Margaret had assumed that after the divorce, Id support her out of sheer obligation. What she didnt know was that I had entirely different plans.
Laura stared at the elderly woman with a suitcase on her doorstep and blinked twice. Margaret Whitmore, her former mother-in-law, stood there with the air of someone dropping by for tea with an old friend.
Laura, darling, she began in that syrupy tone, Ive nowhere else to go. Jeremy moved that whats-her-name Sophie in with him. And I wouldnt dream of imposing on young love, would I? Just until I get sorted?
Laura wordlessly stepped aside, letting her in. What else could she do? Toss a sixty-year-old woman onto the pavement? Yes, the divorce had been messy. Yes, Jeremy had turned out to be the sort of man who, after twelve years of marriage, suddenly found himself in the arms of a twenty-five-year-old from HR. But why was that *her* problem now?
Margaret, Laura said quietly, closing the door, I dont understand. You have your own flat. Why stay here?
Oh, Laura, Margaret sighed, settling onto the sofa and kicking off her sensible shoes. You know my place is tiny. This is so much airier. Jeremy mentioned you rattling around in this two-bed all by yourself. Surely youve room for a harmless old woman?
Laura clenched her fists. Of *course* Jeremy had said that. How convenientshoving his mother onto his ex while he played house with Sophie. And not a thought spared for how *she* might feel.
Just temporary, Margaret repeated, already unbuttoning her coat. Until I sort something out.
The first week, Laura tried to be understanding. She made breakfast for two, picked up Margarets urgent prescriptions, and quietly tidied up after her. Margaret was not an ideal housematedishes piled in the sink, knick-knacks strewn about, telly blaring into the wee hours.
Laura, darling, Margaret chirped one morning, my pensions barely enough to scrape by. Could you lend me a bit for groceries? And my blood pressure tablets. Im absolutely skint.
Laura silently handed over fifty quid. Then another thirty for a new heart supplement. Then twenty for a little treat with tea.
A month in, when yet another request had Laura eyeing her dwindling bank balance, she finally ventured, Margaret, perhaps we should live within our means? Im not exactly rolling in it either.
Margaret whipped around, eyes flashing. Laura knew that lookprelude to a proper row.
How *dare* you! Margarets voice climbed an octave. Live within my means? I welcomed you into this family! Twelve years, I treated you like a daughter! And now you begrudge me a few pounds?
Im not begrudging, I just
What do *you* know about hardship, childless as you are! Margaret shrieked, arms flailing. I raised Jeremy alone after his father passed! Worked three jobs! And now you balk at helping with my heart pills? Ill tell the neighbours what youre really likeungrateful!
Laura endured it silently. And the next tantrum. And the one after that, sparked by an unacceptable dinner. Margaret was a virtuoso of melodramahours of shouting, dramatic sighs for the neighbours benefit, accusations of every sin under the sun.
After the latest performance, Laura rang Jeremy.
Take your mother back. Please.
Laura, dont be like that. Im building a new life. Mums fragile after the divorce. Youve got the spacewhats the harm?
The harm is my money, my sanity, and my peace.
Dont be dramatic. Shes elderly. She needs support. Youre in a position to helpso help.
The dial tone buzzed. Hed hung up.
Sitting at the kitchen table, Laura realised shed had enough. Margaret acted like she owned the place, threw fits over trifles, demanded cash like it was her dueall without a shred of doubt she was entitled to it.
*Margaret thought Id keep her out of fear. Little did she know* Laura gazed out at the dreary February sky.
The next morning, while Margaret was at the clinic, Laura called a locksmith. New bolts were fitted in an hour.
That evening, Margaret returned from her usual mooch around the shops (where she doubtless regaled cashiers with her woes). But her key didnt turn.
Laura! Open up! She banged on the door. Whats this nonsense?
Laura stepped onto the landing, arms folded. No nonsense. Pack your thingsIve called a cab.
*What?* Have you lost your mind? Where am I supposed to go?
Home. To your son. Where you belong.
I cant! Sophies there! Its *awkward!*
Was it awkward for *me?* Laura asked calmly, watching Margarets face twist into outrage.
You selfish girl! Margaret screeched. Im an old woman! My hearts frail! You cant do this!
I can. Its *my* flat.
Ill tell the neighbours! Everyone will know what youve done!
Tell them. I dont care anymore.
The suitcase was packed swiftlyMargaret travelled light. In the cab, she sulked in silence, clutching her chest theatrically.
Outside Jeremys building, Laura hauled the case to the third floor. Jeremy answered in joggers, baffled.
Laura? Mum? Whats going on?
Im returning your mother, Laura said, shoving the suitcase inside. She no longer lives with me.
Sophie appeareda pretty blonde in a dressing gown. Her face fell at the sight of Margaret.
Mum cant stay here! Jeremy spluttered. Weve got its just not
Building your new life, Laura finished. Lovely. Build it. Without me.
Laura, you dont understand. Jeremy adopted that infuriating *explaining-to-a-toddler* tone. Mum needs care. Shes elderly, unwell. Her pensions peanuts.
She has a son. Let *him* care for her.
But Ive got a new family now!
And Ive got a new life. One that doesnt include your problems.
Margaret, silent until now, erupted.
Jeremy! See how she treats me? Throwing me out like rubbish! Heartless! After I loved her like my own!
Mum, come on, Jeremy mumbled, but Laura saw the panic in his eyes.
If you abandon your mother, thats on your conscience, Laura said, turning to leave. But none of you will ever set foot in my flat again.
Laura, wait! Jeremy called after her.
She was already down the stairs, ignoring Margarets wails and Jeremys stammered protests.
Back home, Laura opened her laptop and booked a two-week all-inclusive in Spainthe exact cost of the new sofa shed been saving for. *Just what I need after a month of Margaret.*
That evening, Jeremy rang.
How could you be so cruel? Mums in tears.
Let her cry in *your* flat.
But Sophie and I are just starting out! Understand?
I do. I understand these are *your* problems now.
She hung up and switched off her phone.
The next three days brought a deluge of callsJeremy, Margaret, even unknown numbers (Margarets cronies, no doubt). Laura ignored them all.
By Thursday, she sipped coffee by the window, watching children play below. The silence was bliss after a month of chaos.
The doorbell rang. Sophie stood on the step, red-eyed.
Laura, can we talk?
About?
Margaret. I know youve had a falling-out, but
We didnt fall out. I set boundaries.
Shes just impossible, Sophie whispered. Acts like I wrecked the family. Throws tantrums daily. Jeremy hides at work, leaving me with her. The things she says
A month ago, Laura might have pitied her. Now, she just shrugged.
Your family drama.
Maybe we could take turns, or
No.
But she cant live on the *street!*
Shes got a flat and a son. Sort it yourselves.
Sophie hovered, hoping for sympathy, but Laura said nothing.
I thought youd understand, Sophie mumbled, trudging off.
I do. I understand everyone must solve their own mess.
By Friday, the neighbourhood buzzed. Mrs. Thompson from number twelve cornered Laura by the postboxes.
Laura, lovedid you really turf Margaret out?
Yes.
Oh, but shes elderly.
Not too
