You’re Just Jealous “Mum, are you serious? The Ivy for dinner? That’s at least two hundred pounds per person!” James tossed his keys so hard they rattled against the wall. Kate glanced up from the stove, where she was stirring sauce, and immediately noticed her husband’s knuckles whitening as he gripped his mobile. He listened to his mother for a few more minutes, then swore under his breath and abruptly ended the call. “What’s wrong?” Without answering, James slumped into a chair at the kitchen table, staring at his plate of potatoes. Kate turned off the hob, wiped her hands on a tea towel, and sat down opposite him. “James…” “Mum’s lost it. Completely lost the plot in her old age.” He looked up, and the anger and helplessness in his eyes made Kate’s heart ache. “Remember I told you about… Richard? From ballroom dancing?” Kate nodded. His mum had mentioned the new acquaintance a month ago – shyly, fiddling with the tablecloth, talking about joining the local community centre’s dance club and finding a charming partner who knew how to waltz gracefully. “Well,” James pushed away his plate, “she’s taken him to The Ivy. Three times in two weeks. Bought him a suit for eight hundred quid. Last weekend they went to Bath together – guess who paid for the hotel and tickets?” “Margaret, obviously.” “Bingo.” He rubbed his face wearily. “Mum saved up that money for years. For renovations, emergencies. Now she’s blowing it all on a bloke she’s known for six weeks. It’s insane…” Kate was silent, searching for the right words. She knew her mother-in-law well: hopelessly romantic, open-hearted, almost naive. The sort of woman who still believed in true love after nearly sixty years of life. “Listen, James,” she put a hand over his, “Your mum’s a grown woman. Her money, her choices. Don’t interfere. She won’t listen to anyone now, anyway.” “She’s making mistake after mistake!” “Maybe. But that’s her right. And honestly, I think you’re overreacting.” James shrugged but didn’t pull his hand away. “I just can’t stand watching her…” “I know, love. But you can’t live her life for her,” Kate soothed. “She has to own her decisions, even if we hate them. She’s perfectly capable.” James nodded gloomily. Two months passed quickly. The talk about Richard faded. His mum phoned less and less, sounded evasive – almost as if hiding something. Kate assumed the romance had fizzled out and stopped worrying. So when, on a Sunday evening, the doorbell rang and Margaret appeared on the doorstep, Kate was caught off guard. “Darlings! My dears!” Margaret swept into the flat, trailing flowery perfume. “He proposed! Look, just look!” A small ring sparkled on her finger, cheap but worn like the crown jewels. “We’re getting married! Next month! He’s just so… so wonderful!” She pressed her hands to her cheeks, laughing girlishly. “I never thought, at my age… That I’d feel this again…” James hugged his mother, his shoulders suddenly relaxing. Maybe things weren’t so bad. Perhaps Richard really did love her, and they’d imagined the worst. “Congratulations, Mum,” James smiled as he stepped back. “You deserve happiness.” “And I’ve already put the flat in his name! Now we’re truly a family!” Margaret crowed, and everything froze. Kate stopped breathing. James flinched as if he’d hit a glass wall. “What…what did you say?” “The flat,” Margaret waved airily. “So he knows I trust him. It’s love, darlings, real love! And love means trusting each other.” Silence thickened until the tick of the clock in the lounge was audible. “Margaret,” Kate began carefully, “You signed over the flat to someone you’ve known for three months? Before the wedding?” “So what?” Margaret lifted her chin. “I trust him. He’s good, honest – not what you two think. I know you judge him.” “We don’t,” Kate stepped closer, “But… why not at least wait until you’re married? Why rush?” “You don’t understand. It’s a sign of my love,” Margaret folded her arms. “What do you two know about real feelings? About trust?” James finally unclenched his jaw: “Mum…” “No!” She stamped her foot. For a split second, Kate saw not a grown woman but a stubborn teenage girl. “I don’t want to hear it! You’re just jealous of my happiness! You want to ruin it for me!” Margaret stormed out, clipping the doorframe with her shoulder. The front door slammed, glass trembling in the cabinet. The wedding was small – a simple registry office, a vintage store dress, a little bouquet of Marks & Spencer roses. But Margaret shone as though she was marrying at Westminster Abbey. Richard – stocky, balding, with an oily smile – was the portrait of chivalry: kissing Margaret’s hands, holding out her chair, pouring Champagne. The perfect groom. Kate watched him over her wine glass. Something felt off. His eyes – cold, calculating, whenever he looked at Margaret. Professional tenderness. Practiced concern. She said nothing. What was the point if no one would listen? For months, Margaret rang every week – breathless with delight, listing new restaurants and theatres Richard whisked her to. “He’s so attentive! Yesterday he brought me roses – for no reason at all!” James listened, nodded, then hung up and stared for ages at nothing. Kate didn’t prod. She waited. A year passed in a blink. Then came a knock at the door… Kate opened up to find a woman she barely recognised. Margaret looked ten years older – deeply lined, eyes sunken, shoulders hunched. In one hand, a battered suitcase. The same she’d taken for that trip to Bath. “He threw me out,” Margaret whimpered. “Filed for divorce and threw me out. The flat… it’s his now. On paper.” Kate stepped aside wordlessly. The kettle boiled fast. Margaret sat in the armchair, cradling her tea, and cried – quietly, hopelessly. “I loved him so much. Did everything for him. But he just…” Kate didn’t interrupt. She stroked Margaret’s back and waited for the tears to stop. James returned an hour later. He paused in the doorway, saw his mother, and his face turned to stone. “Son,” Margaret stood, reaching for him. “Please, I’ve nowhere to go… Can I stay? Just a room – children are supposed to care for their parents, it’s…” “Stop.” James held up a hand. “Stop, Mum.” “I haven’t any money, not a penny – spent it all on him. My pension’s tiny, you know…” “I warned you.” “What?” “I warned you,” James sank onto the sofa, as if buckling under a sack of bricks. “Told you: take your time. Get to know him. Don’t sign over the flat. Remember what you said to me?” Margaret’s eyes dropped. “That we don’t know what real love is. That we’re just jealous of your happiness. I remember it all, Mum!” “James…” Kate tried to intervene, but James shook his head. “No. She needs to hear this.” He turned to his mother. “You’re a grown woman. You chose. You ignored everyone who tried to help. And now you want us to fix your mess?” “But I’m your mother!” “That’s exactly why I’m angry!” James sprang up, his voice cracking. “I’m tired, Mum! Tired of watching you throw your life away and then running to me for rescue!” Margaret shrank, pathetic and small. “He fooled me, James. I really loved him, I swear…” “Loved him enough to give your flat to a stranger. Brilliant, Mum. Just brilliant. Need I remind you Dad bought that place?” “I’m sorry.” The tears ran faster now. “I was blind. Please… give me another chance. I’ll never…” “Adults take responsibility for their actions,” James spoke softly now, exhausted. “You wanted independence? Here it is. Find somewhere to live. Get a job. Sort things out yourself.” Margaret left in tears, her sobs echoing down the landing. Kate spent the night at James’s side, in silence, holding his hand. He didn’t cry, just lay staring at the ceiling and sometimes heaved a heavy sigh. “Did I do the right thing?” he asked at dawn. “Yes.” Kate stroked his cheek. “It was harsh. And it hurt. But it was right.” In the morning James phoned his mother and found her a bedsit on the outskirts. He paid six months’ rent in advance. That was the last help he agreed to give. “From now on, Mum – you’re on your own. We’ll help with the court if you’re going to fight it. We’ll pay what’s needed. But you’re not moving in here…” Kate listened and thought about justice. Sometimes, the harshest lesson is the only one that sticks. Margaret got exactly what her blindness had earned. And with that came both sadness and peace. And the feeling that, somehow, things would work out in the end – though she couldn’t guess how.

Youre just jealous

Mum, are you being serious right now? The Savoy? Thats at least a few hundred quid for dinner! Each!

I flung my keys onto the shelf so hard they clattered off the wall. Alice turned from the hob, where she was stirring the sauce, and instantly noticed the whitened knuckles of my hand gripping my phone.

I listened to my mother for a few more tense minutes, then muttered under my breath and hung up abruptly.

What happened?

Instead of answering, I slumped into the kitchen chair and stared at my plate of potatoes. Alice switched off the hob, wiped her hands on a tea towel, and sat down across from me.

Ian
Mums finally lost the plot. Gone completely round the bend in her old age. I raised my eyes and Alice saw the mix of anger and helplessness there. Remember I told you about that chap Malcolm? From the ballroom class?

Alice nodded. Mum had mentioned her new acquaintance about a month ago in passing, blushing shyly and fiddling with the edge of the tablecloth. It had seemed quite sweet then: a fifty-eight year old widow, five years alone, found a dancing partner at the community hall, a gentleman who could waltz with grace.

Well. I pushed my plate aside. Shes taken him to The Savoy. Three times in two weeks. Bought him a suit for eight hundred pounds. And last weekend they went off to Bath together guess who paid for the hotel and guided tours?
Mrs. Thompson.
Spot on. I ran my hand over my face. Mums been saving up for years for a new bathroom, or in case of emergencies. Now shes blowing it all on this bloke, who shes known for just over a month. Its crackers

Alice fell quiet, choosing her words. She knew Mum well hopelessly romantic, open-hearted, and a bit naive. The kind of woman who kept believing in true love, even after fifty years on earth.

Look, Ian She put her hand over mine. Your mums a grown woman. Its her money, her choices. Dont interfere she wont listen at the moment anyway.
Alice, shes making mistake after mistake!
Maybe, but thats her prerogative. I really think youre overreacting.

I shrugged but didnt pull away.

I just cant bear to watch her
I know, love. But you cant live her life for her. Alice squeezed my wrist gently. She needs to make her own choices, even if we hate it. Shes as capable as the rest of us.

I nodded glumly.

Two months passed in a flash. The saga of Malcolm faded from conversation Mum rang less often, was evasive, as if hiding something. Alice decided the romance had fizzled out, so stopped worrying.

So when the doorbell rang on Sunday evening and Mrs. Thompson herself appeared on the doorstep, Alice was taken by surprise.

Darlings! My darlings! Mum burst in, leaving a trail of flowery perfume. Hes proposed! Just look! Look!

A tiny stone sparkled on her finger. Cheap as anything, but she gazed at it like it was the Crown Jewels.

Were getting married! Next month! Hes just oh! She patted her cheeks, laughing like a schoolgirl. I never thought, at my age I never thought Id feel this again

I gave Mum a hug, and Alice noticed how my shoulders relaxed. Maybe it wasnt all so bad. Maybe Malcolm really did care for her, and wed been winding ourselves up for nothing.

Congratulations, Mum. I stepped back, smiling. You deserve happiness.
And Ive already signed the flat over to him! Now were a proper family! Mum burst out, and for a moment time stood still.

Alice forgot to breathe. I felt as if Id walked into an invisible wall.

Sorry what did you say?
The flat. Mum waved her hand, oblivious to our faces. So he knows I trust him. Its love, children, true love! And loves built on trust.

The silence was so thick you could hear the clock ticking in the sitting room.

Mrs. Thompson, Alice spoke first, very carefully. Youve given your flat to a man youve known all of three months? Before the wedding?
So what? Mum lifted her chin. I trust him. Hes honourable, a good man. Not what you both think. I KNOW what you really think of him.

We dont think anything. Alice edged forward. But maybe wait until youre married at least. Whats the rush?
You dont understand. This is proof of my love. Mum crossed her arms. What do you know about proper feelings? Or trust?

I finally unclenched my jaw.

Mum

No! She stamped her foot, and suddenly she looked not like a mature woman but a defiant teenage girl. I dont want to hear it! Youre just jealous of my happiness! You want to ruin everything!

With that, Mum spun on her heel, clipped her shoulder against the door frame, and fled, the front door banging behind her so hard the china rattled in the cabinet.

The wedding, when it came, was small a registry office in the borough, a dress from Oxfam, a bouquet of three roses. But Mrs. Thompson glowed as if walking down the aisle at Westminster Abbey. Malcolm, stocky, balding, with a slick smile, was every inch the perfect groom. He kissed her hand, pulled out her chair, poured her champagne. He was flawless.

Alice watched him over her glass. There was something off. His eyes. When he looked at Mum, his gaze stayed cold, calculating. Trained tenderness. Practised affection.

She said nothing. Why speak when no-one listens?

In the early months, Mum called each week bubbling with joy, listing restaurants and plays her marvellous husband took her to.

He brought me roses yesterday! For no reason!

I nodded along on the phone, then hung up and sat silent, gazing into space. Alice didnt press me to talk. She just waited.

A year rolled by.

And then a knock at the door.

Alice opened it and found herself staring at a woman she barely recognised. Mum seemed to have aged ten years deeper lines, sunken eyes, hunched shoulders. She was clutching a battered suitcase. The very one shed once packed for her Bath weekend.

Hes thrown me out. Mums voice cracked. Filed for divorce and kicked me out. The flat it legally belongs to him now.

Alice silently stepped aside, letting her in.

The kettle boiled quickly. Mum sat cradling her mug, quietly weeping, all hope gone.

I really loved him. I did everything for him. And he just

Alice said nothing. She just stroked her back, waiting for the tears to pass.

I returned from work an hour later. I stopped in the hallway, saw Mum and my face hardened.

My boy. Mum stood and reached for me. Son, Ive nowhere to go You wont turn me out? Give me a room, Ill hardly take up space. Children are meant to care for parents, arent they?

Stop. I raised my hand. Stop, Mum.

I have no money. None. I spent it all on him, every penny. You know my pensions tiny

I warned you.

What?

I warned you. I slumped onto the sofa, as if someone had dumped a sack of bricks on my back. Told you: dont rush. Told you: get to know him. Told you: dont sign the flat away. Do you remember what you said to me?

Mum looked down.

That we didnt know what real love is. That we were envious of your happiness. I remember every word, Mum.

Ian Alice tried gently, but I shook my head.

No. Let her hear it. I turned to Mum. Youre an adult. You made your choices. You ignored everyone who tried to stop you. Now you want us to clean up your mess?

But Im your mum!

Exactly why Im angry! I shot to my feet, finally raising my voice. Im tired, Mum! Tired of watching you throw your life away, then running to me, palm outstretched!

Mum wilted, suddenly small and pitiful.

He fooled me, son. I did truly love him, I did

Loved him so much you handed over your flat to a stranger. Brilliant, Mum, truly brilliant. What about Dad? He bought that flat for you!

Im sorry. Tears returned, streaming down Mums cheeks. I was blind, I know. But please give me another chance. I swear, never again

Adults live with their mistakes. My voice was quieter now, drained. You wanted to be independent? There you are. Find a place to live on your own. Find a job if you must. Sort yourself out, however you can.

Mum left in floods of tears, sobbing in the hallway.

Alice spent the whole night beside me silently, just holding my hand. I didnt cry. Just lay there, staring at the ceiling, sighing now and then.

Did I do the right thing? I finally asked, as dawn crept across the sky.

Yes. Alice stroked my cheek. Harsh. Painful. But right.

The next morning, I rang Mum and found her a bedsit on the edge of town, paying the rent six months in advance. That was the last help I agreed to give.

From here, youre on your own, Mum. Yes, if you need to go to court, well help pay if needed. But living with us no.

Alice listened to my call and thought about justice. About how sometimes the only lesson people learn is the one that hurts most. Mum received exactly what her blind trust had earned.

And that thought made me feel both bitter and calm. But most of all, I couldnt shake the feeling that this wasnt the end that things, somehow, would still turn out all right. No idea how, but all the same it would.