Long ago, in a modest terraced house in Manchester, tensions simmered over the dinner table. “If you wont live by my rules, then leave!” snapped Margaret Whittaker, glowering at her daughter-in-law across the steaming roast.
“Mrs. Whittaker, perhaps we could try the potatoes differently? Ive a lovely recipe with mushrooms,” ventured Emily softly, stirring the gravy.
“I dont need your recipes!” Margaret shot back, not looking up from peeling carrots. “Thirty years Ive cooked for this family, and now you come along with your fancy ideas!”
Emily sighed and kept stirring. Six months had passed since she and Thomas had moved in with his mother after their flat burned down. Six months of petty squabbles, disapproving glances, and barbed remarks disguised as concern.
“Mum, must you be like this?” Thomas stepped into the kitchen, kissing Emilys forehead. “Ems a good cook. Maybe we could try something new?”
“Oh, so its both of you against me now?” Margaret threw up her hands. “Thirty-two years I raised you, fed you, and now my cooking isnt good enough?”
“Mum, thats not what I meant”
“Then what *did* you mean?” The knife clattered against the chopping board. “First you turn up on my doorstep, and now you tell me how to run my kitchen!”
Emilys chest tightened. *Turned up on her doorstep*as if they were beggars, not a family whod lost everything.
“Mrs. Whittaker, I wasnt telling you, just suggesting,” she murmured, turning off the hob.
“Suggesting! Who asked you? This is *my* house, *my* kitchen!” Margaret planted her hands on her hips. “Ill do the cooking here!”
Thomas looked helplessly between them. Emilys heart ached seeing him torn.
“Ill set the table,” she said, slipping out quietly.
In the parlour, fourteen-year-old Lucy hunched over her schoolbooks. She glanced up. “Arguing again?”
“Just discussing,” Emily forced a smile, fetching plates from the cabinet.
“Mum, when are we getting our own place?”
The question stung. The insurance had covered little. Thomas drove lorries; she taught primary school. Savings grew slowly.
“Soon, love. Just a bit longer.”
“I cant stand it! Yesterday she yelled about my musiccalled it noise! This morning, she said I walk too loud! Im *tiptoeing*!”
Emily stroked Lucys hair. Her patience, too, was fraying.
“Shes just set in her ways. Its hard for her.”
“Some grandmother! Proper grannies bake biscuits, not nag!”
“Hush, shell hear.”
“I dont care!”
A crash came from the kitchen. Thomass voice, then Margarets, shrill. Emily hurried back.
“What happened?”
“Your husband smashed my mothers china!” Margaret jabbed a finger at the shards. “The last I had of her!”
Thomas stood frozen with a dustpan. “Mum, it was an accident”
“Teach your wife respect for others things!”
“*Me?*” Emily burst out. “Thomas broke it!”
“All your doing!” Margaret rounded on her. “Barging in, turning my son into a clumsy fool! He never dropped a thing before you!”
“Mum, thats not fair”
“Fair? You were a proper son till you married! Now its all *her*!”
Emilys vision blurred with tears. Six months of this.
“Mrs. Whittaker, enough,” she whispered. “Well leave tomorrow.”
Thomas paled. “Leave? Weve no money”
“Well rent a room. Manage somehow.”
Margaret faltered. “Im not throwing you out!”
“No. But were in the way.”
“Waitlets talk”
“Whats to say?” Emily shrugged. “Your house, your rules. Were guests whove overstayed.”
Margarets lips trembled. “I never meant”
“You didnt. But we cant live on eggshells forever.”
Silence. Then Margaret wept. “I didnt want to drive you out…”
Emily hugged her stiff shoulders. “Were all tired. Better to part before worse words come.”
That night, Emily rang colleagues. A teacher friend had a flat to letsmall, in an older part of town, but theirs.
“Well see it tomorrow,” she told Thomas.
“What if its no good?”
“Well find another.”
Margaret hovered, opening her mouth, then retreating. At bedtime, she caught Emilys arm. “Must you go?”
“Yes.”
“Couldnt we try?”
Emily shook her head. “Dont bend yourself backwards. Your home should be your peace.”
At dawn, as they loaded the taxi, Margaret stood wringing her apron.
“Visit us soon,” Emily said. “Ill cook you supper.”
Margaret nodded. “Youre not angry?”
“No. This is right.”
Lucy waved from the cab. Thomas patted her knee.
“Regrets?” he asked as Manchester rolled past.
“None,” Emily said.
“Nor I. Mum will understand in time.”
“She will. And well visit. Thats different.”
Lucy squeezed Emilys hand. “Mum, can I play my records in the new flat?”
“Of coursejust not too loud.”
“Good. Thats all I wanted.”
The taxi turned onto an unfamiliar street. A new chapter began.
