Page 65 of The Mother-in-Law

‘How is our little angel?’ Ingrid asks from the doorway.

Ingrid has been the primary nurse tending to Harriet. A grandmother, she proudly told me a few days ago, to a little boy named Felix who is about Harriet’s age. It is, perhaps, the reason she’s gone above and beyond for us—even picking me up a latte from her local coffee store on the way in after hearing me tell Ollie I couldn’t stand the hospital coffee. Then again, Ingrid seems the type to go above and beyond with everyone.

I put my phone down. ‘She’s fine. Sleeping.’

‘Do you want me to get a photo of the two of you?’

I think about that for a second. ‘Actually, I would love that.’

I scootch down beside my sleeping daughter and place my head next to hers while Ingrid snaps a picture. The picture is filled with chins and you can see right up my nose and I will cherish it forever.

‘Your mother-in-law phoned a moment ago,’ Ingrid says lightly.

Diana has phoned every day, twice a day. When I didn’t answer she started calling the hospital and checking in with the nurses’ station. She knows Harriet is going to be okay, I made Ollie text her as soon as we knew. I’m still angry with her, but as far as I’m concerned no one deserves to worry about a child for a second longer than they have to.

I feel Ingrid’s eyes on me and I sigh. Ingrid knows, of course, what I did to Diana—everyone in the entire hospital knows aboutthe assault. That’s what the nurse who discovered us called it. An assault. Actually, it is probably an accurate description, though Diana was quick to refute it, insisting, even after she was taken to emergency on a stretcher, that it was a private family matter. I have to hand it to her, Diana Goodwin will go to any lengths to avoid making a scene.

‘You’re a bit of a hero around here, you know,’ Ingrid says, opening Harriet’s chart. ‘Everyone’s wanted to give their mother-in-law a head injury at least once in their life.’

‘Even you, Ingrid?’

‘Especially me! And my daughter-in-law wants to give me one occasionally, I’m sure of it.’

‘I doubt that,’ I say. ‘If I had a mother-in-law like you, Ingrid, I’d be over the moon.’

‘Ah, you think that now.’ She smiles. ‘But I’d get on your nerves after a while. Everyone, given enough time, will get on your nerves if they join your family.’

‘Why is it that mothers-in-law and daughters-in-law always seem to have issues, and never sons-in-law and fathers-in-law?’

Ingrid scribbles something on the chart. ‘Sons-in-law and fathers-in-law don’t care enough to have issues.’

‘So we have issues because we care?’ I ask.

‘We have issues because caretoo much.’ Ingrid glances at her watch, then makes another note on her chart. Then she replaces the chart on the end of Harriet’s cot. She’s in the doorway, about to leave, when she pauses.

‘Your mother-in-law has been calling a lot, you know.’

‘She loves her granddaughter,’ I say. ‘I’ll give her that.’

‘Perhaps,’ Ingrid says. ‘But you should know that each time I’ve answered the phone to her, the first person she’s asked about is you.’

When Ollie arrives at the hospital half an hour later, I tell him I have to go. He doesn’t ask where, and I’m sure he assumes I want to go home and shower, or change my clothes, or get something for Harriet—we have been tag-teaming in this way for a week. I let him assume that.

As I drive, I am thinking about what Ingrid said.We care too much. I wonder if it’s true. If I didn’t care, I could go on with my own life, accepting the mother-in-law I have. Like Patrick has. He doesn’t like Diana particularly, but unless she has done something to irritate him in that particular moment, he is positively undisturbed by this dislike. He doesn’t pretend to get along with her, or get upset about it. It doesn’t seem to affect him at all. And so I’m going to forgive Diana. Not because I like her or because I think what she did was forgivable. I’m going to forgive her to release myself. I’m going to give up caring so much.

I pull up in front of Tom and Diana’s house, behind Tom’s car which is parked in the drive—unusual, for a work day. I ring the bell but no one comes. After a while, I press it again.

It takes a long time for Diana to come to the door, but finally I see her through the glass.

‘Lucy,’ she says.

I blink. It might be the first time I’ve seen Diana without makeup. Her hair is wet and combed straight back over her small, oval head, and her entire face—skin, eyelashes, lips—appears to be the same washed-out beige colour. She puts a hand to her chest. ‘Oh no. Is . . . it Harriet?’

‘No, Harriet’s fine.’

But Diana is shaking. All of her, trembling. I reach out and steady her.

‘Diana, Harriet is fine,’ I say again.