Monica opened the door only expecting to find me standing there and looked shocked to discover I’d brought a guest with me. Mary stood behind me looking uneasy, offering a formal smile to her daughter-in-law. Reading the look on Monica’s face, I bustled in, leading the way for Mary.
‘Hello darling.’ I kissed my daughter’s cheek as I passed her but Monica didn’t respond.
‘Hello, Monica.’ Mary’s words were stiff and her round hazel eyes looked shifty and sunken in their sockets. She looked as meek and dishevelled as ever. Monica could hardly look at her, and the three of us stood awkwardly in the sitting room, surrounded by an oppressive silence.
It was the first time we had been together since the day of the argument, which had taken place beside Tom and Josh’s grave.
‘The house looks nice.’
My desperate attempt to fill the void of conversation only made the atmosphere tense up further. Feelings of bitterness and resentment curdled with the quiet in the room.
‘How about I make us all a cup of tea?’ I suggested, trying to lighten the mood.
‘No,’ Monica barked, ‘I’ll do it. You can sit down and wait in here.’
Immediately, Mary took a seat, half balancing on the edge of the large sofa, unable to make herself sit comfortably. ‘How do you have your tea, Mary?’ Monica’s glare was cool.
‘Oh, um, milk and one sugar please.’ Mary wrung her hands as Monica threw me a furious look before leaving to fetch the tea.
Once Monica left the room, I leant over to Mary and whispered, ‘I’m sorry about this. She’ll calm down. She just needs a bit of time. She’s stubborn, always has been.’
‘I really don’t think I should be here. She seems so angry still.’ Mary didn’t know what to feel.
‘Oh, nonsense. I know my daughter and I bet she’s regretting being so aggressive even as we speak.’
I could tell she thought that scenario unlikely given the atmosphere we’d walked into.
From the kitchen, we could hear the furious Monica stirring the teabags in the mugs, cursing Mary and I under her breath.
‘How dare that woman come to my house unannounced?’ she muttered. Mary and I shared a nervous look. We heard her telling herself to bite her tongue. ‘Anymore outbursts will arouse suspicion. All I have to do is endure a couple of hours and then they’ll go and I can stop pretending.’ My daughter talking to herself like that made my stomach turn. I didn’t recognise her anymore.
As Monica appeared in the living room, carrying a chrome circular tray with three mugs, Mary and I fell back into silence. Monica handed out the mugs and we sat quietly sipping the tea. After a while, Monica could no longer stand the quiet.
She eyeballed Mary. ‘So,’ she said, putting her mug down on the coffee table, ‘are you going to tell me why you’re here?’ Her tone was aggressive and accusatory.
‘Well’ – Mary wriggled in her seat – ‘I thought it was time we made friends again.’ I glared at my daughter, willing her to accept the olive branch.
‘Is that right?’ Monica leant back into the armchair and folded her arms across her chest. A wince of pain shot across her face.
‘Your mother called me a few days ago.’
Mary was a tiny woman and looked wooden, as though a string was holding up her back and head. It was an old-fashioned awkward kind of posture to adopt and I was reminded of a puppet.
‘I think we need to move on. Thomas wouldn’t want us arguing. He’d be so upset to think you and I had fallen out. And, well, since I’ve had time to think, I’ve realised how difficult this must be for you, and how it’s affected you.’
To Monica, I think Mary appeared smug.
‘Then I thought to myself I should come and pay you a visit. Today seemed fitting somehow.’ Her hands were small and bony but her knuckles large and swollen.
‘What’s so special about today?’ Monica looked irritated and perplexed.
Mary turned to face me and disbelief drained her cheeks of all colour. I felt mortified and quickly tried to salvage the conversation.
‘I’m sure Monica doesn’t mean to be so dismissive—’ But before I could finish my sentence, Monica interrupted.
‘No, Mum, don’t. Please tell me what’s so special about today that you felt you could come to my house uninvited?’
‘Your husband’s birthday!’ The strength in her own voice surprised Mary. ‘Tom’s birthday. My son. The man you married. The father of your child, remember?’
The rage swelled in Mary as she stood up from the sofa, spilling some of her tea on the spotless cream carpet. Monica stared blankly at her mother-in-law.
So much time had passed since the accident and her days must have all melted into one another. She’d forgotten to pay attention to the date and I could see her shame under the scrutiny of Mary’s hurt face. But then she evidently remembered Tom’s later treatment of her and the nosedive their relationship had taken in the year leading up to the crash.
‘He’s dead. I hardly think it matters to him anymore, Mary.’ The icy words froze the room.
‘Monica!’ I was horrified. Who was this person standing before me?
‘What? You all want me to live in the past. I can’t stand it anymore.’ Her cheeks flushed red and a vein in her neck protruded as she continued to shout. ‘He was absolutely not an angel and I’m sick of pretending that he was.’
Dumbfounded, Mary stood shaking on the spot. I couldn’t tell whether it was with fear or rage. Stepping forward, I grabbed Monica by the arm.
‘You need to calm down this instant. What is the matter with you?’
I fixed her with a glare and noticed how wild my daughter’s green eyes had become. Monica shoved me away.
‘I want you both to fuck off. Just fuck off and leave me alone.’
Mary was not the kind of woman who ever swore or mixed with types that did. The shock at being spoken to like that plastered her face.
‘Well, in all my life…’ Mary reached for her handbag but Monica refused to allow her to finish speaking.
‘It’s about time you heard the truth.’ Monica moved over to the doorway and stood blocking it, refusing Mary an exit. ‘You son was a nasty bully. He made me a prisoner in my own home. He stopped me having friends and doing what I loved. If I didn’t do exactly what he wanted, he abused me and made me feel worthless. I was scared of him, Mary.’
Monica shoved her hand out and pointed at the scar. ‘He burnt me with his cigarette – Look!’ Tears began to stream down Monica’s face. ‘Look at it!’ she insisted.
Mary gazed at the small round scar with disbelief and I stepped in once more, grabbing my daughter by the shoulders.
‘Go into the kitchen and calm down now. This is not helping,’ I pleaded.
‘But she needs to know, Mum, she has to understand. I can’t keep this up anymore.’ Snot dangled from her nose.
‘Now, Monica. Go. Let me talk to Mary.’
I did my best to sound calm and gain control of the spiralling situation. Monica wiped her nose with her sleeve and slunk off towards the kitchen still sobbing. When I turned to look at Mary she was sitting hunched over her knees and staring at the carpet where she’d spilt her tea earlier.
‘I should clean this up. So it doesn’t leave a stain.’
Her sunken eyes looked vacant and her frame appeared smaller and more delicate than ever before.
‘Listen, Mary,’ I spoke softly as I sat down beside Mary, ‘Monica isn’t well. She’s not coping.’
My words were not being heard. Mary remained on the sofa, her wide eyes fixed to the floor.
‘I’m going to check on Monica,’ I said, getting up and edging towards the door. ‘Please don’t leave. We can sort this out.’
I went into the kitchen to find Monica huddled in a corner of the room clinging to a bottle of vodka. Taking tentative steps towards my daughter, it took a moment to recognise the look of utter fear and madness in her eyes. I froze on the spot.
‘Monica…’ I bent down onto my haunches so that I was level with her. ‘Sweetheart, put the bottle down and let’s talk about this. Please. Poor Mary didn’t deserve that. I know you’ve been through a lot but shouting and blaming Tom won’t make you feel any better.’
Monica took a long drink, emptying a fifth of the bottle in one go. My heart hurt to see my little girl such a wreck.
‘Give me the bottle, sweetheart. We can make this all better. Trust me, darling.’ I realised I needed to tread softly and could see Monica was gradually beginning to respond. Smiling kindly at my daughter, I offered out my hand. Just as Monica began to lean forward, a crashing sound made us both jump. It sounded like glass exploding, and we turned around to find Mary standing in the doorway. At her feet was a photograph of Monica and Tom on their wedding day, smashed into small glistening fragments on the flagstone floor. It had broken with such force the metal frame was bent completely out of shape.
‘You are a disgrace!’
Mary’s voice no longer sounded quiet and meek.
‘You stand here in my son’s house and speak about him in that disgusting way. You ought to be ashamed of yourself.’
Her hands were on her slender hips and she appeared taller than usual. ‘I told him you were a waste of space. I told him a hundred times that you weren’t good enough. Foolish boy never could do anything right. Pathetic, just like his father.’
Monica and I looked at Mary as if she were a stranger. We had never seen any side to her but meek and never imagined she was capable of such power.
‘I told him he could do better. I begged him to get a divorce, to come home and live with me. I was the only one who ever knew what was best for him. I knew how he liked his coffee, the way his bedsheets should be folded properly, what clothes suited him. I was the only one who ever understood how to make him really happy.’
She spoke with venom and seemed to tower over the two us, while we remained crouched on the floor listening in disbelief.
‘You are a disgrace to the Bowness name’ – Mary’s pupils expanded – ‘and your son would have been too.’
It only took a second for Monica to lurch towards a large shard of broken glass and pick it up. She stood face-to-face with Mary, holding the fragment like a knife, which shone in the light, reflecting like a mirror.
‘You have no right to talk about my son. Get out of my house before I kill you.’ Monica was trembling with adrenaline.
‘This is my son’s house, you little bitch.’
Mary was too angry to see how serious Monica was but I could. I jumped up and put myself between the women.
‘Monica, put the glass down.’ I’d never felt so frightened in my life and felt my bottom lip quiver. I thought I might pass out.
‘Monica, please, you don’t want to do this. Put it down.’
From behind me, Mary chuckled a patronising laugh. For a moment she sounded like Tom.
‘She’s too pathetic to see anything through.’
Monica lunged forward with the glass in her hand cutting through the clothing covering Mary’s arm.
‘Get out, get out!’ she screamed, trying to cause further injury as Mary fell back onto the floor and landed in the fragments of glass from the broken picture. She shrieked as she looked down at the palms of her hands, which were splintered with glass and beginning to bleed. Monica pushed me out of the way and hovered over Mary, who’d returned to looking helpless.
‘He wasn’t Tom’s.’ Monica was breathless. ‘Josh wasn’t Tom’s. Your son failed as a husband and was never going to be a father.’
‘Then I’m glad your bastard died!’ spat Mary. I watched in disbelief as my daughter attempted to stab Mary. The scene played out in slow motion. Without thinking, I reached for a plate that lay on the work surface, stood up and brought it crashing in to the side of Monica’s head. Monica dropped the shard of glass she’d been holding and fell to the ground unconscious.
The room was deadly quiet and for a moment no one moved. Realising what I’d done, I rushed over to Monica’s body and hurriedly felt for a pulse.
‘Call an ambulance, now!’ I barked at Mary, never taking my eyes off of my daughter, who lay motionless on the cold kitchen floor.