I Gave My Mother-in-Law a Gift So Shocking, She’ll Always Get the Shakes Just Looking at It!

Ive given my mother-in-law a present so clever, shell need a sit down! Shell be shook every time she sees it, yet she wont dare throw it out. Oh no, shell have to keep it on display for all to see! Thats just how it is. What goes around, comes around, as my Gran would say.

Nasty old Margaret Taylor, that woman! In all the fifteen years Ive been married to Tom, not a kind word from her not a single one. A right old misery! Other mothers-in-law at least muster a compliment, even if its through gritted teeth. But her? Just endless silence and those beady hazel eyes watching me like a crow waiting for carrion. I try to keep away from her five-minute visits once a year, maximum I was saying to my friend Emily, over coffee.

Emily listened with the seriousness of a jury foreman. She herself wasnt overly fond of her own mother-in-law, Janet. Theyd started a sort of tradition: every other Saturday, the three of us me, Emily, and Hannah met up for a girly afternoon. Emily, being a chef, always turned up with a mountain of goodies, as my son Jack called them, and I gave everyone hair updates, living up to my reputation as the villages finest hairdresser.

And then theres Hannah, a nurse, who recently started at a new place. We had meant to ask her about it, but the conversation had, as ever, turned to mothers-in-law.

I cant stand her! Shes really nothing to me. If she just disappeared, I wouldnt shed a tear, I said, gearing up for another rant.

Thats when Hannah, whod been sitting quietly with her tea, cut in, eyebrows raised.

And if she was gone, Kate? Would you feel better? she asked, voice dripping with sarcasm.

Probably I muttered, the fun gone out of my complaint as I remembered this morning grinning to myself as I wrapped up that present, delighted at the lovely surprise that awaited Margaret. When she opened it (which I told her to do after Id left, just to be sure), her birthday would be thoroughly ruined.

Just as I was basking in the mental image, Hannah piped up. You were asking about my new job, werent you?

Emily and I straightened like meerkats.

Clinic? GP surgery? I guessed.

Raking it in now, then! Emily giggled.

Hospice, Hannah said, simply.

Silence landed like a fog.

But why? Emily managed, shocked.

Thats where people well, you know I muttered awkwardly. Isnt it scary? And what about the money?

You two and your money, money, money, Hannah sighed. Honestly, Kate, Ive got just one word for you: Idiot.

Who? My mother-in-law? I smirked.

No, YOU, silly! Hannah replied. You think your Margarets never said a kind word? Who sold her city flat and moved to that draughty bungalow at the edge of town just so you and Tom could have the money for a bigger place? Your Margaret. And when little Jack was desperately ill as a baby, who got him that top specialist? That specialist was only willing to drop everything because hes an old friend of Margarets. He saved your sons life! Or that time you got so drunk at your school reunion you passed out at Daves place? Nothing happened, but you know Tom hed never have forgiven you. Who covered for you? Margaret told Tom you stayed with her. Kate, you bite the hand that feeds you, literally! And those homemade jams and pickles we all love Margaret does those, not you! You wouldnt know a courgette from a cucumber if they grew together. Margaret simply isnt big on words. Not everyone is a silver-tongued devil, but they show love through actions. There are loads wholl talk the talk, but do nothing.

That stung. I stood up, indignant. Thanks for the support, Hannah! Call me an idiot, why dont you!

But, truth be told, a twinge of guilt wormed its way into my stomach. The guilty little voice that had been egging me on last night suddenly turned anxious. I wanted to tell myself I didnt care but I couldnt. The voice wouldnt let me enjoy my little triumph.

Emily, always comfort-eating when things got tense, had worked her way through five cabbage pasties without saying a word and, unusually, she stayed silent on whose side she was on.

I should have made a dramatic exit, told Hannah where to stick her opinions and stormed off. But my legs wouldnt move.

Then Hannah spoke, her eyes suddenly glistening. You know Ive not got my mum, right? I lost her fifteen years ago, just like youve had Margaret all this time. The difference is, you moan endlessly about your mother-in-law one who, despite everything, loves you. I hurt every day, Kate. Sometimes, just to hear her name, I call her old phone and talk to nothing. I saved her number. I top it up, ring it and watch Mum pop up on my phone. But silence. I tell her how much I miss her, how hard life is. Sometimes, I wrap up in her blanket and pretend shes hugging me. My hearts burnt out with it, Kate. You have your mum, AND a mother-in-law, and you still act like a right martyr, putting yourself above someone whos loved and sacrificed for you. And your snobbish nicknames! When was the last time you used your scissors on Margaret did her hair or roots?

I never, I heard myself whisper.

Emily did a double take. Youre joking! Kate, thats shocking! I always bake for my mother-in-law shes a right softie, loves my scones and simnel cake at Easter. Her hands are darling, like little marshmallows. She gets so giddy over my treats!

That voice inside me the guilty worm shrank so small I thought it had died. And yet it clung on, forcing me to replay every slight, every time Id said her hands looked like lobster claws, her face like a shriveled old spud, insensitive and cruel. What did I know about Margaret Taylor, really? Id never been interested.

But she was always around when I needed her. I remembered Tom telling me, quietly, about the two sisters hed lost young. Margaret nursed them both, her husband, too. Margaret had only Tom left her late child and she doted on him, and, by extension, me.

Tom really was wonderful kind, clever, hardworking. That was Margarets doing! He could have been a right brute, or a layabout, or, God forbid, had a mistress. No, he cherished me. Why did I never thank his mother? Why did I joke about her, make her the butt of every complaint? Shameless!

The guilty worm inside me shrieked: Ungrateful! You lavish all your skills on your friends but nothing for her why? Just to feel superior? I shuddered out loud.

Katie, are you alright, love? asked Hannah, coming closer.

I shook my head, struggling not to burst into tears. Funny, Id thought this would be a fun afternoon. How wrong Id been.

Trying to steady myself, I changed the subject. How is your job, Hannah?

Ill never forget their eyes, girls. So much pain sometimes but even more hope. They talk about eternity, regrets, love. Their families grieve so deeply. One chap, busy City banker type his mum was with us. Hed have given her the moon, but all she wanted was for him to take her back to her childhood village. He kept putting it off. Next month, Mum, Im rushed off my feet. After she died, he stood there, begged and pleaded, Come back, Mum, well go now, Ill buy the house, anything. I just want you back!

Or another, a retired colonel who visited his daughter daily. Shed lost her hair, but hed bring fancy clips and combs, hoping her hair would grow back and he could plait it, like her mum once did. She beamed whenever he arrived. When she died, he gave all those pretty hairclips away to the staff and whispered, Shes with her mother now. Theyll look after one another. Ill see them again.

My point? Value what you have! Some people wail over coffins, others fight disease. And then there are people like us, wasting precious time on pointless feuds, until fate gives us a proper slap. Were not as in control as we think, ladies.

Emily, now sweating in the heat, fanned herself with an old copy of the Guardian and eyed the empty plate. She texted her husband: Family night at ours. Movie and food. Make sure your mum and dad come. Sleepover!

Gotta dash! Emergency family meeting. Ta-ta! she chirped, disappearing like a startled squirrel.

I got up too, hands trembling as I fumbled in my handbag, dropping its contents all over the floor. Hannah helped me pick them up in silence. Then we nodded and went our separate ways.

I had appointments, an evening all mapped out. Yet I couldnt stop thinking about Margaret out there, in her draughty cottage, looking at the present Id been so smug about imagining how Id feel in her shoes. If shed done the same to me, Id be devastated.

After ringing around to reschedule my clients, I cancelled my evening and jumped into the car, heading to Margarets. Toms phone went straight to voicemail.

My palms began to sweat. What would Tom say? Its his mother, after all

As I pulled up, dusk was falling. The little house glowed with welcome. The chintzy curtains with daisies, the pots of geraniums so irritating before, now seemed soft and inviting.

I have to apologise. What on earth will I say? I wondered, heart racing as I crossed the garden.

The front door was unlocked. The kitchen smelled of fresh bakes. The table was heaving: steaming steak and kidney pie, a jug of cold elderflower, Toms favourite shepherds pie. Tom and Jack were tucking in, chatting and laughing. Margaret was by the wall in a blue frock with a lace collar, plait as always. A couple of her neighbours and a cheerful old gent were there too.

Look, isnt this lovely? Margaret beamed, showing everyone the present Id given her.

She went on, This is our Katie, Toms wife. Shes like a princess! Fair and gentle, strikingly pretty. I look at her and count my blessings. Gods quite the artist! Now, this is a real treasure a portrait of Kate! I cried for joy when I saw it. Its the best present Ive had in years.

My face burned like a beetroot. Reminded me of when I told Granny that my brother Nick had broken her vase when in fact itd been me.

The gift I was so sure would torment her was a portrait. Of me. All these years, Id assumed she hated me, because shed never complimented me. I decided a portrait of her least favourite person would be torture for her yet here she was, showing it off as her prize possession!

Shes just so beautiful, sometimes I cant get the words out. Looks like a porcelain doll, blue eyes, elegant features. Not like ugly old me. Im hopeless with words too shy. A few times, when shes visited, Ive tucked her under an extra blanket. God took my girls too soon, but He gave me another Toms wife is my own daughter now. Tom knows his wife is a treasure, Margaret was telling them, her eyes shining.

I could almost hear that little worm inside me give a final snort and die for good.

I didnt have time to promise it Id do better I was already swept into the room. Jack ran over, Tom stood up, grinning.

What are you doing here? I thought you had clients. Mum said you came earlier, Tom whispered.

I cancelled. Margaret can I call you Mum now? Like my own mum? Happy birthday! My voice wobbled.

I almost wanted to get on my knees, like the banker in Hannahs story to atone for my stupidity and grudges. For her great kindness.

Kate! You found time to visit again, bless you, my dear girl. My own Kates come! Margarets face shone.

The old gent gave a gruff nod of approval, looking from me to my portrait. Everyone burst into chatter and laughter.

For once, I was simply happy: to be alive, to have parents still with me (who, coincidentally, were on their way for the party), a wonderful husband, a cheeky son, a lovely mother-in-law, a job I love. Turns out, Im ridiculously lucky!

To the table! Everyone! Margaret called.

What a day! And afterwards, shall I do a beauty session? Anyone want a cut or colour, just say the word! I grinned.

That, I decided, would be my present and a new beginning for everyone.