Eleanor Hartley, a plump woman of sixtyfive, stands by the stove while the meatballs sizzle. Zoe, I told you not to touch my things! Natalie Clarke yells, holding a pink sweater in the doorway of the bathroom. Thats wool! You cant wash it in hot water!
Eleanor, turning from the pan, replies, What are you shouting about? I was just trying to help. I saw the laundry dirty and I washed it.
Natalie clenches the sweater. Just a month ago she and her husband Andrew lived peacefully in their twobedroom flat in Manchester. Then Eleanor broke her leg, and Andrew insisted that his mother move in while she recovers.
I dont have time to wash every day! Natalies voice cracks. I work from nine to seven, then I cook and clean!
Eleanor snaps, And what about me? Im making lunch, Im washing the floor.
I didnt ask for help! Natalie shouts.
Andrew steps out of the bedroom in his boxers and a Tshirt, looking weary. Whats going on?
Your mother washed my sweater without asking! Natalie points at the pink garment, now shrunken. Look, its ruined!
Andrew glances from the sweater to his mother, then to his wife. She was just trying to help.
Natalie snaps, I didnt ask for help!
Andrew tries to calm her. Its just a sweater. Buy a new one.
How am I supposed to pay? It cost sixty pounds!
Eleanor raises her hands. Sixty pounds for a rag! Thats wasteful, and now youre complaining you have no money!
Natalie storms back to the bedroom, slams the door, collapses on the bed and buries her face in the pillow. Tears gather, but she refuses to let them fall.
This isnt the first fight in the three weeks Eleanor has lived with them. Every day brings something new. She rearranges the kitchen cupboards, making it impossible for Natalie to find anything. She cooks portions big enough for a family of ten, then gets upset when theres leftover food. She blares the radio at full volume at dawn.
Natalie works as an accountant for a construction firm. Her schedule is packed, deadlines relentless. She comes home exhausted, only to be met with Eleanors complaints. Andrew always sides with his mother, saying shes ill and will soon move out.
But Eleanors leg heals slowly, and she drags her time before returning to her own flat, saying shes scared to be alone and might fall again.
The next morning Natalie oversleeps. The alarm never wakes her because she spent the night replaying yesterdays argument. She bolts upright, sees the clock halfpast eight. Blimey! she mutters, rushing to the bathroom.
Eleanor is loading the washing machine. Morning, she says dryly.
Morning, Natalie snaps, grabbing her toothbrush. She dresses in five minutes, grabs her bag and darts for the door. Eleanor calls after her.
Natalie, wait!
What? Im late!
Where did you leave those blue jeans? The ones you wore yesterday?
On the armchair in the bedroom.
Ive washed them. They were dirty.
Natalie rolls her eyes, Fine. She hurries out, thinking about what might be in the pockets maybe a napkin, a loose coin.
At work the office is in chaos; the quarterly report is due by lunch and the director is breathing down everyones neck. Her colleague Sophie brings her a coffee.
You look pale. Is it the motherinlaw again?
Again, Natalie sighs. I dont know how to live with her. Every day something new.
Says the husband should talk to her.
He always takes her side.
Sophie shakes her head. Mothers are sacred, wives have to endure.
At lunch Natalie grabs a soup and a salad, stirs absentmindedly, and her phone buzzes. A message from Andrew: Mum needs a ride to the doctor on Wednesday. Can you take her?
Natalie grimaces. She has a supplier meeting that day, but refusing would spark another fight. She types a quick reply promising to sort it out.
She returns home around eight oclock. Eleanor is in the kitchen sipping tea with a scone.
Will you have dinner? she asks. Ive made beef stew.
Thanks, later, Natalie says, heading to the bedroom to change. The jeans sit on the radiator, still damp. She pats the pockets empty. At least she didnt lose any cash.
Then she remembers her passport. Yesterday she went to the bank for a statement and slipped the passport into the back pocket of those jeans.
Her heart drops. She dashes to the washing machine, opens the drum empty. She scans the dryer, the drying rack, the laundry basket nothing.
Eleanor! she yells, storming into the kitchen.
Whats the matter?
My passport! It was in the jeans! Where is it?
Eleanor frowns. Which passport?
My passport! I left it in the pocket!
You never told me! How would I know?
You should have checked the pockets before washing!
Eleanor insists she looked There were only wet papers, I threw them away.
Natalie scrambles to the rubbish bin, tips its contents onto the floor. Amid the torn receipts she finds soggy blue pages the remnants of her passport. She lifts them with trembling hands; the ink runs, the photo blurs into a gray smear.
This was my passport, Eleanor whispers, looking over Natalies shoulder.
It was, Natalie says, anger boiling. Now its rubbish.
Sorry, I didnt mean to. Its your fault for putting it there.
My fault? You wash other peoples clothes without asking and you dont even check!
Eleanor retorts, Im old, I cant be nervous all the time!
And I cant! I have no passport now!
Andrew returns from work an hour later. He sees the torn pages on the kitchen table.
Whats this? he asks.
My passport. Your mother washed it with the jeans.
He flips through the soggy pages. How did it end up in the jeans?
I put it there after the bank and forgot to take it out.
And youre to blame, he says flatly.
Natalie rises, What? Its my responsibility to check.
Andrew shrugs, She was just trying to help.
Help? She ruined my passport! Ill have to replace it!
Andrew places the ruined pages on the counter. Youll have to apply for a new one. It happens.
The point is she meddles in everything!
Hes ill, he has nothing else to do but help around the house.
I didnt ask for help!
They argue. Andrew walks off to calm his mother. Natalie stays in the kitchen, tears finally spilling.
The next day she calls her friend Olivia.
Oi, can I crash at yours?
Of course, whats up?
Natalie arrives in the evening. Olivia opens the door, pulls her into a hug.
You look exhausted. Whats happening?
They sit with tea, Natalie recounts the constant fights, the passport disaster.
She does it on purpose, Olivia says.
What?
She wants to keep you under her thumb, to keep her son close.
Natalie pauses. Maybe it wasnt intentional. Maybe shes just active.
Think about it. A decent person would check pockets before washing. Its basic.
Maybe she forgot.
Or she didnt want to.
Natalie sighs. She probably just doesnt think.
Back home, Eleanor rearranges the kitchen cabinets, moving all the dishes.
I’ve organised everything. Its easier now.
Natalie opens the cabinet to find her favourite mugs on the top shelf, out of reach, and the pans shuffled.
Put it back as it was, she says.
Why? This works better.
Its inconvenient for me.
Youll get used to it.
Natalie closes the cabinet, heads to the bedroom. Andrew lies on the bed scrolling on his phone.
Your mother moved the cabinets again.
Fine, shell move them back if you dont like it.
She wont.
Natalie, stop. Shes ill, she needs something to do.
Let her read or watch TV instead!
Andrew sits up. This is our home, and my mums while she stays here.
When will she finally leave?
When the doctor says she can.
Natalie snaps, Youre heartless.
Andrew storms out, slamming the door. Natalie lies on the pillow, face buried in the cushion, wanting to scream but staying silent.
She takes a day off work to replace the passport. At the passport office the queue snakes around the room; she stands for four hours. When she finally reaches the counter, the clerk looks at the torn pages and sighs.
You washed it?
Yes.
That happens a lot. Youll need to fill out a loss report.
It isnt lost, its ruined!
Just file it as lost; its simpler.
Natalie signs the form, hands over photographs, pays the fee. Shes told the new passport will be ready in ten days.
How will I manage without it? I have a bonus due at work!
You can get a temporary ID, but theres another queue.
She leaves the office angry and exhausted, sits on a bench outside, dials Andrew.
Passport will be ready in ten days. Ive lost half a day.
Nah, youll get over it.
Andrew, your mother has to go.
Silence.
What?
I cant take this any longer. She should move back to her place.
Shes not fully recovered yet!
Shes been walking without crutches for a week!
The doctor hasnt cleared her yet!
Then let her stay with someone else! Your sister, maybe?
Lens flat is tiny, three kids in there!
And here we are in a twobedroom flat, its cramped enough for us!
Just a bit more patience.
I cant.
She hangs up, watches people pass, feeling a hollow emptiness.
That evening she arrives home late, taking a longer route to avoid a confrontation with Eleanor. The flat is quiet; Eleanor isnt there.
Wheres your mother? Natalie asks Andrew.
Shes gone to her sisters. Said she didnt want to be a nuisance.
Natalie feels a wave of relief mixed with guilt.
Will she be back for long?
Dont know. Maybe forever.
They eat dinner in silence; Andrews jaw is clenched, Natalies eyes stare at the empty plate.
That night she cant sleep, replaying the events. Part of her understands Eleanors desire to help; another part wonders why she never asked permission.
The next morning Eleanor calls.
Natalie, can we talk?
Sure.
Im sorry about the passport, the sweater, everything. I went overboard.
Natalie is taken aback.
Thank you.
Im used to controlling everything. Ive been on my own all my life, so when I moved in I wanted to be useful, but I overstepped.
Natalie, Im at fault too. I was harsh.
Theyre your rules, your home. I should have asked.
They pause.
Will you come back? Natalie asks.
Do you want her back?
Natalie thinks, then nods.
Yes, but lets set new rules. No touching my things without asking, no moving furniture. If you want to help, just ask first.
Deal. And you speak up if something bugs you.
Agreed.
Eleanor returns that evening with a cake as an apology. The three of them sit at the kitchen table, tea steaming.
Andrew says his mum will be cleared to go home soon.
Dont rush, Natalie says. Stay a little longer, but only under the new rules.
Eleanor smiles. Thanks, Nat.
Natalie receives the new passport ten days later, crisp pages fresh in her bag. She decides never to hide it in jean pockets again.
Eleanor lives with them for another month, then finally moves back to her own flat. Before leaving she hugs Natalie.
Thanks for putting up with me.
Come visit us.
Eleanor winks. I will, but Ill call first.
When Eleanor leaves, Natalie feels a mix of relief and a strange sadness; she has grown used to the stew, the morning radio, the constant bustle. Andrew pulls her close.
Thanks for getting through this, he says.
It was tough, she replies. But were family. We have to look after each other.
Youre a good wife, and Im a good soninlaw.
And youre a decent motherinlaw now, just a bit more mindful.
Occasionally Eleanor drops by with pies, helps with the house, always asking first. The passport incident becomes a running joke. Whenever someone forgets something in a pocket, they tease, Maybe its the second passport. Laughter follows.
The lesson sticks: it isnt the things or whos right that matters, but the willingness to communicate and compromise.
