**Diary Entry 23rd February**
I stared at the elderly woman standing on my doorstep, suitcase in hand, and couldnt believe my eyes. Margaret Whitmore, my former mother-in-law, had the audacity to look as though she were paying a casual visit to an old friend.
“Lily, darling,” she drawled, “Ive nowhere else to go. Jeremys moved that whats-her-name Emily in with him. And I wont intrude on young love, you understand? Theyre building their future, and whats an old woman to do? Youll let me stay, just for a little while?”
I stepped aside wordlessly. What could I say? Throw a sixty-year-old woman onto the street? Yes, the divorce had been painful. Yes, Jeremy had turned out to be *that* sort of manthe kind who, after twelve years of marriage, suddenly “found himself” in the arms of a twenty-five-year-old colleague. But what did any of that have to do with his mother?
“Margaret,” I said quietly, closing the door, “I dont understand. You have your own flat. Why must you stay here?”
“Oh, Lily,” she sighed, settling onto the sofa and loosening her shoelaces, “you know how tiny my place is. This is so much more spacious. Jeremy mentioned youre alone in this two-bedder. Surely you wont begrudge an old woman a bit of comfort?”
I clenched my fists. Of course Jeremy had said that. How convenientinstalling his new girlfriend while palming his mother off on his ex-wife. And not a single thought spared for how *I* might feel.
“Its only temporary,” Margaret repeated, unbuttoning her coat. “Just until I sort things out.”
The first week, I tried to be accommodating. Made breakfast for two, bought the “urgently needed” medicines she demanded, quietly tidied up after her. Margaret was hardly the ideal housematedirty dishes piled in the sink, clothes strewn about, telly blaring late into the night.
“Lily, darling,” she said one morning, “my pensions so small. Could you spare a bit for groceries? And my blood pressure pillsIm completely skint.”
Silently, I handed over fifty pounds. Then thirty more for a “new heart supplement.” Then twenty for “a little treat with tea.”
“Margaret,” I ventured cautiously a month later, as another request left my wallet nearly empty, “perhaps we should live within our means? Im not made of money either.”
She whirled on me, eyes flashing with familiar fire. I knew that lookthe prelude to a spectacular row.
“What did you just say?” Her voice shot up an octave. “Live within my *means*? How dare you! I welcomed you into this family! Twelve years, I treated you like a daughter! And now you begrudge me a few quid for medicine?”
“Im not begrudging you, I just”
“What would *you* know about hardship, childless as you are?” she shrieked, waving her arms. “I raised my son alone after his father passed! Worked three jobs! And now youd deny me heart pills? Ill tell the neighbours what youre *really* like! Ungrateful wretch!”
I endured that scene in silence. And the next one. And the one after, sparked by an “unsuitable” dinner. Margaret was a virtuoso of melodramahours of shouting, neighbours eavesdropping, accusations of every sin under the sun.
After the latest performance, I rang Jeremy.
“Jeremy, come and collect your mother.”
“Lil, dont be like that. Im starting fresh. Mums still upset about the divorce. And youve got all that space to yourselfwhats the harm?”
“The harm is my money, my peace, my *sanity*.”
“Dont be dramatic. Shes elderlyshe needs support. If you can help, why wouldnt you?”
The dial tone buzzed. Hed hung up.
Sitting at the kitchen table, I realised Id had enough. Margaret acted as though she owned the place, threw tantrums over nothing, demanded money without a shred of remorse.
*She thought Id keep funding her out of fear. She had no idea what I really had planned.*
The next morning, while Margaret was at the GPs, I called a locksmith. The locks were changed within an hour.
That evening, she returned from her usual mooch around the shopsalways stopping to complain to shopkeepers about her lot. But her key wouldnt turn.
“Lily! Open this door!” She hammered on it. “What sort of joke is this?”
I stepped onto the landing, calm as you please.
“No joke, Margaret. Pack your things. Ive called a taxi.”
“What? Have you lost your mind? Where am I supposed to go?”
“Home. To your son. Where you belong.”
“But I cant! Emilys there! Its not *proper*!”
“Was it proper for *me*?” I asked, watching her face harden, ready for battle.
“How *dare* you?” she screeched. “Im an old woman! My hearts fragile! You cant do this!”
“I can. Its *my* flat.”
“Ill tell the neighbours! Theyll know what you are!”
“Tell them. I dont care anymore.”
Her suitcase was packed quicklyshe hadnt brought much. In the taxi, she fumed silently, clutching her chest with theatrical gasps.
Outside Jeremys building, I hauled her case inside. Up to the second floor. The door swung open to reveal my baffled ex in joggers.
“Lily? Mum? Whats going on?”
“Youre getting your mother back,” I said, shoving the suitcase inside. “Margaret no longer lives with me.”
Emily emergeda pretty blonde in a dressing gown. Her face fell at the sight of her mother-in-law.
“But Mum cant stay here!” Jeremy protested. “Weve only just”
“Started your new life,” I finished. “Lovely. Enjoy it. Without me.”
“Lily, you dont understand,” Jeremy said, in that patronising tone reserved for toddlers. “Mum needs help. Shes elderly, unwell. Her pensions peanuts.”
“She has a son. *He* can help.”
“But Ive got a new family now!”
“And Ive got a new life. One that doesnt include your problems.”
Margaret, silent until now, erupted:
“Jeremy! Do you *see* how she treats me? Throwing an old woman onto the streets! Heartless! I loved her like a daughter!”
“Mum, come on,” he stammered, but I saw the panic in his eyes.
“Throw your mother out if you likethats your conscience,” I said, turning to leave. “But none of you will ever set foot in my flat again. I wont open that door.”
Lily, wait! Jeremy called after me.
But I was already down the stairs, ignoring Margarets hysterics and my exs sputtering.
Back home, I opened my laptop and booked a two-week holiday to Spain. The money Id saved for new furniture covered an all-inclusive resort. *Exactly* what I needed after a month of Margaret.
That evening, Jeremy rang.
“Lily, how could you be so cruel? Mums in tears.”
“Let her cry in *your* flat.”
“But Em and I are just settling in! Dont you get it?”
“I get that its *your* problem.”
“Lil, be reasonable. Well figure something outjust not yet. Give us time.”
“You had time. A whole month of me funding your mother. Times up.”
I hung up and switched off my phone.
For three days, it buzzed with callsJeremy, Margaret, even unfamiliar numbers (shed clearly enlisted her cronies). I ignored them all.
On Thursday morning, I sipped coffee by the window, watching children play below. The silence was bliss after a month of shouting, demands, and mess.
The doorbell rang. Emily stood there, tear-streaked.
“Lily, can we talk?”
“About what?”
“Margaret. I know youve fallen out, but”
“We didnt *fall out*. I set a boundary.”
“Shes difficult,” Emily whispered. “She blames me for breaking up the family. Screams at me daily. Jeremys never home, and Im stuck with her. She says awful things.”
I nearly smiled. A month ago, I mightve pitied her. Now, I just shrugged.
“Thats *your* family problem.”
“But maybe we could take turns, or”
“No.”
“She cant live on the *street*!”
“She has a flat. And a son. Sort it out yourselves.”
Emily lingered, hoping
