“Ive got nowhere else to go!”
“Im not going back to that cheating rat! Id rather live in a basement than with him!”
“Mum, go ahead thenlive in the basement! At this rate, Ill be divorcing you soon!” snapped Emily, stirring her porridge with a sharp twist of her wrist.
“Youd throw your own mother out?” Margaret clutched her chest. “Ive given you everything, and this is how you repay me? Thanks ever so much for your kindness, love!”
With an indignant sniff, Margaret stormed off to their shared bedroombecause thats all they had. The four of them crammed into a tiny one-bed flat, where privacy had vanished three months ago.
Emily never imagined shed be part of such a mess. People around her divorced and remarried, but her parents had always been the picture of stability. Just last year, Margaret and Geoffrey celebrated their ruby wedding anniversaryforty years together. Now, her mother couldnt stand the sight of him.
It all started one dreadful afternoon when Margaret barged in with suitcases, announcing she was leaving him.
“Can you believe it? Hes been carrying on with some floozy of a nurse!” she gasped, still catching her breath from the stairs. “Fancy chasing after women half his agewhat a hero!”
“Seriously, Mum? Are you sure? Maybe you got the wrong end of the stick?” Emily stared at her, bewildered.
Margaret had always been dramatic, prone to turning whispers into full-blown scandals. But this time, she wasnt imagining things.
“Oh, right, Ive got it all wrong, havent I? The photos on his phone dont lie! Hes an old fool who shouldve known better!”
Emily decided to deal with it later. First, she had to calm her mother down. She sat her at the table, made tea, and tried to talk sense into hertelling her it wasnt the end of the world, that these things happened, that shed help her through it.
Little did she know how literally Margaret would take that.
From that moment on, her mother moved in. That wouldnt have been so bad if Emily didnt already have her own familyher husband, James, and their five-year-old son, Oliver. The age where curiosity never slept, and every corner demanded exploring.
At first, Emily tried to see the upside. Help with Oliver? She worked from home and managed fine. Cooking? Margarets love of greasy fry-ups clashed with Emilys diet and Jamess doctors orders. Cleaning? Their standards of “tidy” were worlds apart.
And that was only half the trouble.
“Right, bedding changenow. Olivers too, but you can do his in the morning,” Margaret declared at 11 p.m., just as they settled in for a film.
“What, now? Mum, Olivers asleep! How are we supposed to do it in the dark?”
“Youll manage. Theres light from the hallway. Change it quietly and then off to bed. Shouldve done it earlieryoure hopeless without me! This placell be crawling with dust mites!”
Margaret would plant her hands on her hips, scanning the room for more chores to pile on them.
Emily sighed but obeyed. She knew her mothers waysarguing meant hours of lectures. Margaret never backed down, always ready for a row, while Emily had grown up bending to keep the peace.
James didnt share her patience.
“Love, cant you just say no?” he muttered when they were alone.
“Its Mum. You know how she is…”
“I do. But this is our home, our rules. Im getting fed up, Em.”
“Just hang on a bit longer. She and Dad need time. Itll sort itself out.”
But Emily didnt sound convinced. Shed already spoken to her father. Hed admitted itthered been a fling.
“I dont know what came over me. Maybe I wanted to see what Id missed. Your mums the only woman Ive ever known. Now I dont know where to put myself. I love her, but will she even listen?”
Truth be told, Emily understood her mother. Shed never forgive cheating either, even if it was just a fling. Margaret had every right to leave him. But she wasnt doing anythingjust waiting, as if the problem would vanish on its own.
Things only got worse. Margaret soon decided James was slacking.
In her parents house, chores were split down the middle. Geoffrey hoovered, scrubbed the bathroom weekly, did dishes, even cooked the odd roast. He helped with deep cleans, window polishing, market runstasks many saw as “womens work.”
Not so in Emilys home. James helped Oliver with handwriting or took him swimming, but the rest fell to her. Fair enoughhe was the main breadwinner, now supporting her mother too. Emily worked remotely, just a few hours a day, her wages covering little luxuries.
But Margaret didnt see it that way.
“Youve let him get away with murder!” she nagged. “Make him pull his weight, or hell end up like Geoffreyeye wandering when hes bored!”
“Mum, were fine, really.”
But Margaret wasnt listening. She threw herself into “reforming” her son-in-law.
“Sit down,” shed order when Emily cleared the table. “James, shes been run off her feet all day. Too proud to askso you wash up.”
James would glare but comply. His patience, though, wasnt endless. Arguments beganquiet ones, out of Margarets earshot, but sharp enough.
He wasnt wrong. Emily knew it. But what could she do?
“Mum, you cant live like this. Whats your plan?” she asked after two months.
“Dunno. Ill figure it out. Got nowhere else,” Margaret said stiffly.
“Of course you have! You and Dad own the house. Sort it out legally, sell, split itdo something!”
“I want nothing from him!” she snapped, arms folded. “Ill manage alone. Wont speak to him.”
“Managing” meant Emily and James bore the brunt. They were exhausted. Hints about wanting evenings alone, about the flat being too small, fell on deaf ears. Straight talk only made Margaret sulk.
Finally, Emily snapped. She found her mother a bedsit, packed her bags while she showered.
“Whats this? You going somewhere?” Margaret asked, towel-drying her hair.
“Noyou are. Weve rented you a place. Best we could afford. Happy families only exist on tellyreal people need space.”
Margaret foughtshouting, accusing them of throwing her outbut in the end, they persuaded her. Sat her down, explained theyd help for two months, but no more.
“You dont want us splitting up too, do you? Where would we all go then?” James said pointedly.
She gave in. But the peace didnt last.
“What kind of dump is this?” Margaret screeched down the phone after one night. “Cockroaches everywhere, neighbours couldnt care less! The kitchens filthylooks like it hasnt been cleaned in a decade! Dont get me started on the loo!”
“Mum, we did what we could. Youre free to rent somewhere else,” Emily said calmly.
But the places Margaret liked were out of her budget. Slowly, her tune changed. She started muttering about solicitors, paperwork. Then one day
“Thats it. Im home. Back where I belong,” she announced, as if it were Emilys fault.
“Really? What about Dad?”
“Still despise him,” Margaret huffed. “But Id rather put up with his face than that hovel. Someone nicked my purse while I was at the shops! Ill suffer his snoringat least my bedrooms mine. No extra tenants with whiskers and six legs.”
Emily breathed a sigh of relief. Whether her parents reconciled or divorced didnt matterlet them battle it out in their own home, not hers. For the first time in months, her flat felt like hers again.
