Emily fussed about her cosy flat on the outskirts of Manchester when an unexpected knock came at the door. There stood her mother-in-law, Margaret Wilkins, with a forced smile and uneasy eyes.
“Are the children home?” she asked, clutching a bag of sweets tightly.
“No, they’re at school,” Emily replied, slightly puzzled by the sudden visit.
“Then give them these,” Margaret thrust the sweets into her hands. “Oh, you’re cleaning? Let me help!”
Before Emily could protest, her mother-in-law bustled inside, diving into dusting and rearranging furniture with alarming energy. Emily could only watch in bafflement as Margaret scrubbed and tidied with frantic determination.
“Oh, you’ve got cabbage!” Margaret suddenly exclaimed, finishing her cleaning spree. “Oliver adores stuffed rolls. Shall we make some?”
Emily barely had time to answer before Margaret was rifling through the fridge, pulling out ingredients. The younger woman was stunned by the sudden flurry of activity—but deep down, she sensed something more behind this odd enthusiasm.
Months later, Oliver stood outside his mother’s townhouse in the city centre, urging her to visit.
“Mum, come round, the kids miss you,” he insisted.
“Not today, love, I’m busy,” Margaret fidgeted, avoiding his gaze.
“That’s odd—you’ve stopped dropping by. Did something happen between you and Emily?”
“What would we have to argue about?” she scoffed, feigning indignation.
“Then come over!”
“I’ve got nothing for the kids. I can’t show up empty-handed!” Margaret quickly deflected.
“Mum, I think you’re hiding something,” Oliver said carefully.
“Why would I? Fine, I’ll go, but just for a bit,” she muttered, clearly eager to leave.
“You haven’t visited in weeks, and now you’re making excuses,” he crossed his arms.
Margaret huffed and reluctantly followed him to the familiar building.
“I’ll see the grandkids, but only so you stop fussing,” she grumbled, marching ahead.
Inside the flat, Emily opened the door, and Oliver noticed his mother stiffen as if wishing to vanish.
“Hello, Emily. Are the children home?” Margaret darted inside, kicking off her shoes and bustling past.
Emily watched her go, bewildered.
“Is something wrong between you and Mum?” Oliver whispered.
“No, why? Did she say something?”
“She wouldn’t talk at all—I had to beg her to come.”
“No idea,” Emily shrugged. “Ask her yourself. Who knows what’s going on in her head?”
Margaret soon emerged from the kids’ room, hurrying toward the door.
“Leaving already?” Oliver called.
“Yes, things to do,” she mumbled, not meeting his eyes.
“Margaret, do you remember the loan?” Emily suddenly asked, recalling the £100 she’d lent two weeks prior.
“Of course! I said I’d pay you back when I can,” Margaret stammered before bolting.
Emily sighed as the door slammed. “Think I’ve figured out why she’s been avoiding us—the money.”
“What did she need it for?”
“She claimed it was for medicine. But her social media showed her out with friends at a new bistro.”
Oliver frowned, realising his mother’s guilt was keeping her away.
Weeks later, Margaret turned up unannounced.
“Are the children home?” she asked, fidgeting.
“No, at school.”
“Give them these,” she pushed another bag of sweets into Emily’s hands. “Oh, you haven’t cleaned? Let me help!”
“I’m fine, just need to vacuum.”
“Nonsense!” Margaret was already peeling off her coat.
She snooped around before declaring, “You’ve got mince and cabbage—Oliver loves stuffed rolls. Let’s cook!”
Before Emily could object, Margaret had commandeered the kitchen.
“Emily, relax—I’ll handle everything. Go run your errands,” she insisted.
Seizing the chance, Emily left for a manicure. When she returned two hours later, the family was happily eating at the table.
“Emily, sit down! I’ll dish yours up,” Margaret chirped.
Midway through the meal, Emily remembered the debt.
“Margaret, about the £100 you borrowed—”
“What loan?” Margaret waved dismissively.
“The one you took for medicine but spent dining out.”
Margaret’s smile turned sharp. “Haven’t I earned it back? I’ve worked all day for you!”
“You never said this was repayment. I’d have refused.”
“Ungrateful!” Margaret shrieked. “I slaved over the stove, cleaned your mess—”
“I never asked you to!” Emily’s temper flared.
“You cheeky girl!” Margaret wailed, flinging her apron down before storming out.
Oliver sat frozen, spoon in hand, as the door slammed.
Emily exhaled slowly. Margaret’s pettiness was clear—she’d schemed to dune her debt through forced labour.
After that, contact ceased. Margaret visited Oliver and the children occasionally—but the money was never returned.