“Let Her Go Alone—Maybe She’ll Get Kidnapped There,” Scowled the Mother-in-Law A Stifling Summer Ev…

Let her go on her own. Maybe shell just get herself into trouble over there, Margaret muttered, her face pinched with worry.

It was a stifling summers evening, right before the holidays the kind of evening that should have been soaked in happy anticipation and the pleasant chaos of last-minute packing.

Instead, the air in Jack and Graces London flat felt thick with tension. Margaret Richardson, Jacks mother, planted herself like the official monument of anxiety right in the middle of the sitting room, clutching the TV remote as though her grip alone could ward off disaster.

Im not having it! Are you out of your minds?! Her voice, so used to ruling school staffrooms (shed only recently retired as headteacher), rang with indignation.

Frozen on the TV was a grim news report the sort with a stern-faced presenter drawing jagged, red arrows all over a map of Southern Europe, ominously warning about the latest threats abroad.

Grace, who was calmly packing her suitcase as if nothing were amiss, just let out a small, exasperated sigh.

She knew this routine by heart. Jack, looking every bit the weary peacekeeper, tried to get a word in.

Mum, honestly, youre being ridiculous. Its a perfectly reputable hotel package

Ridiculous?! Margaret flung her hands in the air, the remote narrowly missing a lampshade. Jack, open your eyes, will you! Shell drag you into God knows what! Italy I mean, every news story, theres some new scam or crime wave! Shell send you out to buy a bottle of wine, and youll wind up god-knows-where, mugged or worse! Theyll take your passport, empty your bank account, harvest your organs! And her she jabbed a finger at Grace, shell end up on a ferry to Albania! Ive seen the documentaries, you know!

Grace stopped folding her dresses for a moment and looked up at Margaret, the pause between them stretching in a way Jack could never manage.

Mrs Richardson, Grace said quietly, her voice oddly gentle but clear. Do you really believe everyone in Italys just a gangster moonlighting as a surgeon, with a side business in people-trafficking?

Dont get clever with me! Im just telling you the facts! Its on the telly every night! Ordinary folks chasing cheap foreign sunshine, and the next thing, their family gets a phone call from Interpol!

Jack ran a hand down his face.

Mum, the telly is for people who havent got enough excitement in their own lives. Its meant to scare you into watching the next bit. Millions of tourists go every year

And thousands disappear without a trace! Margaret shot back. And you, Grace, youve bought the tickets already, havent you? You wont get a refund now, will you?

I have, and I wont, Grace replied simply. Weve saved for two years for this. I checked all the reviews, did my research, booked through a well-known company. Were not exactly planning to wander dark alleys at midnight. We wanted to tour, see some art, sunbathe, eat a proper Italian meal

Theyll poison you, you know! Margaret muttered darkly. God knows whats in those pasta sauces. Jack, love, Im begging you. Come to your senses. If shes determined, let her go alone. Itll be her risk, not yours. You stay here, where youre safe, with your mother. A mother knows these things!

An oppressive silence settled over the living room. Then Grace spoke, her suitcase snapping shut with a determined click.

Alright then, she said. You win, Mrs Richardson. Risk is as risk does. Ill go by myself.

Grace! Dont be ridiculous Jack spluttered.

You heard your mum. Shes got a bad feeling, and who am I to put you in danger? We cant risk your kidneys, let alone your freedom. Stay here. Drink tea with Margret and watch conspiracy telly. Ill head off into this den of rogues on my own. Grace flashed a chilly smile.

Margaret looked at once triumphant and a bit taken aback. Shed won, but she hadnt expected her daughter-in-law to actually call her bluff.

Thats right, she said rather flatly. You brought it on yourself.

Jack protested. He tried to reason with both women, but Grace was firm. The night before her flight, they lay back-to-back in bed, neither speaking.

Will you change your mind? Jack whispered eventually.

Nope, Grace replied, short and sharp.

*****

Graces flight landed in Rome and she was immediately wrapped in a cocoon of sun-warmed, jasmine-scented air.

Was she scared? Not at all. What she felt was a heady mixture of exhaustion and excitement. She stuck to her plan: walking through lively cobbled streets, gasping at brilliant cathedrals, nibbling incredible street food.

No one tried to nick her wallet, let alone kidnap her. The market traders only ever grinned bashfully while haggling over a couple of euros.

Grace snapped a selfie, cocktail in hand, turquoise sea glittering behind her, and sent it to the family group chat with Jack and, at Margarets insistence, to Margaret as well. The message: Still got all my bits. No ransom notes yet. Loving it here!

Jack replied with heart emojis. Margaret read everything, but said nothing.

Later, Grace took a train up to Florence. At a tiny B&B, the owner an older Italian lady called Rosa invited her for a cooking lesson. And that, weirdly, is where everything flipped.

Rosa, whose English was a blend of gestures and giggles, turned out to remind Grace an awful lot of Margaret.

Rosa, too, worried endlessly about her own daughter, off working in Berlin.

She is alone, it is cold, people are not so friendly, food is strange there, Rosa lamented, vigorously stirring risotto. I see on the news, Berlin has pollution, crime, people not smile!

Grace glanced at her anxious face and suddenly burst out laughing. She laughed until she had tears running down her face.

Rosa looked puzzled. So Grace, using hand gestures, phone pictures, and simple words, explained all about Margaret, the telly, the organs and the supposed slave traders.

Rosa listened wide-eyed, and then started laughing too, a high tinkly laugh like a bell.

Oh, mamas! We are all the same. We fear what we do not know. Telly tells lies all over the world!

That evening, under a night sky that somehow seemed closer than normal, Grace rang Margaret directly, face-to-face.

Margaret still looked exhausted and wary.

So? Youre alive? she shot out before anything else.

Perfectly fine, Mrs Richardson. All body parts present and accounted for, see? Grace turned the camera around to show the B&Bs little terrace, the table laid for two, Rosa waving from the kitchen with a teapot and biscotti.

Hello! Rosa called in cheery English. Your daughter-in-law is a top chef! I look after her, promise no kidnapping! Only pasta! She slung a companionable arm around Grace.

Margaret stared for a long moment, watching Rosa and her sunny smile, and then her gaze landed on Grace, tanned and untroubled.

So organs? Margaret asked, uncertain for the first time.

All present, I promise, grinned Grace. And a new lease of life, too. Mrs Richardson, its beautiful here, and people are so kind. Rosa says her daughters in Berlin and shes sure the place is miserable because telly over here says it is.

There was a long pause.

Let me talk to her, Margaret said suddenly. That Rosa.

Grace handed her phone over. For nearly ten minutes, the two women total strangers, speaking practically no common language exchanged a mixture of words, grimaces, laughter, and lots of waving.

By the end, Margaret actually, for the first time, managed a kind of smile. It was awkward, but it wasnt the usual mask of terror.

After the call, Jack messaged Grace: Mum just switched the telly off. She said, Enough of that nonsense and wanted to know when youre coming home.

Grace didnt reply straight away, just gazed at the stars for a moment, then snapped another photo: this time, arms round Rosa, both of them laughing, sending it off to the group. The caption: Met an ally! Going paragliding tomorrow. Organs still intact. Big kiss!

The journey home was a breeze. At Heathrow, Jack was waiting and a little way behind, clutching a slightly odd bouquet of bright asters, stood Margaret.

She didnt throw her arms round Grace, but neither did she launch into a rant. She cleared her throat and handed over the flowers.

So, she said gruffly, Survived, did you?

As you can see. And nobody bought me.

Well, then. Margaret waved it away. Tell me all about, er your Rosa, was it?

On the drive home, Grace recounted stories of churches, of meals, of the sweet generosity of strangers and funny little misadventures.

Margaret listened, sometimes adding a question of her own. The TV stayed off in the sitting room.

On the glossy black screen, you couldve seen their reflections: husband with his arm round his wife, and his mother, who maybe just maybe was ready to see the world through something more honest than the evening shocker on the telly.

Later, over a pot of tea, Margaret quietly, as if testing the waters, piped up:

Next year if youre planning another trip maybe I could come too? As long as its not anywhere too wild

Jack and Grace exchanged grins genuinely pleased at this massive shift in Margarets stance.

Of course, a couple of days later, she arrived unannounced, cheeks pink and eyes sparkling with fresh alarm.

Im not going anywhere with you after all! Grace, you were just lucky this time I saw another programme, loads of Brits have just been rescued from those places. Not risking it!

If you say so, Grace replied with a shrug.

Jack, no point chasing all over Europe. Britains perfectly lovely perfectly safe, too! Margaret finished with a haughty nod.

Jack just shook his head, sharing a smile with Grace. Best to leave that argument for another day.