When will dinner be ready? I heard myself say it aloud, halfjoking, halfexasperated, as I stared at the kitchen clock ticking lazily. My motherinlaw, Mrs. Ethel Clarke, lifted her spectacles and asked, Michael, does your wife want me to jump onto the stove? Or will she stay in bed? I ignored the remark, grabbed a few things, and slipped out into the hallway, with Mrs. Clarke huffing behind me. Where are you off to? she called. On leave! Tata! I set my heavy bags down with a sigh of relief. Im home! I muttered to myself.
A low mumble drifted from the next room, followed by the appearance of a man, about forty, perhaps a little younger, perhaps a little older. He wore a tracksuit and slippers. Natalie, why are you shouting? This isnt your village. Behave properly, he scolded. I shot back, You could at least meet memy salarys come in, we need to buy groceries. He let out a dramatic sigh, Good heavens! What groceries? and shuffled away to another room. I exhaled heavily, feeling the weight of everything pressing down on me.
I work two jobs just to keep the house running, while my husband, buoyed by his mothers encouragement, has been scribbling away on some mythical manuscript for the past year. The first draft was dismissed because, apparently, no one understands his art. I stripped off my coat, carried the bags into the kitchen, and reminded myself that tomorrow marks the start of my holiday. I have to wash the entire flat, launder, iron, and then rearrange everythingall under the watchful eye of Mrs. Clarke. I was exhausted.
Mrs. Ethel popped her head into the kitchen. Natalie, are you just lying around? Planning to feed the husband? Hes worked all day; hell have to waitforhim now! Did he earn much? I asked, halfamused, halfbaffled. Once, Id looked at my husbands fledgling writer self with awe, convinced hed become famous. Now I trembled at my motherinlaws gaze and tried my best to please her, feeling guilty because while I was on maternity leave, it was Ethel who kept the family afloat.
Ethel, already heading for the door, spun around sharply. What did you say? she snapped. I asked if he earned much. People usually bring money home when they work. How dare you! Michael spent the whole day plotting his next chapter! You have no idea what its like to work with your head! she snapped, then stormed out. I wondered, What am I even doing here? My son is at his grandparents farm, making noise and playing, which distracts Michael from writing yet another pointless masterpiece.
I gathered the groceries from the fridge, shoving them into a big sack. My salary and holiday pay were finally in my account, and I could afford to bring home tasty provisions and a little gift for my son on the way. I set the bag down and went to fetch something else. Michael, not looking away from the telly, asked again, When will dinner be ready? I answered dryly, Whenever you cook it, then itll be ready.
Mrs. Clarke once more slipped out her glasses and asked, Michael, does your wife want me to stand at the stove? Or will she stay in bed? I brushed past her, muttering, Im off on leave! Goodbye! I didnt wait for any further drama; I grabbed the heavy bag and sprinted down the stairs, flagging a taxi. Sixty miles away? No matterone adventure was fine.
Andrew, my little boy, was already in bed when I entered the family home. He woke, ran to me, and clung tightly. I wrapped him in my arms, feeling how much Id missed him. Mom gave me a keen look. Whats happened? Why did you leave Michael? Wholl look after him? My motherinlaw had always kept a strict line with my husband. After our wedding, theyd visited us on weekends, but Ethel quickly put Michael in his place, sending him to the garden or the allotment at six each morning. The idea of leisuretime for him vanished.
Enough, Mum! Im on holiday for a whole month! I snapped. She smiled warmly, Well, thank heavens youll rest and spend time with your son. I lay down with Andrew, unable to fall asleep as I watched his tiny chest rise and fall in the moonlight. When I finally drifted off, the smell of fresh baking wafted in. It was strange to be woken by the scent of pastry while still halfasleep. Andrew was already up, beaming. Grandma baked a huge batch of pies! he shouted.
After breakfast, I asked my mother, What should I do now? She replied, Arent you still on holiday? Im only glad theres more work to do. Go to the allotment. The cabbages overgrown, the cucumbers need weeding; I cant keep up. On the third row I realized I actually enjoyed the garden work. I glanced at the tidy, weedfree beds and smiled. Beautiful, isnt it? I thought, feeling a rare contentment.
Evan! Where have you been? I called out. Hed just come in from the back garden. He was my dear neighbour from my childhood; Id been smitten with him since I was ten. He was a few years older, always offering sweets and a kind word. When he left for the army, I was a teenager; he returned a man, and we both blushed in awkward silence. He later married, moved to the city, and we hadnt seen each other for ten years.
Why are you here? I asked. You wont believe itI came to see my mum. I split up a month ago. He shrugged. Its not my business. That evening Evan and his mother invited us over for a barbecue. We grilled sausages, chatted about everything, and I felt such a warm ease that I could barely put it into words. No need to hold back, no need for petty grievances. Life could simply be lived.
Two weeks later my mum sat opposite me. Natalie, love, what are you thinking? Going back? I hesitated. I dont know, Mum. I have work, but no home. Maybe you could rent somewhere? Or stay here. Well find you a job. And Evan did you notice how he looks at you? I laughed, Its just a flashback to childhood. I dont know Evans a good sort, reliable. He says his city job is important. I stared at my mother, wondering if she was trying to set me up.
Mum, are you really trying to push me into something? I asked. She blushed. Whats wrong with that? I see you two would be happy together. I chuckled. Well, Mum, you do try. Evan left for a week of work, and the house felt empty. I found myself scolding myself, feeling like a child in a nursery. Michael kept calling, texting, first accusing me of ingratitude for pulling him out of the village, then threatening to evict me and my son. I laughed at his melodrama. After years, he still hadnt even moved us out officially. Then his mother called, saying that because of my ungratefulness she felt pressure and warned that anything that happened to me would be on my conscience.
The tension finally eased these past few days. In the evening Evan arrived, bringing a massive car for Andrew, and invited us over again. My mother stared at me with a knowing look, and I felt a sudden surge of joy at seeing Evan again. We were grilling kebabs when a sleek car pulled up outside. A young woman leapt out, rushing toward Evan. Darling, how long will you hide from me? Lets go back to the city. Oksana, why are you here? I recognized her as Evans exwifeher presence now felt unnecessary. She took Andrews hand, and they headed toward their house, only to be overtaken by a taxi that dropped off Michael and his mother.
Look at her! Shes strolling around while her husband does nothing, the motherinlaw hissed. Why are you here? Michael asked. I pressed my lips together, finally seeing how unpleasant they all were. Going on holiday? Get home quickly! Men need to work, not stand about! Did the husband finally get a job? I heard my motherinlaw snap, but Michael defended himself, Im writing a book! Its not the same as moving bricks in a factory. He then launched into a tirade, calling me a failure, accusing me of not providing for the family, of living off his mothers support. He threatened to take everything wed bought over a decade.
I stepped outside, stunned to see a smiling Evan waiting for me. What a night, he said. You handled it well. We watched as Michael and his mother argued with Oksana, gesturing wildly. I decided I would not stay in the village. After finalising things with Evan, Andrew and I moved to the city with my new partner, who insisted I change jobsno more factory work for a woman. Now I sit in a modest office, sorting papers. The pay is small, and I feel a twinge of shame, but Evan was genuinely surprised. Your salary is yours. Buttons and pins are fine. The man should provide. Michael soon married Oksana, leaving his mother to shoulder two freeloaders. Rumour had it that I had persuaded my son to abandon his book and work in a factory.
In the end, everything seems to find its place. One thing broke, another was built. Life goes on.
