Simon, check the potatoes for the salad. If theyre soft enough, you can turn the heat off,Irene asked.
On it, Simon replied, wiping his hands on a towel.
Irene kept slicing the ham. Since six oclock that morning shed been in the kitchen like a machine, whipping up a parade of salads Waldorf, Coronation chicken, a pomegranatesprinkled mix, a cheeseandcrouton bowl, and who knows what else.
When the ham was neatly arranged on a platter, a massive slab of cheddar stared back at her. It needed slicing too. One slice, another, a third the knife glided effortlessly, and Irene felt her eyes grow a little blurry from the sheer abundance.
Simon stuck a fork into a potato floating in the simmering pot.
Looks soft enough, love. Ill switch it off, he said calmly.
Right, switch it off.
You sound out of breath, he remarked, noticing Irenes flushed face.
Simon, are you kidding me? I rushed home from work yesterday, hauled all the groceries, boiled everything, and now Im chopping salads from dawn. And you ask why Im panting? Irene snapped.
Well, what can I do? Am I to blame? Mums birthday is coming up Simon muttered, his head drooping.
Nobodys to blame! Why am I always the one left holding the bag? Weve got another daughterinlaw, you know. Shes the queen of the family! Irene huffed.
Oh, you dont even know Olivia, Simon said.
Irene dabbed her hands on a napkin, poured herself a glass of water, and thought of Olivia the younger daughterinlaw shed known for five years, the one her motherinlaw, Martha Steadwell, had taken under her wing.
Irene had come to the city from a tiny village in the Cotswolds. She studied, got a job, and met Simon in a classic, accidental way. First they dated, then they decided to marry.
Olivias introduction to the Steadwell clan went smoothly. The village girl slipped into the family like a wellfitted glove. Even before the wedding shed been helping out at the country cottage, never shying away from any chore. Paint the door? Shed do it. Overgrown potato patch? She cleared it in a weekend, even with a Monday shift at the office. Must can the pickles for winter? Easy. She never complained; shed grown up in a bustling brood and knew the rule that a family sticks together.
One Saturday Martha invited the couple over for a family dinner. Her younger son, Andrew, had announced his engagement to a mystery girl. No one knew much about her, except that she was called Olivia.
Andrew introduced Olivia to everyone. She had the sort of backbone that wouldnt let anyone step on her, and shed never be the type to gossip behind a handkerchief, as the saying goes.
In Marthas eyes, Andrew was the golden boy, so naturally Olivia became the prized daughterinlaw. At the wedding Martha showered Olivia with glowing compliments, calling her the most beautiful bride and insisting no one could match her wit or looks.
Irene never heard such fanfare directed at her, but she didnt take it to heart. After all, they were just words, and shed quickly spotted Olivias true nature: all show, little substance.
Olivia did very little around the house. She and Andrew lived in a modest onebedroom flat, and her attempts at cleaning were, at best, halfhearted. The idea of her helping Martha on the cottage was laughable.
Meanwhile, while Irene hauled two tenliter buckets of cucumbers and tomatoes for canning, Olivia lounged in a deck chair, sipping a homemade squash through a straw.
Enjoying the cottage, love? Martha asked, hovering over her.
Fine enough, Olivia replied, eyebrows raised.
We made the squash ourselves, you know, Martha persisted.
Its sweet, but could use a bit more tang. I dont love it too sugary not great for the figure.
Right, Ill tell Irene to cut back on the sugar, Martha said promptly.
Irene was out in the orchard, gathering apples so they wouldnt rot. She kept the peace, swallowing her irritation for the sake of family harmony.
She whispered her frustrations only to Simon:
Can you believe it? Less sugar, they say, but the recipe needs it or the squash will spoil. Wed even stand on our heads for Olivia!
Darling, try not to give her special treatment. Do what you think is right and leave it at that. Arguing with Martha is a lost cause shes set in her ways, Simon shrugged, never one for domestic dramas, especially when his mother was involved.
Irene tended the garden, bought seeds, grew seedlings, harvested and stored the produce. She never expected Olivia or Andrew to pitch in. When they didnt, they still helped themselves to the bounty, taking as much as they liked with both hands. All the while Irene paid for the salt, sugar, spices, and vinegar out of her own pocket tiny costs, but still costs.
One evening Irene finally spoke up to Olivia, straight as a dart.
Olivia, could you at least lend a hand in the garden now and then? Marthas getting on in years, and Simon and I cant do it all ourselves.
Simon, when will we have time? We work weekdays, hit the gym and the pool on weekends, then we dine out. Life isnt just work; its also about relaxing, Olivia replied, unruffled.
Martha swooped in before the conversation could go any further.
Yes, dear, Olivias right. Youre both young, you should enjoy life. And youre a beautiful woman, you must look after yourself.
Irene dropped the subject and later vented to Simon at home.
Of course shes beautiful, and Im the workhorse!
Dont be dramatic, love. Shes behaved like that for years. Nothing new there, Simon waved his hands.
Soon a big event loomed Marthas birthday. Shed already ordered a gift for herself, a robot vacuum, without a second thought about the price. She demanded it, period.
Olivia and Andrew received a different memo:
No more bouquets or boxes of chocolates. Youre young; spend on yourselves, not on an old lady.
Irene finished the salads, packed everything neatly, and she and Simon drove to Marthas to set the table. Olivia and Andrew, as if on a royal summons, arrived precisely on time, but they never set foot inside the cottage.
Martha was the first to congratulate Olivia, handing Martha a modest bouquet and an envelope she insisted be opened immediately, in front of everyone.
Martha smiled, tore open the envelope, and stared at the paper, puzzled. Olivia announced loudly that Martha would soon be a grandmother. From that moment the focus shifted entirely to the expectant Olivia.
By evening Olivia began to look a little green, supposedly from the aroma of the food.
Irene, clear the table, will you? Martha ordered.
Maybe Olivia will just leave if she feels that bad, Irene muttered.
You cant be serious, shes pregnant! Put yourself in her shoes! Martha defended her.
I remember lugging seedlings of tomatoes and cucumbers all over the garden when I was pregnant! Irene protested.
Martha, we only asked you to clear the table, not to chase Olivia away! Martha even teared up.
I dont want to clear the table. I set it, now its Olivias turn to wash up. Im exhausted and need to go home, Irene said, storming out.
Martha was mortified, and Irene never returned to help at the cottage or attend family gatherings again.
Three months later Simon called from work.
Irene, Mums been taken to the hospital with a suspected stroke. Are you going to see her?
Of course. Ill call you back once I know whats happening.
It turned out Irene had never really tried to help Martha, despite the motherinlaws frequent pleas.
Irene cursed herself. If anything happens to Martha, Ill never forgive myself. Shes family, after all.
Martha, how are you feeling? Irene asked over the phone.
Oh dear, Im in hospital. Theyve done scans and tests.
Rest up, Ill be there soon.
Two weeks later Martha was discharged, recovering at home. Simon and Irene arrived to find her tearful.
Irene, youve done everything. Im lost without you, she sobbed.
Im sorry I didnt call earlier, she added, voice shaking. I only realised how much I miss you now. They say we dont appreciate what we have until its gone.
Ive missed the garden terribly, Irene replied, eyes glistening.
Take the keys, make the decisions. Youre the lady of the house now.
Lets go out for a walk. Fresh air will do us good. And stop feeling sorry for yourself lets have a cup of tea.
