“We want some peace and quiet, not your endless advice,” said the son, glancing at his wife.
“Emma, wheres your mum today?” asked Margaret, peering over her thick glasses at her young daughter-in-law. “She promised to help with the starters.”
“Shes busy,” Emma replied shortly, slicing cucumbers. “Got held up at work.”
“Again?” Margaret shook her head. “What about family? When are you two planning on grandchildren? Youre not exactly spring chickens anymore.”
Emma tightened her grip on the knife and said nothing. The telly blared in the living roomAndrew had just come in from the garden, where hed spent the afternoon pottering about.
“Andrew, love!” Margaret called. “Come help us set the table.”
“Be right there, Mum,” he answered, but didnt budge.
Margaret sighed and began pulling out the good china. Tomorrow, her sister and brother-in-law were visiting from Manchester, and the family lunch had to be perfect.
“Emma, did you wash those tomatoes properly?” Margaret inspected the bowl. “Ive got a sensitive stomach, you know.”
“Yes, Margaret,” Emma answered evenly.
“And those cucumbersyoure slicing them too thin. Men like something a bit heartier. Andrews always been that waylikes a proper salad, not just decoration.”
Emma paused and looked up.
“Maybe youd prefer to cut them yourself?”
“Oh, dont be silly, dear,” Margaret flapped her hands. “Im just giving a bit of advice. Forty years in the kitchen, Ive got experience. You young ones still have learning to do.”
Andrew shuffled in, hair tousled, dirt smudged on his cheek, wearing old trainers and a faded jumper.
“Hows it going, ladies?” he grinned. “Prepping a feast for the ages?”
“Yes, yes,” his mother nodded. “Though you mightve washed up first. What a state!”
“Mum, Im at home,” Andrew grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge. “Just unwinding.”
“Home doesnt mean slobbing about. What must your wife think, seeing you like this?”
Emma spun around.
“Margaret, I love my husband exactly as he is. Work clothes, lounging clothesdoesnt matter.”
“Of course, of course,” Margaret agreed. “But theres such a thing as standards. My neighbour Barbaras son-in-law? Always immaculate. Even at home.”
“Whats he do for work?” Andrew asked, gulping his water.
“Some office job. Doesnt get his hands dirty.”
“Well, Im on a construction site, Mum. Not much call for suits there.”
“Fair enough. But once youre home, you could make an effort.”
Andrew waved her off and left. Emma kept chopping, ignoring Margarets pointed looks.
“Oh, another thing,” Margaret perched on a stool. “You two keep the telly up so loud at night. Im right next doorcant sleep a wink.”
“We dont have it loud,” Emma countered.
“Loud enough. And the talking! Last night, I was awake till midnight.”
Emma felt her face flush. Last nights conversation had been private. The telly was just background noise to mask it.
“Margaret, maybe earplugs would help?” she suggested. “The chemist sells decent ones.”
“Earplugs? In my own home?” Margaret huffed. “You should be more considerate.”
Andrew reappeared, now in a clean shirt.
“Whats all this?” He took in their tense faces.
“Just reminding Emma about noise,” Margaret said. “Couldnt sleep last night thanks to you two.”
“What noise?” Andrew frowned.
“Your telly, your chatter. Kept me up past midnight.”
Andrew and Emma exchanged a glance. She turned to the window.
“Mum, we try to keep it down,” he said carefully.
“Try harder. A woman deserves peace in her own home.”
“Margaret,” Emma cut in, “maybe we should move out? Rent somewhere nearby, so we dont disturb you.”
Margarets jaw dropped.
“Move out? Wholl help me? Im not getting any younger. This house is too much for one.”
“Well visit,” Andrew said. “Help with whatever you need.”
“Visit!” Margaret threw her hands up. “What if I take ill? What if something happens? The neighbours wont hear a thing! No, no. Family sticks together.”
“Then no more complaints,” Emma said firmly. “Respect goes both ways.”
“Of course I respect you! Im just sharing wisdom.”
Andrew sighed and sat at the table.
“Mum, enough advice for today. Emmas had a long day.”
“What did I say that was so terrible?” Margaret blinked. “Just common sense.”
“Were not interested in your common sense,” Emma snapped. “Well live how we choose.”
Margaret pursed her lips.
“So Im a burden now. Forty years in this house, and now Im in the way.”
“No one said that,” Emma softened. “We just want privacy.”
“Privacy! Who does your washing, cooking, cleaning? Thats privacy?”
“We never asked you to,” Emma said. “We manage fine.”
“Oh, really? With you both working all hours? Im retiredtime to spare. Thought I was helping.”
Andrew stood and stared out the window. Dusk fell, streetlights flickering on.
“Listen,” he said, back still turned. “Lets compromise. Mum, were grateful for your help. But sometimes we just want to be usno commentary.”
“So I should hide in my room?” Margaret sniffed.
“No,” he faced her. “Join us. Just let us breathe.”
“And what exactly needs breathing over?”
Emma set down the knife.
“Margaret, were married. We have our own life, plans, relationship.”
“What relationship? Youre part of this family!”
“Our family,” Andrew said. “Youre part of the wider one, not ours.”
Margaret gasped.
“Well! My own son disowns me!”
“Thats not” Emma started.
“Oh, I understand perfectly! Cant wait to shove me aside!”
“Mum, stop the dramatics,” Andrew groaned. “No ones shoving you.”
“So Ive no say in my own home?”
“You do,” Emma said. “Just not over everything. Not how we talk, dress, or when we have kids.”
“Kids! Im not demanding them! Just asking.”
“Youll get grandchildren when were ready,” Andrew said.
“And whens that? Youre not getting younger!”
“See?” Emma threw her hands up. “More advice, more interference.”
Margaret crossed her arms.
“Advice! In my day, elders were respected.”
“Times change,” Emma said. “People want space now.”
“Oh, change!” Margaret mocked. “And whats it got us? Divorces, loneliness. My friend Marges son moved outnow hes divorced, and shes all alone.”
“Mum, were not divorcing,” Andrew said. “We just want normalcy.”
“Whats abnormal here?”
Andrew looked at Emma, then his mother.
“That we cant chat without an audience. That every moves scrutinised. That Emma tiptoes around her own home.”
“Tiptoes?” Margaret frowned.
“Your comments,” Emma said bluntly. “Theres always something.”
“Im guiding you!”
“We dont need guiding,” Andrew said. “We want privacy, not pointers,” he added, meeting Emmas gaze.
Margaret stood, as if struck.
“My guidance isnt wanted! Forty years a mother, and now Im redundant!”
“Mum, dont” Andrew reached for her, but she waved him off.
“No! If my helps a burden, so am I!”
She stormed out, slamming the door. The telly blared louder from her rooma pointed protest.
“Well,” Emma exhaled. “Thats a week of sulking sorted.”
“What choice do we have?” Andrew spread his hands. “Endure forever?”
The tellys volume spiked.
“Maybe we should move,” Emma whispered.
“And leave her alone? Shes seventy, healths not great.”
“So we suffer indefinitely?”
Andrew pulled her close.
“I dont know. Maybe shell adjust understand.”
Emma leaned into him.
“I just want us happy. Without interference.”
“Me too.”
They stood entwined as game-show cheers bled through the walls. Margarets message was clear: she was wounded.
“Tell you what,” Andrew said suddenly. “Tomorrow, well see an estate agent. Scope out rentals.”
“What about your mum?” Emma asked.
“Let her try solo. Maybe shell see were family, not caretakers.”
“But shell struggle”
“Well visit daily. Help out. But live separately.”
Emma nodded, relief washing over her.
“Dont tell her yet. Let her cool off.”
“Course.”
They finished the salad in silence, minds racing. Emma pictured a cosy flatjust them. No eavesdropping, no censorship. Laughter, music, freedom.
Andrew thought of his mum. Would she ever accept their independence? Or forever cast them as ingrates?
The tellys sudden silence signalled Margarets bedtime. Tomorrow, she might pretend nothing happened. Or double down. Either way, their course was set.
Emma imagined tomorrow: guests, small talk, the charade of harmony. Thenviewings. A future on their terms.
No more living by Margarets rules. Finally, theyd be free.
