It was a damp autumn evening in London when Edward brought his mother to live in our one-bedroom flat.
“Mother will stay with us for a little while,” he said, shifting awkwardly in the cramped hallway. “The pipes burst in her house, and the repairs will take time. We cant have her out on the streets, can we?”
Charlotte froze, a towel in her hands, having just stepped out of the bath. Her damp hair left dark patches on the shoulders of her old dressing gown. Behind Edward stood Margaret, his mother, clutching two enormous suitcases and a cardboard box tied with string.
“Hello, dear,” Margaret said cheerfully, as if she didnt notice Charlottes stunned expression. “Dont worry, I shant be underfoot for long. Once the plumbers finish, Ill be offa month, two at most.”
A month? Two? In a thirty-square-metre flat where the kitchen was scarcely larger than a cupboard and the bathroom barely fit one person? Charlotte felt a knot of dread tighten inside her.
“Margaret, how lovely to see you,” she forced a smile, masking her panic. “But are you sure youll be comfortable here? Perhaps one of your friends might have room?”
“Oh, dont be silly, dear,” Margaret waved her off, stepping further inside. “What friends at my age? The ones still alive can hardly manage themselves. Besides, I wouldnt want to impose on anyone.”
*But its fine to impose on us,* Charlotte thought but held her tongue.
“Mother, lets put your things here,” Edward gestured to the corner by the bookcase. “Youll take the sofa, and Charlotte and I will manage with the fold-out bed.”
“Certainly not!” Margaret huffed. “Ill take the fold-out. You young people need proper rest.”
“Mother, your back,” Edward said firmly. “You cant sleep on that thing.”
Charlotte watched in silence, feeling like a stranger in her own home. The flat had been hers before their marriage, inherited from her grandmother, but now that seemed irrelevantEdward had made the decision without consulting her.
“Ill put the kettle on,” she finally said, retreating to the tiny kitchen, where a fridge, stove, and table for two barely fit. “Margaret, you must be hungry after your journey?”
“Dont trouble yourself, I had a bite on the train,” Margaret replied, already unpacking onto the armchair. “Tell me, how have you been managing in this little place? Edward says its fine, but I can see its hardly room to breathe. You ought to be looking for something bigger.”
Charlotte pressed her lips together. That was a sore subject. Between Edwards wages as a mechanic and her own modest income as a primary school teacher, they barely scraped by. A mortgage was out of the question.
“Mother, weve been over this,” Edward sighed. “Now isnt the time.”
“When will it be?” Margaret shook her head. “Youre thirty-two, Charlottes twenty-eight. Time to start a familywhere will you raise children in this?”
Charlottes cheeks burned. Childrenanother sensitive topic. Married four years, and Margaret never missed a chance to remind them of her longing for grandchildren.
“Mother, not now,” Edward shot an apologetic glance at Charlotte. “Charlottes had a long day, and you must be tired too.”
Margaret sniffed but busied herself with her belongings.
Charlotte escaped to the kitchen, taking a deep breath. She loved Edward, truly, but his inability to say no to his mother infuriated her. Bringing her here without warning, without asking
The kettle boiled, and she mechanically brewed tea. Through the small window, rows of grey council flats stretched under a heavy October sky, mirroring her mood perfectly.
“Charlotte, dear, do you need help?” Margarets voice startled her.
“No, thank you,” she forced a smile. “Just lost in thought.”
“Oh? About what?” Margaret perched on the edge of a creaking chair.
“Work,” Charlotte lied. “A difficult class this yeartwenty-eight children, half with no discipline.”
“Terrible,” Margaret tutted. “In my day, children respected their elders. Now its all chaos.”
Charlotte said nothing, pouring tea. Margaret always idealised the past, dismissing the present as degenerate. Arguing was pointless.
“Mother, getting settled?” Edward peered in. “Ah, teaperfect. Early shift tomorrow, so Ill turn in.”
“Yes, of course, dear,” Margaret patted his arm. “Rest well. Charlotte and I will have a nice chat.”
*Just what I need,* Charlotte thought but only nodded.
“How are things with Edward, really?” Margaret began bluntly. “He says alls well, but I can tell somethings amiss.”
“Everythings fine,” Charlotte kept her tone neutral. “Just the usual married life.”
“Yes, but wheres the joy?” Margaret pressed. “He looks exhausted. Are you feeding him properly?”
“I do my best,” Charlotte sipped her tea, hiding her irritation. “We both work lateproper meals arent always possible.”
“Young people,” Margaret sighed. “In my day, wives managed work and home. Now its all takeaways. No wonder everyones ill.”
Charlotte bit her tongue. Margaret was elderly, in a difficult spotshe had to be patient.
“Ill cook more,” she offered. “Especially now youre here. Any childhood favourites of Edwards I should know?”
Margaret brightened, launching into recipessteak and kidney pie, proper roast beef, Yorkshire puddingdishes Edward had never mentioned in four years.
Finally excusing herself, Charlotte locked the bathroom door, sinking onto the edge of the tub with a shuddering exhale. How would they live like this? Where was privacy in a flat this size?
When she emerged, Edward was asleep on the fold-out, Margaret flipping through a magazine on the sofa. Silently, Charlotte slipped beside Edward.
Morning brought chaos. The tiny bathroom now serviced three. Charlotte, used to leisurely ritualsquiet coffee, careful makeupfound herself rushing as Margaret, an early riser despite her age, dominated the space.
“Charlotte, I washed your blouse,” Margaret announced at breakfast. “The white oneit was stained.”
“*What?*” Charlotte nearly choked. “Id soaked it in a special solutionit had red wine”
“Nonsense,” Margaret waved. “Ive always used plain soap, never had a problem.”
Charlotte strode to the bathroom. Her favourite blouse, bought on sale at Selfridges, now bore a yellowish tint.
“Everything alright?” Edward appeared. “Mother said you were upset about the blouse. Ill buy you another.”
“Its not the blouse,” Charlotte said quietly. “Its her touching my things without asking. Edward, why didnt you warn me? We couldve prepared.”
“Sorry,” he looked down. “I knew youd say no. But its temporaryonce her house is fixed”
“Just talk to her,” Charlotte sighed. “Explain we have rulesno touching things without permission.”
But nothing improved. Margaret rearranged cupboards, criticised Charlottes cooking, even dictated TV schedules. Charlotte stayed late at work, visited friends, anything to avoid going home.
“Youre never home,” Edward noted after two weeks. “Mother said you came in at nine last night.”
“Parents evening,” Charlotte said tiredly. “Is she monitoring me now?”
“She worries,” Edward hugged her. “She thinks youre avoiding us.”
“*Arent I?*” Charlotte met his eyes. “Edward, I cant live like this. Every move I make is judged.”
“Youre exaggerating,” he frowned. “Mother means well.”
“For *you*, maybe. Not for me,” Charlotte pulled away. “I need space, Edward. To be myself.”
“Where else can she go?” he snapped. “Her house is unlivable. Would you throw her out?”
“Im renting a room,” Charlotte said firmly. “Until her house is done. Then well talk about us.”
“Youre leaving over *this?*” Edward sounded stunned.
“Its not *this*,” Charlotte said quietly. “Its about respect.”
She hung up, walking through the drizzly park until she called her friend Lucy, whod just separated from her husband. She could stay therefor now.
Charlotte didnt know what would happen next. But for the first time in weeks, shed made a choice for herself. And that mattered.
