“Mum stays, you go,” said Edward, unbuttoning his coat and hanging it on the hook in the hallway.
Emily froze, a plate in her hand, the tap still running in the sink. The water gurgled like a distant brook, but she barely heard it, too focused on whether shed misheard him.
“What did you say?” she asked, not turning around.
“Exactly what I said. Ive made my decision. Mum stays with us, and you” Edward walked into the kitchen and sat at the table. “Youll find somewhere else.”
Emily set the plate on the drying rack slowly, then turned off the tap. Her hands trembled.
“This is my flat, Edward. I bought it. I pay the mortgage.”
“Our flat. Were married.”
“Its in my name!” She turned to face him. “Have you lost your mind?”
Edward pulled out a cigarette and lit it right there in the kitchen, though he knew how much she hated it.
“I havent. But Mum cant live alone anymore. Her blood pressure, her heart shes eighty-two, for Gods sake.”
“And whats that got to do with me? Let her staywhos stopping her? But why do I have to leave?”
“Wheres she meant to sleep? My study? Shes used to space, her own things.”
Emily bit back a scream. In five years of marriage, Margaret had turned her life into hellconstant nitpicking, meddling, undermining. And now Edward wanted to kick her out of her own home.
“Your mother has a perfectly good three-bed in Chelsea.”
“The lifts brokenfour flights are too much. Heres ground floor, the GPs nearby, shops”
“So youve decided without me? Edward, were husband and wife. These things are discussed together.”
“Discussed when theres something to discuss.” He tapped ash into a saucer. “This is clear. My mothers ill, old. She needs care. Who else will look after her?”
“And whos meant to look after his wife?” Emily sat opposite him. “Do you hear yourself? Youre throwing me out.”
“Im not throwing you out. Just asking you to stay elsewhere for a bit. While Mum well”
“Until she dies?” Emily finished. “Just say it.”
“Dont be crude.”
“What should I be? Your mothers eighty-two. A year? Two? Five? And Im meant to rent somewhere, spend my own money?”
Edward stood abruptly, the chair scraping against the lino.
“Thats my mother. The woman who raised me alone after Dad died!”
“And that gives her the right to run our marriage?”
“Shes not running anything. She just needs help.”
Emily laughed bitterly. Margaret didnt need helpshe needed control. From day one, shed despised her, done everything to break them apart.
First it was little thingsshowing up unannounced, rearranging the flat, criticising her cooking. Then open warfare.
“Your mother hates me,” Emily said. “And you know it.”
“She doesnt hate you. Shes just used to being first in my life. Its natural for a mother.”
“Youre forty, Edward. When will you grow up?”
He stubbed out the cigarette and gave her a cold look.
“Ive grown up enough to care for my mother. Seems you havent.”
“Im not against helping her! But not at the cost of our marriage! We can visit, pay for carers, take her to appointments”
“We wont be living together. Youre leaving.”
The kitchen door creaked open. Margaret stood theretall, thin, silver hair in a tight bun. A faint smirk played on her lips.
“Eddie, I heard voices,” she said sweetly. “Not arguing, I hope?”
“No, Mum, its fine,” Edward said quickly. “Just discussing plans.”
Margaret eyed the kitchen, lingering on the ashtray.
“Eddie, darling, how many times must I saysmokings vile. Especially indoors.”
“Sorry, Mum. Wont happen again.”
Emily watched, stunned, as this grown man shrivelled into a scolded child.
“And you, dear,” Margaret turned to her, “you look peaky. Not ill, I hope?”
“Im fine,” Emily said flatly.
“Good. At your age, one must mind ones health. Thirty-seven isnt twenty.”
Emily clenched her teeth. Margaret never missed a chance to jabher age, her childlessness, how shed never be good enough.
“Mum, why not rest?” Edward cut in. “You must be tired.”
“Oh, perhaps. Eddie, show me where Ill be staying? The suitcase is dreadfully heavy.”
“Of course, Mum.”
They left Emily alone. She heard them moving through the flat, deciding where Margarets things would go.
The suitcase was already here. So this had been plannedwithout her.
Emily called her friend.
“Claire? Its me. Can I come over? Yes, tonight. Ill explain.”
She packed a bag. Margaret stood in the bedroom, surveying it critically.
“The wardrobe must move,” she said. “And a mirror here. These photostake them down.”
Emily looked at their wedding pictures on the wall.
“Those are ours.”
“I know, dear,” Margaret smiled. “But its my room now. I must feel at home.”
“Where do we sleep?” Emily asked Edward.
“You said you were leaving,” he replied, avoiding her eyes.
She zipped the bag, hands shaking with rage.
“Edward, do you realise what youre doing?”
“My duty.”
“And whats mine? Where do I live?”
“Youve got friends. Family.”
“Ive got a husband. Or had.”
Margaret sighed dramatically, sinking onto the bed.
“Oh, my back. Eddie, fetch me a cushion.”
“Of course, Mum.”
Emily walked out. Edward caught her in the hall.
“Emily, wait. Its not forever.”
“How long?”
“I dont know. Until Mums better.”
“Your mother isnt ill. Shes as fit as a fiddle. She just enjoys ruling you.”
“Dont speak about her like that.”
“How should I? Shes breaking us up! Cant you see?”
“Mum wants whats best.”
“For who? You? Or herself?”
Edward looked away. Emily knew it was pointless.
“Fine. Call me when youve decided who matters moreyour mother or your wife.”
She grabbed her coat. At the door, she turned.
“And Edward. If I walk out now, Im not coming back. Think hard.”
“Em, dont be dramatic”
“This isnt drama. Its a choice.”
The door slammed. In the car, her phone buzzed.
Edward: *Dont be angry. Itll work out.*
She deleted it and drove.
At Claires, she talked late into the night.
“Hes lost it!” Claire fumed. “Kicking you out for Mummy?”
“Not kickingasking me to stay elsewhere.”
“Whats the difference? Hes humiliating you!”
“Maybe Im wrong. Maybe I should endure it?”
“Endure what? Being pushed out of your own home? Wake up! Shell never leave.”
Claire was right. Margaret had won.
“What do I do?”
“Fight. Or surrender.”
“And if he chooses her?”
“Then he never loved you.”
Emily lay awake on Claires sofa, rain lashing the windows. A strange house, strange sounds. And in her bedMargaret.
Edward called in the morning.
“How are you? Whered you sleep?”
“Claires. Hows your mother?”
“Fine. Couldnt find her pills. Wheres the first-aid kit?”
“Bathroom, above the washing machine.”
“Right. Em, maybe come by later? Mum wants to talk.”
“About what?”
“Compromise. Sorting things out.”
Emily laughed.
“What compromise? Shes in our bedroom. Im on a friends sofa. Whats to discuss?”
“Well you could sleep on the sofa here?”
“The sofa? In my own flat?”
“Its temporary!”
“No. Im not coming.”
Silence. Then:
“What do you suggest?”
“I suggested it yesterday. Your mother goes home.”
“Impossible.”
“Then were done.”
She hung up. Claire handed her coffee.
“Wanted you back?”
“On the sofa.”
“Prat,” Claire muttered.
At work, Emily struggled to focus. Colleagues noticed but she brushed them off.
At lunch, Margaret called.
“Emily, dear, how are you?”
“Fine.”
“I wanted to talk. Eddie says youre upset.”
“I
