**Saturday Evening**
It was a quiet Saturday evening in Manchester. My husband, James, had left at dawn to go fishing with his mates. I, Emily, was home alone, looking forward to a rare day of peace. Our daughter, Sophie, was staying with her grandmother, and I had invited my best friend, Charlotte, over. We hadn’t seen each other since early spring, caught up in work and family. Today was supposed to be perfect—tea, biscuits, and a quiet chat in our cosy flat. Just as I was pouring the tea, the doorbell rang—once, twice, three times. My heart jumped. Who could that be?
I opened the door and froze. Standing there was my mother-in-law, Margaret, with a stern look on her face. “Good evening, Emily. You don’t seem pleased to see me. Where’s James?” she said, skipping any greeting. I fought to hide my irritation. “He went fishing with his friends this morning. Overnight, he said.” Margaret narrowed her eyes. “Overnight? And you let him go? Did you check if he packed a proper coat? It’s still chilly for spring!”
I shrugged. “He packed his own things. I made him sandwiches and a flask of tea, just as he asked.” She frowned. “Sandwiches? What else?” “Crisps, sausage rolls, a pie, tea, and coffee,” I listed. “What about spare socks? Woolly ones?” she pressed. “No, I didn’t. If he needed them, he’d have taken them,” I said evenly, though I was seething inside.
“I came to talk about how you take care of my son,” Margaret declared, tossing a sharp glance at Charlotte, who sat awkwardly at the table. “Go on, Margaret. Charlotte’s married too—she might find it useful,” I said, barely holding my temper. She began, “Let’s start with food. What did James have for dinner last Saturday?”
I thought for a moment. “Last Saturday, he was watching football with his mates. They ordered pizza, crisps, nuts, and beer.” Margaret gasped. “Pizza? Crisps? Couldn’t you have made a proper meal? Roast and mashed potatoes?” “I did. I offered, but they said no.” “Couldn’t you have taken plates into the living room for them?” she snapped.
My cheeks burned. “I’m not a servant. I offered—they refused. What’s your problem?” Margaret raised her voice. “My problem? If James eats like that, he’ll ruin his health! You’re his wife—it’s your job to look after him! Remember when he went out without a hat last winter and ended up with an ear infection?”
I couldn’t hold back anymore. “Margaret, take a look in the hallway! There are two hats of his on the shelf—one knitted, one woolly. Am I supposed to force them onto his head every morning? Your son is a grown man—he’s 34! I make sure Sophie dresses warmly, but James can take care of himself!”
She wouldn’t let up. “That’s exactly my point—you don’t keep an eye on him! There’s your new coat hanging there, and James has been wearing the same one for years. You buy for yourself but nothing for him? Spending all the money on yourself?” I gritted my teeth. “I got a bonus, bought myself a coat and new shoes for Sophie—hers were too small. I offered James a new coat, but he said he’d rather put the money towards fishing gear. His choice. And frankly, stop meddling in our lives! I’m his wife, not his second mother. I won’t baby him just so you don’t confuse us!”
Margaret muttered something about ingratitude, downed two cups of tea, and finally left. Charlotte, who’d stayed silent the whole time, sighed. “Emily, how do you put up with that? I’m always nagging my Andrew—change your shirt, polish your shoes, wash the car. If he’d bought fishing gear instead of a coat, I’d have had a row!”
I smiled. “Why bother? Will he change? There’s a saying—the boy is father to the man. That’s men for you. Either live with them or don’t. Constant criticism ruins marriages. Cook what you like—if he complains, let him make his own. Saw our light switches?”
Charlotte frowned. “What about them?” “Take a look,” I said. She got up, inspected one, and gasped. “They’re upside down!” I laughed. “James put them in. I pretended not to notice. He’s happy, and I don’t fuss. Why spoil the mood?”
Charlotte thought for a moment. “Do you two ever argue?” I shook my head. “Of course. Just last week, James saw his colleague’s daughter at a figure-skating competition and wanted to enrol Sophie. We talked her out of it—she does ballet and loves it, while skating’s all injuries and pressure. She told him, ‘Dad, come to my recital, film it, show your mates.’ It’s one thing to decide together—another to constantly nitpick.”
Charlotte sighed. “My brother divorced over that. His wife and her mother never stopped—sit up straight, don’t eat like that. First, he moved back with our parents, then left for good. Your mother-in-law’s cut from the same cloth. But James is happy with you?”
I grinned. “Seems so. And I’m happy he picks his own clothes and spends his money how he likes. Better he goes fishing than me suffocating him with a scarf.”
