“Mum, give me back the house keys. Because of you, Eleanor comes home late—I hardly ever see my wife,” Christopher muttered, the words finally making sense now that he stood in his wife’s shoes. His mother usually left before he arrived, but now, with his holiday stretching before him, he found her waiting in the house more often than not. Every evening after five, Mildred would march in, rifling through their cupboards like a customs officer at Dover. On weekends, sometimes twice a day.
She had her own set of keys, so she never announced herself or asked permission. She despised her daughter-in-law with the quiet fury of a scorned queen, and the dinner pots were her first battleground. Mildred didn’t just inspect the cooking—she tasted, scoffed, and sometimes tossed entire meals if they displeased her. Eleanor began staying late at the office, avoiding the storm that brewed at home, just to keep the peace.
––––––––––
Soon enough, Christopher had enough. His mother was elbow-deep in the fridge again, muttering over a pot of broth. “This is meant to be soup? Who cooks like this? There’s barely any proper meat! Your Eleanor can’t keep house to save her life. A man shouldn’t eat like this.” Christopher clenched his fists. “Mum, I don’t mind. Eleanor and I don’t like much meat—I asked her to leave it out. Stop rummaging through our pots.” Mildred pressed her lips into a thin line.
“So that’s how it is! And in two years of marriage, you’ve lost a stone and a half! Your wife doesn’t look after you properly. Who should care for you if not your wife? Your mother! And you don’t even appreciate it—” “Mum, I just lost the extra weight. Since when was being overweight good? Don’t you see you’re driving me mad with your meddling? Why did you bin a whole bag of groceries yesterday? That’s our money down the drain.”
Mildred’s brows knotted. “That wasn’t proper food, just chemicals!” “Mum, hand over the keys. Because of you, Eleanor stays late—I barely see my wife! Just give them back!” “What?!” “Must I repeat myself?” The woman bristled, slammed the keys onto the table, and stormed out like a dowager duchess dismissed from court.
When Eleanor returned, she found Christopher slumped in a chair, head in his hands. “Chris, what happened? Did your mother come round again? What didn’t meet her standards this time?” He shrugged miserably and nodded at the keys on the table. Eleanor nearly danced with relief—no more unannounced invasions from the in-laws.
