“What’s this now? Where are you going? Whos going to cook dinner?”
“Where are you rushing off to? Someones got to make the food!” The man panicked, watching what Antonia was doing after yet another row with his mum.
Antonia glanced out the window. Gloomy clouds, even though it was meant to be spring. In their little town up in the north of England, sunny days were as rare as a polite conversation with the in-laws. Maybe thats why everyone who lived there always looked so grim, like theyd just found out their tea had gone cold.
Antonia herself had noticed lately that shed stopped smiling altogether. That permanent frown line on her forehead might as well have added an extra ten years.
“Mum! Im going out,” announced her daughter, Emily.
“Right,” Antonia muttered.
“What dyou mean, *right*? Gimme some money.”
“Since when do walks cost anything?” she sighed.
“Mum! Why dyou always do this?!” Emily snapped. “Come on, hurry up! Is that *it*? Thats barely anything!”
“Itll cover ice cream.”
“Cheapskate,” Emily muttered, but her mother didnt hearthe door had already slammed shut behind her.
*Unbelievable* Antonia shook her head, remembering what a sweet little thing Emily had been before shed discovered sarcasm and eyeliner.
“Toni, my stomachs growling! Are we eating or what?” grumbled her husband, Graham, sprawled on the sofa like an abandoned sofa cushion.
“Make it yourself,” she said flatly, dropping a plate onto the table.
“Or you could *bring* it to me?”
Antonia nearly dropped the pot. Who did he think he wasPrince William?
“Kitchens that way, Graham. Eat or dont. Up to you.” She sat down alone.
Fifteen minutes later, Graham shuffled in.
“Stone cold gross.”
“I left it in longer.”
“I *asked* you! Not a scrap of love or care in sight! You know Ive got the match on!” He shoveled chicken into his mouth like a man in crisis. “Tastes awful.”
Antonia just rolled her eyes. Football turned Graham into an entirely different personbets, merch, overpriced ticketsyet when theyd first met, hed thought “offside” was something you said to neighbours throwing loud parties.
Without sitting down, he grabbed a beer, some crisps (“sea salt and balsamic*artisanal*”), and flopped back in front of the telly. Meanwhile, Toni was left scrubbing dishes like Cinderella after a particularly rowgy ball.
*Wasted effort. No one cares.*
She was exhausted after her shift as a senior nurse at the hospital. Patients arrived stressed, in pain, or just plain furious. Same at homeno warmth, no cosy nook, just another shift. Fetch, carry, wash, repeat.
“Any more?” Graham yanked open the fridge. “Whys there never any?”
“Because *you* drank it all! Do I have to buy that too? Grow up, Graham!” she finally snapped.
“Oh, arent we *posh* now?” he sneered before storming off to “restock the underground reserves” for the next match.
Antonia decided to sleep earlytomorrow was another marathon. But she couldnt. Worry gnawed at her. Where was Emily? Who was she with? It was dark now. She didnt dare call. Last time, Emily had shrieked:
“Youre *embarrassing* me in front of my mates! Stop calling!” So Toni stopped. Reminded herself Emily was *technically* an adult (18 last month). No job, no unijust a “gap year to find herself” (translation: TikTok and takeaways).
Half-asleep, she heard Graham roar like someone had scored. Then he and his mate Dave (whod somehow invited himself over) began dissecting the match. Later, Daves girlfriend joined, and soon all three were “cheering” (shouting) in unison.
Around midnight, Emily clattered in, rattled plates, then stomped upstairs. Silence. Then
*Meow.*
The cat. *Again.*
“IS THERE ANYONE ELSE IN THIS HOUSE WHO CAN FEED THE CAT? OR IS IT JUST ME?” Exhausted, migraine brewing, Antonia stormed out, hoping *someone* would hear. But Emily had headphones in, thumb scrolling. Graham was snoring, beer can still in hand.
*Ive had it. Proper had it.*
The next morning, her mother-in-law rang.
“Antonia, love, the veg wont plant itself! And the cottage needs sorting.”
“I remember,” Toni sighed.
“Well go tomorrow.”
Her one day off vanished under her mother-in-laws watchful eye.
“Not like *that*! Hold the broom properly!” Margaret commanded from her perch on the garden bench.
“Im nearly fifty, Margaret. I think I can manage,” Antonia dared.
“And Graham…”
“Where *is* Graham? Why isnt *he* driving you? Why are we stuck on a three-hour bus? Whys it *always* about Graham?”
“Hes tired.”
“And Im *not*?”
Thendisaster. Margaret loved a monologue, especially if it painted her as the saint and Antonia as the ungrateful oaf. The bus ride home was spent at opposite ends.
Next day, Graham exploded.
“How *dare* you speak to my mother like that?!”
“Oh? And how *should* I speak to her?” Toni folded her arms. Shed had enough.
“Youd still be at that tiny clinic if not for her!” His trump cardMargaret had pulled strings to get Toni the hospital job. Better pay, worse stress. Shed regretted it instantly.
“Where dyou think youre”
What Toni did next? Graham never saw it coming. In fact, he might need a *very* long time to process it.
