The sharp jangle of the doorbell announced an unwelcome visitor. Lucy tossed her apron aside, wiped her hands, and went to answer. There stood her daughter with a young man in tow. The woman ushered them inside.
«Hello, Mum,» her daughter said, planting a kiss on her cheek. «Meet Adrian—he’ll be living with us now.»
«Evening,» the young man muttered.
«And this is my mum, Auntie Lucy.»
«Lucille Margaret,» she corrected.
«Mum, what’s for dinner?»
«Mashed peas and bangers.»
«I don’t eat mashed peas,» Adrian said, kicking off his trainers and striding into the sitting room.
«Honestly, Mum, Adrian hates peas,» her daughter gasped, widening her eyes.
The lad sprawled on the sofa, dropping his rucksack to the floor.
«That’s my sitting room,» Lucille pointed out.
«Adrian, come on—I’ll show you where we’ll stay,» called Emily.
«I like it here,» he grumbled, reluctantly standing.
«Mum, think of something else to feed Adrian.»
«I’ve no idea. There’s half a pack of sausages left,» Lucy shrugged.
«They’ll do. Mustard, ketchup, and bread,» he chimed in.
«Lovely,» was all Lucy could muster, heading to the kitchen. «First it was stray kittens, now this. Next thing, I’ll be running a boarding house.»
She ladled herself some peas, tossed two fried sausages onto her plate, nudged the salad bowl closer, and dug in.
«Mum, why are you eating alone?» Her daughter barged in.
«Because I’ve just come home from work and I’m hungry,» Lucy replied between bites. «Anyone else who’s hungry can serve themselves or cook. And while we’re at it—why is Adrian moving in?»
«He’s my husband.»
Lucy nearly choked.
«Your what?»
«Exactly that. I’m a grown woman, and I decide if I marry. I’m nineteen, you know.»
«You didn’t even invite me to the wedding.»
«There wasn’t one. We just signed the papers. Now we’re married, so we’ll live together,» Emily said, eyeing her chewing mother.
«Congratulations. Why no wedding?»
«If you’ve got money for one, hand it over—we’ll find ways to spend it.»
«Right,» Lucy kept eating. «And why here?»
«Because his lot share a tiny flat with four people.»
«So renting was out of the question?»
«Why rent when my room’s here?»
«Fair enough.»
«Aren’t you going to feed us?»
«Em, the peas are on the stove, sausages in the pan. If that’s not enough, there’s half a pack in the fridge. Help yourselves.»
«Mum, don’t you get it? You’ve got a SON-IN-LAW now,» Emily emphasized.
«And? Should I break into a jig to celebrate? Emily, I’m tired. Let’s skip the theatrics. You’ve got hands—use them.»
«No wonder you’re still single!»
Emily shot her a glare and stormed off, slamming the door. Lucy finished her meal, washed up, wiped the table, and retreated to her room. She changed, grabbed her gym bag, and left for the fitness centre. A free woman, she spent evenings there swimming or working out.
By ten, she returned home, craving tea—only to find the kitchen in shambles. Someone had attempted cooking. The saucepan lid was missing, leaving the peas dried and cracked. Sausage wrappers littered the table, alongside stale, unwrapped bread. The frying pan was scorched, its coating scraped by a fork. Dirty dishes and a sticky puddle completed the mess. The flat reeked of cigarettes.
«Well, this is new. Emily’s never done this before.»
She pushed open her daughter’s door. The couple was drinking wine and smoking.
«Emily, clean the kitchen. And buy a new pan tomorrow,» Lucy said, leaving the door ajar.
Emily leapt up and chased after her.
«Why should we? And where would I get the money? I’m a student, not working. Stingy over a pan?»
«Listen, Em—house rules: clean up after yourself. Break something, replace it. And yes, I mind—that pan wasn’t cheap.»
«You don’t want us here,» Emily blurted.
«No,» Lucy said flatly.
The last thing she wanted was a row, but Emily had never been like this before.
«But I’ve got a right to this place!»
«No, the flat’s mine—every brick. You’re just registered here. Solve your problems on your own time. Stay, but follow the rules.»
«I’ve lived by your rules my whole life! I’m married now—you don’t get to boss me!» Emily shrieked. «You’ve had your turn—hand the flat over!»
«You can have the hall bench, or the pavement. Married? Didn’t ask me. Sleep here alone, or with him elsewhere. He’s not moving in.»
«Stuff your flat then! Adrian, we’re leaving!» Emily screeched, hurling clothes into a bag.
Five minutes later, the new son-in-law barged in.
«Listen, old girl—play nice, and we’ll get along,» he slurred. «We’re not leaving at this hour. Behave, and we’ll keep the noise down tonight.»
«Old girl? Your parents are the old ones—take your new wife and sod off.»
«Yeah? Try this!» He raised a fist.
Lucy grabbed his wrist, nails digging in.
«Ow! Let go, you mad cow!»
«Mum, what are you doing?» Emily yanked at her.
Lucy shoved her aside, kneed Adrian sharply, then elbowed his throat.
«I’ll press charges!» he squealed.
«Wait—I’ll call the police to make it official.»
The couple fled the tidy two-bed flat.
«You’re no mother of mine!» Emily yelled. «And you’ll never see your grandchildren!»
«What a tragedy,» Lucy deadpanned. «Finally, some peace.»
She examined her hands—several nails were broken.
«Nothing but trouble from you lot.»
After they left, she scrubbed the kitchen, binned the ruined pan, and changed the locks. Three months later, near her workplace, Emily reappeared—gaunt, hollow-cheeked, miserable.
«Mum… what’s for dinner?»
«Dunno,» Lucy shrugged. «Haven’t decided. What do you fancy?»
«Roast chicken and rice.»
«Then let’s fetch a chicken,» Lucy said. «You make the rice.»
She asked no questions. Adrian never resurfaced.