But the Mother-in-Law Knew Everything!

Saturday, 4May

Dear Diary,

Emma, love, are you free this Saturday? my motherinlaws voice crackled over the handset, warm and familiar, that particular lilting tone Ive learned to recognise after three years of marriage. We need to get the jam jars down to the cellar; the veranda is bursting at the seams. And up on the loft theres a right mess I never seem to have the energy to sort out.

Of course, MrsWindsor, Ill be there first thing in the morning, I said, balancing the phone against my shoulder while stirring the soup on the stove. Should I bring James?

Oh, no, dear, his project is on fire, you know that. Let him stay at home and work in peace.

We agreed Id catch the nineoclock coach from London Victoria. I hit the snooze button, returned to the pot, and hummed a catchy jingle from a recent advert. Outside the window the weak winter sun filtered in, and on the sill a wilted ficus stared back at me, a plant I still couldnt bring myself to throw away.

The coach was a cramped, petrolsmelling beast, its seats filled with the scent of someones homemade pasties. I claimed a window seat and rested my temple against the frosty glass. Beyond the city, fields stitched together by hedgerows stretched out, and the low rumble of the engine lulled me into a light doze.

A sudden jolt and a sharp, indignant shout snapped me awake. The coach had skidded onto the shoulder of the road, tilting to the right. The driver announced over the intercom that a tyre had blown, the spare was rotten, and wed have to wait for a replacement from the town.

Two hours at least, he added, throwing his hands up. Could be three.

A chorus of complaints rose as passengers shuffled off the bus. I lingered beside the vehicle for about ten minutes, then, with a determined sigh, I stepped onto the hard shoulder and raised my hand. A battered Peugeot pulled up, an elderly gentleman behind the wheel offering a friendly grin.

Going to town? Hop in, love, Ill give you a lift.

I leapt onto the passenger seat, typed a quick message to Margaret: Coach broke down halfway, Im heading back, lets postpone until next weekend. I hit send. The phone buzzed: Message delivered.

Forty minutes later I stood before the lift of my modest fivestorey block in Camberwell, climbed the narrow stairs to the third floor with a calm I didnt quite feel. I fished out my keys, twirled the right one, and slid it into the lock.

My phone rang loudly. The screen flashed Margaret Windsor.

Hello?

Emma! Her voice cracked, rising to a shriek. Where are you? Did you get there? Are you at the cottage?

No, I wrote that the coach broke down, Im back. Im standing at the door, Ill be in in a minute

Dont go inside!

My heart froze, key still halfturned in the lock.

What?

Dont go inside! Hear me? Dont open that door! Turn around and come straight to me, now, this instant!

MrsWindsor, are you all right? I tried to laugh nervously. Whats with the panic? Im literally on the doorstep

Emma, please, I need you here! Im desperate!

But the lock clicked, the door swung open, and time seemed to halt.

The hallway was a chaotic mess of shoes: my ballet flats, Jamess trainers, and a pair of glossy highheeled stilettos. An unfamiliar umbrella leaned in a stand. A cloying, sugary perfume hung in the aircertainly not mine.

Beyond the entryway, in the living room, James stood in his homeworn trousers and a Tshirt, barefoot, his arms wrapped around a woman. She had dark hair, narrow shoulders, and rubyred nail polish, her fingers gripping his back.

They kissed as if the world had ceased to exist. Jamess eyes flew open first, and when he saw me in the doorway his face drained of colour. His blood seemed to vanish from his face so quickly I thought he might faint.

The woman turneda young thing, about twentyfive, eyes wide as a fawns. In an instant she snatched her bag, her heels clicking on the stairs, grabbed a pair of stilettos and the umbrella, and vanished through the front door, leaving a lingering cloud of that sickly sweet fragrance.

I still held the phone against my ear.

Emma! Margaret screamed. Answer me! Did you go in? Emma!

How many times I croaked.

What?

How many times have you, Margaret, distracted me with your jars, your garden beds, your attic How many times have you covered for your son? How many times have you laughed behind my back because I never knew the truth?

Silence. Then a low buzz. She hung up.

I lowered my hand slowly, eyes drifting to James, who stood frozen in the middle of the room.

So? I asked, tone flat. Anything to say?

Emma, I can explain everything

I burst out laughing, a wild, hysterical sound.

Explain? Seriously? You actually think thatll help?

It meant nothing, shes just

Just what? Just fell into my face by accident?

James stepped toward me. I stepped back.

Dont come any closer. Dont you dare.

Listen

No, you listen. I was surprised at how steady my own voice sounded. This flat is mine. I bought it before we married, with my inheritance from my grandmother. You have no right to be here, and you have fifteen minutes to pack your things and get out.

Emma, please, lets talk

Fourteen minutes.

You cant just

Thirteen.

He read the panic in my eyes, heard the determination in my tone, and understood I wasnt bluffing. He bolted to the bedroom, slamming the wardrobe doors shut. I leaned against the hallway wall, counting my breathsinhale, exhale, inhale, exhaletrying not to fall apart.

Twelve minutes later James emerged with a halfstuffed suitcase and a jacket draped over his shoulder. He stopped at the doorway.

Keys, I said, voice flat as a board.

He rummaged in his pockets, tossed a key ring onto the table, and left.

The door closed behind him with a soft, almost silent click. I stood there a heartbeat longer, then turned the lock, twice, and threw a thin chain over the bolt.

I slid down the wall onto the floor, and the tears came in a flood.

Monday I filed for divorce. The paperwork went through quickly; no children, assets split, no claims. Just a clean, bureaucratic ending.

James never called again. Margaret did not either. It was as if we had never existed at all. Three years of shared life evaporated into silence.

A week later I met my old university friend, Sarah, in a small café on the high street. She stared at me, latte cooling, mouth open.

Waitso your motherinlaw knew? she said, shaking her head. She sent you to the cottage while he was

Sounds about right, I replied, a crooked smile tugging at my lips.

The funniest part isI thought she was a second mother. I believed this was a real family, and it turned out to be a performance. Both of them were acting from the start.

From the start?

Think about it. When we met, I already had my own flat, a steady job, a reliable income. He was living in a rented room, juggling odd jobs I took a sip of my coffee, the bitter taste cutting through my throat. Maybe it didnt start on day one, but pretty soon he realised he could settle comfortably.

Do you think he ever

I dont know, I said, staring into the frothy surface of my cup. Maybe he loved in his own twisted way, but not enough to stop cheating or lying every single day. And his mother she wanted a daughterinlaw who would be a workhorsecanning, gardening, sorting the housewhile her son stayed off the hook.

Sarah reached across the table, squeezed my hand.

Im so sorry, Emma.

Dont be. Im not going to crumble. I lost three years, but that happens. Im not going to waste another day on them.

What now? she asked.

I finished my coffee, set the cup down.

Now I start again. From scratch. No phony husbands, no fake mothersinlaw. I have my flat, my job, my life. Thats enough.

I stood, threw my coat over my shoulders. Outside, a fine, irritating drizzle fell over the street. I smiled despite the grey sky. The pain was realsharp enough to bite my teethbut I would survive. This whole saga is just another hard lesson, painful yet instructive.

Sarah caught up with me at the door.

Emma, are you really okay?

I will be. Give it time. Ill be happy again.

I stepped into the rain, heading home where a new project awaiteda cake recipe Id been postponing for monthsand thoughts of a future I was now building alone.