never known his parents, spent years hunting for any trace of them, and failed. But hed made it: first as a surgeon, then a star in aesthetic medicine. Even London stage actresses came to see him, and every year hed turn up the prices and treat himself to whatever he fancied.
Thats why Janet took the gambleshed heard about the vacancy and thought she owed it to herself to try.
Janet wanted, more than anything, to become a massage therapist. Shed read textbooks, followed the curriculum of a medical college as best she could. But no official diploma meant employers wouldnt touch her for the real job. Shed been saving for a proper course when her husband legged it, taking every penny and leaving her and their little girl flat broke.
Later, shed learn that Dave had a criminal record for petty grifting and had fabricated most of his life story. The divorce dragged on; Dave never bothered to show up for court. For her daughter Lucys sake, Janet endured it all, and thats when her troubles really piled up.
No one wanted to hire a woman with a child. The three of themJanet, Lucy, and Grandma Margaretcrammed into a poky studio flat. Every so often, they lived solely on Margarets pension. Grandma, an irrepressible optimist and a retired gymnast, had nerves of steel. She took charge of Lucy so Janet could at least hold down some kind of job.
Eventually, working towards her dream, Janet completed a budget massage course. The certificatenow in tattershad just been shredded by Graham.
Janet wiped her tears, stood up, and went back to mopping floors. People shot her side glances and whispered. At home, however, Grandma greeted her with good news: Lucy had won the drawing contest at preschool. Her daughter had a real gift, and Janet tried hard to buy her decent paints and art supplies. Lucy was already in the foundation class at the art school. That felt like a miracle.
The mop bucket felt heavier every day. This time, as Janet heaved it out, old Fred Johnsonthe caretaker and only person at the clinic who didnt look down his nose at hercame to the rescue, wrestling the weight away from her. Fred, well past retirement age, had a soft spot for Janet and the cheek to chuckle under his breath about Mr Grahams airs and graces, considering the man had started out as poor as any of them.
Fred never once said a harsh word to Janet. Instead, he brought her homemade pasties on weekends, cheered her up, and always had an encouraging word. Thanks to him, Janet had finally summoned the courage to approach the clinic boss with her hopeless CV.
When she saw Fred, she burst into tears again.
Never mind, love. Things will change, he said, patting her shoulder.
I wish Id never tried. Why did I bother? she sniffled.
Tims having one of his days. Try again, maybe tomorrow, Fred suggested gently.
They told me never to go near him again, Janet replied gloomily. I was deluded, thinking I could move up from nothing, like he did. Thought Tim would appreciate that, but hes just a snob clutching his precious diploma.
Fred only shrugged.
Later, as Janet put the mop away and trudged home, she worried about money. Lucy had pleaded for some expensive toy, but the means to get it were a mystery.
At home, nothing was as it should be. Grandma Margaret sat in the living room, clearly holding back tears. Janets heart clenched; her mother was a tough old bird. If she was crying, something serious was up.
Mum, whats happened? Janet asked, worried.
Oh, nothing, really, Margaret replied, waving her off unconvincingly.
Mum, come on, spit it out, Janet insisted.
Margaret began to cry in earnest.
I was at the doctors for the theatres regular check-upeveryone, even the costume department had to go. They found well, something worrying. Ill need surgery, orIve got a year at most. The waiting list is endless. We cant pay privately. And the tests have to be done in London. Trains, scans, everything Well, looks like my numbers up.
Dont talk like that, Mum. Janet jumped to her feet. Well think of something.
On your cleaners wage and my pension? Margaret gave a hollow laugh. Sure, darling. But theres only so much you can make from nothing.
Janet lay awake all night, spinning options round and round in her head. By morning, shed decided: she had no choice. Shed have to try again to see Graham, no matter the risk.
But that day, she wasnt even let into the clinic. They told her, in the kindest possible way, shed been made redundant. She got three weeks statutory redundancybare minimumand was sent packing.
Fred the caretaker insisted she write down his phone number before she went. Janet entered it, numb and lost. What now? They might stretch the money for a month, but after that?
Quitting wasnt in Janets vocabulary. She told Margaret about the firing as if it was her own decision, then began searching for jobs. Without qualifications, everything paid peanuts. Then she spotted an ad: a live-in carer needed. No medical training required, just the willingness to cook, clean, and help in the house.
Janet sighed. Hardly more humiliating than mopping floors in a clinic. She sent in her CV and got a call within the houran agency vacancy for an elderly, wealthy employer.
They asked her to come in with her certificates and references. Before long, she was sitting across from Tamara, the head of HR. Tamara, ice-queen to the core, wasted no time:
Ill be straight. No rose-tinted glasses here: the client is difficult. Youll be the tenth carer. No one lasts.
Janet tensed but said nothing.
Youll have heard the name. Mrs Emma Mallory, though thats a stage name. Changed her name ages ago, keeps her real one under wraps. Retired opera diva, temper like a thundercloud, but plenty of money. Rumour has it her wealthy admirers set her up for life.
Ill be honestanythings better than nothing right now, said Janet.
If youve a child, know this: Mallory cant stand children. Or pets. She uses a zimmer, but likes to be pushed in a wheelchair. Im warning you: three months probation. If you last, youll get a years contract and double the pay.
Janet nodded. Even the current rate was twice her last job. It might save her mother. She wasnt letting this chance slip.
She had to start the very next morning7 a.m. sharp.
That night, Janet tried to find anything about Mrs Mallory online. A few old news items from a decade agothere she was: a stout, imperious woman with jet-black hair and piercing eyes. None of which prepared Janet for reality.
A security guard opened the door. Turned out, Mrs Mallory owned an entire mansion in Chelsea. Janet nearly tripped over designer rugs, gawping at all that grandeur.
What are you gawping at? Looking for something to pinch? a rasping voice cut through the silence.
Into the grand hall rolled a top-of-the-line electric wheelchair. Seated on it: a tiny, birdlike old woman, skin and bones, hair now pure white, but eyes sharp as knitting needles.
Morning, Mrs Mallory, Janet muttered.
Speak up. Dont mumble, barked the lady. Keep your hands where I can see them. And dont forget the shoe covers. My parquet is one-of-a-kind. Shoe covers are in that bucketput them on and get a move on. I want my breakfast.
Janet scrambled to put on the soft, fabric covers, more like shower caps than anything medical, and hurried after her employer.
Brush my hair. Gently, Mrs Mallory snarled. Not that, nogood grief. Dense as a plank. Remove the hairnet, then brush the wig and fix it properly.
Sorry, Im not quite sure Janet faltered.
Ugh, another useless one. Where do they find you people? Now, bring me tea. Not cold. Now!
Janet scurried to the kitchen.
Stop stomping! Do you want my floorboards to crack? Walk more gently; youre getting on my nerves!
Mrs Mallory examined her tea as though expecting to find poison. She grimaced, then, without warning, splashed the hot drink right at Janets face.
You jogged my elbow. All your fault.
Janet took a deep breath.
Right. Is there somewhere I can wash up?
Servants bathroom, ground floor, by the door, Mrs Mallory snapped, then narrowed her eyes, Arent you going to answer back?
What would be the point? Janet replied calmly. Now Im just curious how many more tricks you have up your sleeve.
Ha. Off you go, Mrs Mallory huffed. There are towels there. Grab a guest pyjama tooput your clothes in the laundry.
Janet did as instructed and returned. All day, Mrs Mallory entertained herself by tormenting the new carer: nitpicking, humiliating, setting little traps. It was clearly a test. So Janet put up with it in silence, determined that the old bats imagination couldnt last forever.
By evening, Mrs Mallory actually tired herself out and quieted down. Before bed, Janet gave her a gentle massage. She waited until the lady was asleep, put the wig on its stand, and left, nodding to the amazed security guard.
The next morning, her replacement greeted her. He looked cheerful.
What did you do to Mrs Mallory yesterday? Shes still sleeping like a babyhousekeeper Jenny told me.
Nothing special, Janet shrugged. Maybe she was just worn out.
That morning, Mrs Mallory was full of beans and immediately declared that Janet dressed with no taste and would never find a man with a face like thatno makeup at all. Janet nodded meekly as she prepared her employers toiletries. The wig was simpler now.
Later, Mrs Mallory demanded a manicurist and insisted Janet dress her in a Japanese-inspired robe and wheel her into what she grandly called the boudoir.
It became obvious who all this fuss was for.
After lunch and the manicure, a distinguished elderly man appeared: tall, slimevery inch the retired dancer. Introduced as an old friend, Simon, he received instructions for coffee.
Janet hesitated over the expensive coffee machine, but managed somehow. In the presence of a guest, Mrs Mallory was almost polite.
Towards evening, Mrs Mallory suddenly asked: What did you do for me last night before bed?
Massage, Janet said quietly.
Are you trained? Mrs Mallory probed suspiciously.
No, self-taught.
Hmm. Do it again, the grande dame deigned.
So Janet ended another day massaging her crabby employer. Three months probation zipped past in a blink. Janet had only one day off a week and rarely saw her daughter, but now she could let Margaret restthe long hours at the theatre were draining for her mother.
The relationship with Mrs Mallory mellowed over time. It was as though the grande dame was studying Janet, testing her patience and character. One day she asked unexpectedly:
How do your loved ones cope with your schedule?
Its just Mum and Lucy. We manage, Janet replied. Not much choice, really.
How olds your daughter? Any hobbies?
Almost six. Shes a brilliant artist, Janet replied, thinking of Tamaras warning about bringing children.
Bring her along. Lets meet, Mrs Mallory announced, queen-like.
And so Lucy began to visit Janet at work. Shed sit quietly in a corner with her pencils and pastels. One day, she sketched Mrs Mallory so perfectly that the old lady had it framed and hung on the wall.
Gradually, a kind of warmth developed between them. Janet no longer lived in fear of losing her place.
Mrs Mallory had a complicated condition that no operation could cure. When the pain was bad, Janet would massage her for hours, and sometimes it helped. Once, the old lady asked Janet and Lucy to stay the night, giving them the guest room.
Drifting off to sleep with Lucys tiny snores beside her, Janet dared to imagine they really lived here. Shed grown fond of this elegant, history-soaked house.
Next morning, Mrs Mallory seemed better. She and Lucy had breakfast in the dining room, and Mrs Mallory sent Janet to tidy the study, trusting no one else for this mission-critical task.
As Janet dusted and rearranged knick-knacks, she stumbled on an old yellowed photo album. When the room sparkled, she brought it to the sitting room.
May I take a look, Mrs Mallory?
Ah, there were daysand I was famous once, Mrs Mallory smirked. Go on, lets see. Havent opened this in years.
They all gathered round the table. First, photos of Mrs Mallory as a child. Suddenly Lucy piped up:
Look, its Granny! We have that photo at home!
Janet goggled at the album and blinked in shock. There, clear as day, was her mother, Margaret, as a young woman.
Where did you get that picture? Janet gasped.
Mrs Mallory squinted and studied Janet.
Youre Margarets daughter, arent you? Well, arent I a daft old bat. Kept wondering who you reminded me of. Now its obvious.
Why do you have a photo of my mother? Did you know her? Janet asked.
Of course I knew her! said Mrs Mallory. We were thick as thieves, me and Margaret. Shed sneak out of training, Id bunk off from the conservatory. We went to dances togetherlived on the same street. Both started in gymnastics, though she had more talent. Me, I didnt want to be the second horse in the cart.
Why dont you see each other anymore? Lucy blurted out.
We grew up, Mrs Mallory sighed. Your gran fell for her handsome young coach, Charlie. We had a tiff over him. Charlie ended up with me. Your gran lost her place on the team over it.
I never knew Janet whispered. Did you have the same surname, then?
Oh, no, Mrs Mallory grimaced. I was Shaw back then. Bet you didnt know that! My Charlies surname was Mallory. He was my first husbandwe lasted three months, but I kept the name forever.
From that moment, Janet became obsessed with arranging a reunion. The chance soon came.
Mrs Mallory asked for another overnight, but Lucy was due a school trip in the morning. So Janet asked Margaret to pick her up from the house.
Margaret arrived in her old, worn coat. Mrs Mallory was prepping for bed but rolled into the hall as Janet gathered Lucys drawing things.
Whos here? Im not expecting anyone, Mrs Mallory snapped.
Hello, Emma, Margaret replied briskly. Not going to pretend Im delighted to see you.
Likewise! Mrs Mallory snorted. Lifes given you a few knocks by the look of it.
No more than anyone else, said Margaret. At least Ive got a daughter and granddaughter. Not having strangers carry my chamberpot. All those marriages, did they get you anywhere?
Oh, like you ever managed one, Mrs Mallory scoffed. I know youve still got your maiden name.
Margaret suddenly smiled softly.
Oh, Emmy You never did understand, did you? I followed your career, you know. Proud, even, that our scruffy street turned out an opera star. Never did you a bad turn. Remember that call, five years back?
Mrs Mallory turned pale.
When you were being sweet-talked by that actor at our theatre, Margaret continued. You were about to sign over your flat, and I overheard him bragging about shoving you in a care home and moving in with his young plaything. So I called, disguised my voice. Thats all.
So it was youwho warned me? Mrs Mallory breathed.
I could never hate you, Margaret sighed. I always knew: artistic types follow no rules. But I couldnt let you get shafted.
Mrs Mallory looked away.
You saved me, she murmured. That scoundrel charmed the life out of me. After your call, I hired a detective.
Good for you, Margaret nodded. Well, time to goLucys yawning.
Wait, Margaret, how are you getting on these days? Mrs Mallory asked.
Studio flat since the council split up our old house, said Margaret. Not a palace, but we get by.
Thats itdecision made, Mrs Mallory snapped. Youre moving in here, all of you. Too many empty rooms. I was planning to make Lucy a proper kids room anyway. Dont argue. Theres a lot we need to talk about. Who knows how much time weve got leftthe doctors gave me my expiry date already.
Margaret sat down on the bench, exhausted.
About eight months.
What do you mean? Mrs Mallory paled. Cancer?
No, my heart. And surgerys out of reach, Margaret waved her off. Some things money cant fix.
Well, well start with the move, and see after, Mrs Mallory declared. Dont argue. Looks like Im in your debt anyway. Regret pinching Charlie from you, truth be told.
Youll be naming every boy in our old school soon enough! Margaret laughed. Well go home today. Well see tomorrow.
My driver will take you, said Mrs Mallory. Meanwhile, Janet will help you move your things tomorrow.
That evening, Mrs Mallory couldnt sleep. She grilled Janet about her mothers illness, reminisced about their youth, and, for once, seemed genuinely human. That simple, selfless act had melted the icy heart of the grande dame.
Within a week, the whole house was upended: couriers delivered wallpaper samples, catalogues, fabrics, light fittings. Mrs Mallory tackled the move with gusto.
Most nights, she and Margaret sat for hours at the big oval table, swapping life stories over endless mugs of tea. When the move and redecoration were done, Mrs Mallory abruptly announced at dinner:
Margaret, I showed your records to the doctor. Surgerys in two weeks. The surgeons a brilliant young manprofessors son. Try not to make too much of a show of yourself.
You got an NHS slot? Margaret stammered. Why would you do that?
NHS? Wed wait forever, Mrs Mallory smirked. Im paying. Too late to refuse, so youll have to get better. Lucy needs an active granny, since the other onemeis falling apart.
Typical Emma Margaret wiped her eyes. You shouldnt have spent that much
What else do I need money for? Mrs Mallory shrugged. Cant take it to the grave! So its settled: you go into hospital, Janet looks after you, and Ill keep Lucy entertained. Especially since the massages actually do me some good.
Two weeks later, Margaret was in the top private ward. The surgeon, Dr Valentine Smithyoung, promising cardiac specialist and son of a famous professorchose to work here despite offers from London. He struck Janet as decent and quietly capable. Watching Janet tend her mother, Dr Smith once said:
I must admit, I rarely see families as close as yours. Your mother is very lucky. Im sure any husband would be, too.
Ive only a daughter, Janet blushed. But shes marvelous.
No doubt, said Valentine, smiling. I didnt have much luck. Married young, despite warnings. She thought shed landed a professors rich kid We ended up in a rented bedsit and, well, love soured.
Youll find the right woman yet, Janet murmured.
Maybe I already have, Valentine said, looking out the window.
Janet found herself watching him with growing interest. He wasnt a stunner like Dave, but his face held kindness and patience. He really cared.
Margarets rehab took about a week. Mrs Mallory tried to look after herself (and Lucy) in Janets absence. Lucy soon started calling her “granny” and treated her like family.
Mrs Mallory pretended all was fine, but under Janets hands, Janet felt her muscles hard as stone: even with the wheelchair, the old lady was finding it harder each day.
One night, as Janet finished the usual massage, Mrs Mallory said, Time you stopped working for me.
You want a new carer? Janet panicked.
Nonsense! Why have a carer when the house is full? I want you to train properly. Sign up for a recognised massage programme. Diploma and all. Think youre up for it?
Of course! Janet beamed. Butit costs a fortune.
Consider me your fairy godmother, Mrs Mallory winked. And besides, having a house masseuse is eminently sensible. Ill pay for your course and extras. Just dont show me up!
Janet agreed. In effect, Mrs Mallory supported the whole family, but Janet was determined not to sponge off anyone. She was confident shed make it worth everyones while.
On her course, Janets tutor, Matthew Adamsa dignified, expert masseurquickly recognised her talent. At graduation, he surprised her:
Do you know Vanilla Spa?
Of coursethe place everyone dreams of working! Its the best in town.
I own it, Matthew smiled. Set up shop on my own. Would you like to work with me? We focus on rehab after injuries and operationstough work, you need brains and gentle hands. Youve got them.
Janet could only nod, close to tears with happiness.
From then on, she worked even harder. Matthew paid for part of her next course, calling it a scholarship. Soon enough Janet was working at Vanilla Spa. The timetable suited: morning shifts at the spa, afternoons with her recovering mother, Mrs Mallory, and taking Lucy to art school.
Within six months, people booked specifically with Janet, not just her boss.
Meanwhile, things with Valentine developed gently from friendship to something much warmer. Hed moved to the city only a year before, aiming for a top cardiology post, now dreaming of a life beyond hospital walls. Weekends were for long walks, and outings with Janet and Lucy: circus, theatre, parks.
Margaret had returned to her part-time job, but Mrs Mallory often stayed in bed. Her pain increased, treatment did less. Massage helped only a little.
Valentine started referring patients to Janetcardiology rehab became her specialty, giving them plenty to talk about.
Valentine became a regular visitor at the Mallory home, now Janet and Lucys home as well, and received a somewhat comical blessing from the matriarch:
Dont you dare break my girls hearts, Mrs Mallory announced gravely.
