Ah, the memory of that wily daughterinlaw still makes me scowl. Ugh! I would spit, irritated, How could you be so daft? It all began when Susan Maxwell, a tidyhearted woman, decided to shift the washing machine out of the way while she was preparing for the New Years Eve feast.
Mum Susanher husband called her Susan, not Sofiawas the sort of person who liked everything in its proper place. Lately, however, the heavy iron box had become a burden even for two strong hands. Her husband, Peter, began warning that he suffered from slipped discs and didnt want to be confined to a wheelchair.
If Susan felt the need to flaunt her neatness, let her do it alone: He who makes the plan must do the work! she muttered. And like many men of his generation, he pretended there was no such thing as dustOur house is spotless! hed say with a grin.
The last time theyd moved the machine was about three years before, and a treasure trove of forgotten items lay beneath it: spectacles, two combs, a nail file, three clothespins, a handful of hair rollersenough to make anyone wonder where all the bits vanished toplus a blister pack of pills. The dust was enough to choke a horse.
For the task they called on their son. Stephen, the only boy in the house, was needed; the two of them could not manage alone. Every object had an owner, except the pills. Little children would have called them nobodys. They turned out to be contraceptive tablets.
Four people lived under the roof: Susan, her husband Peter, their son Stephen, and his wife Emily. The three adults were ruled out as suspectstwo men because they were men, and Susan herself because of her age. That left Emily, the only one left.
There was, however, a snag: Stephen was infertile. The tragedy had first emerged in his first marriage. His first wife, Alice, could never get pregnant, and she longed for children. Both of them underwent tests, and Stephens sperm count came back dismalso low that the few cells barely moved.
Doctors traced the cause to a bout of mumps hed suffered as a child. By the time he was thirtyfive, the damage was done. Alice left, refusing to adopt, and the house felt empty without the promise of children.
Two years later Stephen married Emily. Why would Emily need contraceptives when my husband cant even father a child? I asked myself, and the answer hung heavy in the air.
Susan, ever sharp, realized the implication immediately: there must be another man involved, for otherwise the pills made no sense. The only other theoryfarfetched, but possiblewas that the tablets belonged to Peters secret lover, perhaps even Emily herself. In the end, the suspicion fell again on Emily.
A mothers dislike for her daughterinlaw is not a new story. What kind of mother would approve of the sons spouse? I thought, recalling the old proverb. Stephen worked as a chromatographera word that raised eyebrows in our little town. What on earth is a chromatographer? people would ask, never having heard of the profession. He was, in fact, an analytical chemist using chromatography in pharmaceutical research, a cuttingedge field that made his parents proud.
His first wife, Alice, had been a welleducated Londoner. Stephen brought home a mystery that night, and the twentysevenyearold bride was warned that no children were in the cards for them. Unlike Alice, Emily took it in stride: No worries, Ill manage. Well live for ourselves. She, too, had been in a previous marriage where she never wanted children.
The couple lived with Stephens parents in a cramped council flat, saving for a deposit on a house. Everything went smoothly until those pills surfaced. Their life was fineuntil Aunt Susan, as Stephens wife jokingly called the troublesome daughterinlaw, arrived on the scene.
Emily was striking and clever, not a simple match for Stephen. In the eyes of the clumsy, narrowminded folk, she seemed a foreign particlea hummingbird placed in a sparrows nest made of mud.
Stephens mind was forever occupied by chromatography; the rest of lifes details slipped past him. He was content in his little niche of society, while Susan kept a critical eye, knowing the pair were mismatched. Thus she warned Stephens mother against the marriage:
Oh, shell ruin you, Stephen, ruin you!
Why, mother? the boy asked, bewildered. We love each other!
You claim to love her, but love is still unproven! Susan retorted.
She loves me! Wouldnt she have left without love? Stephen argued, his logic firm in his own eyes.
Exactly why she might have left, Susan thought, convinced that a wellpaid London chromatographer, despite his plain looks, was a prize for any eager suitor. Emily, a bright, outsiderish laughmaker who had come to England seeking a new life, had met the shortsighted Stephen by chance.
He frequented the café where she worked as a waitress. After a few exchanged words, he invited her out. Knowing his looks were not that of a dashing hero, he was surprised when she accepted, and they soon became a couple. By the time Stephens first marriage had dissolved, he was already mulling over a proposal.
Emily surprised him, saying, Shall we make this official?
What, are you going to marry that kitchen maid? Susan gaped, after the prospective bride had come to introduce herself. Theres nowhere to put a sample for testing!
Mother, dont speak of my future wife that way! Stephen protested. Emily isnt like that!
Not like that? Shell jump out of the workshop! Susan snapped. Shes even started flirting with my father!
Peter, Stephens father, was taken aback. Shes taken a shine to me?
Yes, bellowed Susan. Ive noticed! You lot think youre all proper, but Im against this!
Peter retorted, Why lump everyone together? You say all women are and all men are
Think, Susan, Peter urged. The lad has found his match. Whats wrong with that?
Susan lingered on the thought, but her mothers heart sang a different tune.
The wedding took place, and Susan sat, a forlorn figure, looking as if the witch herself had cursed the day. They signed the register, and Emily moved into the modest council flatthere was no room of her own.
And then the contraceptive tablets.
After a night of restless thoughts, Susan approached her son.
I found somethingcontraceptives. Are they Emilys? she asked.
No, why would she need them? Stephen replied, genuinely puzzled.
What if they are hers? Then the three of us are out of the picture, leaving only your wife.
Mother, why would Emily need them? Im already under enough strain!
Susan stammered, Well if she cant be protected with you, perhaps with another?
Are you suggesting Emily is cheating on me? Stephen asked, his patience thinning.
Fine, then where did they come from?
Could they be yours? Stephen guessed.
Ugh! Susan spat, exasperated. What a blockhead you are!
Stephen thought, Could Emily really be unfaithful? Surely not.
Susan urged, You must speak to her!
What am I to say? Accuse her and wound her?
Tell her you know everything.
What if she asks what exactly I know?
Youll say youre aware of her affair.
What am I aware of? Stephen pressed.
Turn on that analytical mind of yours, lad! Susan snapped. Do you have any brains left beyond chromatography?
The conversation descended into namecalling, and Stephen, cheeks flushed, finally consented.
Alright, Ill talk to her.
It didnt end like a farce where the husband boasts, I know everything! and the wife quips, Lets see how long the River Thames is. Instead, Emily answered with a smile, So whatbetter for you, Stephen?
Whats better? Stephen asked, confused.
What do you know about Eddie?
Whos Eddie?
About my lover, thats what, Emily said, barely containing a laugh.
Is that true? Stephen stammered, feeling the full weight of his own dullness.
Yes! If you truly know everything, then Im leaving! Emily declared, gathering her things. She left, a bright spark in the drab flat, making Stephen a stepping stone to a fresh start.
Stephen wondered, What if Mum hadnt found those pills? He mourned the loss of his beloved, who now threatened divorce.
Maybe wed still be together if I hadnt raised this issue, he mused, eyes on the empty doorway.
All this fuss over a washing machinewhy did we even bother moving it? The enemy was finally uncovered: Susan Maxwell herself.
She snapped, Youve been cuckolded and Im to blame? Youre like an ostrich with its head in the sand, ignoring the concrete floor beneath you!
Stephen stood firm, You never loved Emily!
Your Emily is a! Susan shouted, her words raw. Doesnt it disgust you? Runmaybe youll catch up and!
It was too much. Hurt and angry, Stephen left. He wandered the streets for hours, packed his belongings, and moved out.
Sit alone with your spotless corners! Susan called after him. Did you get what you wanted?
In a way she didEmily was gone. But the sideeffect was the sons departure, a blow that cut deep.
Peter, the father, didnt side with his wifes harshness. The New Year was spent by the two of them, Stephens phone silent.
Susan kept lashing out at Peter, venting her rage on the innocent. As the new year arrived, Peter realized his future looked bleak, all because of that cursed cleanup. Why are you always moving things? Our house is already clean enough! he thought.
So, dear readers, do not chase perfection in cleanliness. Who knows what you might uncover that will set off a chain of unwanted events? And that, my friends, is the tale of Susan, Stephen, Emily, and the washing machine that started it all.