Long ago, in a modest terraced house in Manchester, tensions simmered between a mother-in-law and her sons wife.
“Arent you ashamed to rely on my son for everything?” snapped Margaret, her voice sharp as she overheard the talk of supper.
“Emma, did you buy this cream?” asked Catherine, eyeing the small jar on the bathroom shelf. “Its dreadfully expensive.”
“No, that was Williams doing,” replied her daughter-in-law, drying her hands on a tea towel. “Said it helps with wrinkles.”
Catherine set the jar back with a disapproving click of her tongue. Her son wasted money on trifles while essentials went wanting. Just this morning, hed rung to say the groceries would have to wait till tomorrow.
“What shall we do about supper?” she asked Emma. “Theres only potatoes and carrots in the larder.”
Emma shrugged. “Dunno. Maybe soup?”
“With what? No meat, no chickenjust vegetables.”
“Then vegetable soup it is.” Emma moved to the kitchen and opened the icebox. “Theres an onion and half a cabbage left. Itll do.”
Catherine shook her head. In her day, women managed betteralways kept a fortnights worth in store.
“And what about little Sophie?” she pressed, thinking of her four-year-old granddaughter. “She wont live on soup alone.”
“Ill make porridge,” Emma said, pulling a tin of oats from the cupboard. “Or buttered noodles. Children like that.”
“Have we even any butter?”
Emma checked the butter dish. “Barely two ounces left.”
Catherine sighed. They were near starving, yet her son splurged on creams. Young people had their priorities all wrong.
“Listen, Emma,” she said, perching on a stool, “why dont you pop to the shops? At least fetch bread and milk for Sophie.”
“With what money? Ive none to spare.”
“Hows that? You work, dont you?”
“I do, but paydays not till Friday. My purse is empty.”
Catherine stood and paced the narrow kitchen. The situation was grim. William delayed his wages, Emma had nothing, and the child needed feeding.
“My pensions gone on medicine,” she muttered. “Blood pressures been dreadfulhad to buy dear tablets.”
“Then well wait till tomorrow,” Emma said flatly. “Well manage a day.”
“And let Sophie go hungry?” Catherines voice rose. “Is that your plan?”
Emma froze, ladle in hand. “What would you have me do? Fry air?”
“I dont know! Think of something! Youre her mother!”
Footsteps pattered down the hall, and Sophie appeared in her teddy-printed pyjamas, rubbing her eyes.
“Grandmum, whens tea?”
“Soon, love,” Catherine said, scooping her up. “Mums fixing it now.”
Silently, Emma began peeling the knobbly potatoessmall, sprouted things, hardly appetising.
“Mum, can I have biscuits?” Sophie peered into the pantry. “Theres a tin.”
“Only crumbs left,” Emma said. “After soup, all right?”
“What sort of soup?”
“Potato.”
Sophie wrinkled her nose. “I dont want potato. I want meat, like at Auntie Lucys yesterday.”
Catherine exhaled heavily. The child was rightchildren needed proper meals, not scraps.
Emma set the pot boiling, her hands trembling faintly from weariness and strain.
“Emma,” Catherine said quietly, “couldnt you ring someone? Friends, or your parents?”
“Why?”
“To borrow a bit. Just for food.”
Emma turned sharply. “I wont beg.”
“Nobodys asking you to beg! Just explain”
“Ive my pride.”
“And where are your parents? Couldnt they help?”
“Mums in hospital, Dads with her. Theyve their own troubles.”
Catherine eyed the watery pot. No savour, no comfort in it.
“Right,” she said firmly. “Ill ring William. He must bring something.”
“He said he cant today.”
“Well see.”
She dialled with stiff fingers. “William? Its Mum… Yes, were managing… Listen, are you certain you cant stop by? The cupboards bare… What dyou mean, no money? Wheres it gone?… I see… Tomorrow morning, without fail? Very well.”
She hung up. “Says hell come by tomorrow. Claims hes short himself.”
“Then we make do,” Emma said, stirring the pot.
Sophie, meanwhile, clambered onto a chair and fetched the biscuit tinempty save for dust.
“Mum, can I lick the crumbs?”
“If you like.”
The child tipped them into her palm, lapping them up like a kitten. Catherines heart ached.
“Emma,” she tried again, “wont you ask a friend? Just for Sophies sake?”
“How many times? I wont!”
“Why not? Too proud?”
“Its not prideits decency. Ive never lived on handouts.”
“Handouts? From friends?”
“Friends have their own families to feed.”
Catherine paced. The matter was desperate.
“What about the neighbours? Mrs. Wilkins would help.”
“No.”
“Why ever not?”
“We barely know her.”
“But shes kind-hearted!”
Emma said nothing, her spoon scraping the pots bottom.
“Mum, whens Dad coming?” Sophie asked. “He promised ice cream.”
“Tomorrow, pet.”
“None today?”
“None today.”
Sophies lip quivered. “Doesnt Dad love us?”
“Course he does. Hes working hard.”
Catherine could bear no more. “Sophie, love, go watch telly. Mum and I need a word.”
Once the child had gone, she rounded on Emma. “Listen well. A child needs proper mealsnot gruel.”
“And what would you have me do? Wave a magic wand?”
“Youve a phone. Youve acquaintances. Is it truly impossible to ask?”
“Ive said”
“What airs you put on!” Catherines temper frayed. “Think youre too grand to accept help?”
“Ill not grovel!”
“Grovel? Asking for aid in hardship is ordinary kindness!”
Emma switched off the hob, her face pale.
“To you, perhaps. Not to me.”
“Then whats your solution? Let the child starve for your principles?”
“And whats yours? Youve no money either, yet youd send me begging!”
“Because youre young! Youve connections!”
“Connections? I work at a factory, not a bank!”
Catherine sank onto the stool, rubbing her temples. The argument throbbed in her skull.
“Emma, be sensible. If not friends, then kin?”
“They live miles off.”
“Nobody nearby?”
“A cousin in Salford.”
“There! Ring her!”
“Weve not spoken in years.”
“Why?”
“Fell out over Grans will.”
“Bother quarrels! This is about Sophie!”
Emma said nothing, ladling thin soup into bowls. Catherine gazed at the weak broth, revolted.
“Sophie wont touch that,” she said.
“She will if shes hungry.”
“Hear yourself! Youd let your child starve before swallowing your pride?”
“Im not starving her! Theres food!”
“Food? Its dishwater with bits!”
From the parlour, Sophie began to cry, frightened by raised voices.
“There, you see?” Catherine jabbed a finger toward the sound. “Upsetting her!”
Emma hurried out to comfort the child. Left alone, Catherine glared at the sorry pot.
“Mum, Im hungry,” Sophies voice wavered.
“Soon, darling. Soups cooling.”
“Is there meat?”
“Not today, pet.”
“Tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow Dadll bring some.”
Sophie wept afresh. Catherine scooped her up.
“Dont cry, sweetheart. Gran will think of something.”
At the table, Sophie picked at her bowl, face crumpled.
“Gran, why does Cousin Alice always have sausages, and we dont?”
Catherine exchanged a look with Emma. How to explain hardship to a child?
“Every homes different, love. Well have sausages tomorrow.”
“Why not today?”
“Dads at work, earning for us.”
Sophie nodded, forcing down spoonfuls. Catherine choked back her own portion.
Afterwards, while Sophie played, the women washed up in silence.
“Emma,” Catherine said at last, “Im asking once more. Ring someone.”
“Not this again!”
“Whats Sophie to eat tonight?”
“The same soup.”
“And breakfast?”
“Williams
