With my mother, he seemed happier
Imogen watched the dawn brighten the window, sipping the last of her peachflavored tea and hesitantly dialing a familiar number. Did she really want an answer?
Emily is Thomas yours?
Dont hold onto him. Let him go.
Yes, Thomas was hersthat was meant as a positive reply.
Whos holding him?
You are. He wont break free unless you do. Let go. With his mother hes happier.
Good night to you.
It was half past five in the morning, yet Imogen knew Emily hadnt slept a wink.
Let go? Thomas clung to her all the same. Imogen, too, had fallen into that destructive attachment, but he held on even tighter. It was a whirlpool, spinning and impossible to escape.
It had all begun when Imogen went on a date with a domestic, unpretentious chapnot like Arthur. With Arthur there was not a minute without a quarrel. He could fling objects about the flat, overturn tables, even smash the dryer. Imogen matched him, screaming, shouting, breaking things in turn. Those emotional swings drove everyone to a whitehot temper: Imogen, Arthur, the neighbours.
Now she wanted someone she could sit with and discuss everything, not someone who would wreck the flat and tip tables over.
Then Thomas appeared.
They both reached for the same packet of biscuits in the confectionery aisle.
Those biscuits were only stocked in the small shop on Imogens route home from work, perhaps once every six months.
Without thinking, Imogen snatched the packet, then realised her action might cause Thomas to refuse to share. Arthur would have done the sameat the slightest provocation his temper would have flared, accusing her of being all wrong.
Apologetically she said, Excuse me, sir, Im a fan of these biscuits. Theyre delicious, yet I never seem to get any. Theyre delivered early, and by the time I reach the shop theyre all gone. Would you mind letting me have them?
Biscuit?
Just the one.
Was she really apologising for such a trivial request?
Take them. Im not a connoisseur. I grabbed what I could.
Thomas, unlike Arthur, seemed a fairytale prince. He never raised his voice, never threw a tantrum, never hurled furniture. All disagreements were settled through conversation. It was hard to believe you could simply ask, Please dont leave your trousers on the floor, and have someone comply. With Arthur, the answer would have been a cascade of scattered belongings and broken things. With Thomas, everything seemed harmonious.
Later, at the stationery shop, Imogen noticed her change was wrong.
Miss, she told the shop assistant, you havent given me all my change. I gave a £50 note. The markers cost £3. You owe me £47, not £44.
First of all, I owe you nothing, the assistant snapped.
Why be rude? Im just asking about my change, not demanding your salary.
Open your eyes. Those markers are £6 each, not £3. Who prints those price tags from dawn till dusk? So you get tangled in threedigit sums? The cashiers cant even check them themselves, and the queue at the till stretches for three rows.
Imogen, theyll be £6, Ill pay the extra if needed, Thomas murmured, Why make a fuss over a few pounds?
But Imogen was already pulling the price tag off the shelf.
£3! Return my change.
Its the same tag, another clerk intervened, We need to remember that cashiers are people too, often working overtime, dealing with impatient customers in three lines. Pay £6 or leave.
Fine, well pay £6. Its for your niece. Whats the point of skimping on a child?
Nadia wont be painting museum pieces with those markers; shell just doodle the sun in her school album. Whether £3 or £6, Id buy them if the service werent so dreadful!
Sorry, we apologise, Imogen, you can take the markers and the money, Thomas said, lets go.
Excuse me?! Imogen shouted. If a restaurant purposely spilled soup on me, would you bow to them too? Youre a coward!
Imogen left in a storm of emotion, and Thomas left for his mothers house for a week. She called him, wept, begged him to return, cursed him, then calmly announced it was over. He gave no reply.
After seven days he turned up as if nothing had happened. Imogen was at her wits end, but their unspoken tension was merely pushed further aside.
Thomas now fled from every fight.
My nerves are frayed! Imogen complained. With Arthur, though he annoyed me with petty quarrelsbitter as radishat least youd shout, let it out, and feel relief. With you, you lock everything inside. No venting, no discussion. You just head straight to your mothers! When we first met, Thomas discussed everything with me. Now arguments are grander, about big issues, yet you never answer. When I try to speak, you hop on a bus and leave!
He would return with his favourite line: Have you settled down yet?
They never truly lived together. Thomas visited her, but she never pushed herself into his home because his mother was always there.
Dont bring your brush and comb, Imogen said, Leave them with me.
Will you give me a shelf in the bathroom?
And you stay there yourself.
When Imogen, on payday, asked how they would split money, Thomas shot back:
I send my wages to my mother. She allocates them.
But how did you afford to take me out on dates?
I tell her, she decides whats needed.
But you know we cant live on my salary alone, right? Im part of this house now.
Of course, Mum knows. Ill ask her for whatever we needshell transfer it. Just tell me the day we shop for groceries.
Imogen wanted to live with a partner, eventually a husband, not under her motherinlaws roof. How could her salary be in someone elses pocket? Asking for cinema money, a café lunch, or flowers for a girl?
Thomas, do I need to draft a shopping schedule? Who signs it you or your mother? Ill have to coordinate everything with her, otherwise this middleman just hinders us.
True to form, Thomas went back to his mother, disappeared for a week. Imogen thought of tossing away the brush and forgetting, but something relentless pulled her toward him, as it did him. Their attraction persisted even as they no longer understood each other; they no longer argued, just drifted into separate flats, reeducating each other, yet the pull remained.
Why do you keep running to your mother at every chance? Imogen asked. It isnt just about our unsaid words; its about you wanting to go there.
I want to. Its a paradox. When Im there I miss you, but when Im here I miss my mother.
Imogen, what nonsense are you up to? her father intervened when she called, Hes infantile. Hell never mature. He hides behind his mothers skirt. Thats why you never truly fought. In the candyandbouquet phase he might sort himself out, but the mothercling is tougher.
Imogen wasnt one to give up easily.
Thomas returned with a compromise.
My mother said she understands and will allocate half of my wages to our expenses. If we need more, itll be a kind of sponsorship. Ill give you her number; you can call her directly for urgent purchases.
Thomas, give me one solid reason why my money should sit with your mother. Youre not thirteen. You didnt hoard a piggy bank for her to spend everything.
Its sensible. Mum is wiser than us. She wont waste it. We wont buy useless junk; well spend wisely because Mum wont let us splurge.
So Ill use my salary for my own needless stuff!
Well, thats your choice, and Ill be financially responsible. Thats my mothers plan.
When Imogen finally received the first transfer from Emily, it felt burdensome, yet she thought she might grow used to it. She didnt adapt her own finances; they ate from the common pot, while she bought jewellery and perfume with her own money, sparing no expense.
Then the meddling relatives poked at her accounts.
Imogen, youre spending far too much. Its illadvised.
What?
Ive looked at your online bank. Mum thinks the same. Lets have you also send her half.
Someone in Imogens family had given all their money to their parents, but that was a motherinlaw, not a wifes mother. She recalled how they once begged for money for baby nappies, only to be told they could wash cloth ones.
No. I can manage my own money.
You cant.
Enough!
Mum demands
Then go to her!
Of course he left. And, of course, he would come back.
At 05:30, after the call with Emily, Imogen wonderedwhy persist? He was happier with his mother. Their wages were better divided, their understanding seemed perfect. Why did he need her? To beg for nappies together? To have her call his mother directly for every small need? What purpose did that unnecessary middleman serve?
A child is better off with his mother.
