‘So we’re not going near meatballs – we’re cooking totally vegan tonight, and posting it on our account,’ Ella said, defiance in her voice, like she wanted a fight. I wasn’t giving up that easily, she clearly loved goading me, and for some reason was going out of her way to reject everything I suggested.
‘Great, we all adore vegetables and… stuff,’ I said, smiling, ‘but, thing is, everyone’s expecting the meatballs. They love them, they’ll all be so disappointed. What do you think, Joy?’ I was blatantly asking for her support, pleading for it.
‘Ooh, that’s a shame, because we’ve already started on the mushroom en croute,’ Ella said, reaching for the pepper grinder.
Joy was just going along with it – clearly this was her way of proving to Ella that she wasn’t bossy, that she didn’t take over, as I’d accused her of. I was shocked though. I really thought Joy would have rejected the vegan idea out of hand and sent Ella and her bloody lentils packing. I remember when Dan and I were first married, we’d invited her and Bob over for dinner. It was my excuse to use the wedding crockery they’d bought for us and show Joy what a wonderful wife I was. I’d made a vegetable boulangere – it took me ages but I really wanted to impress her. I sat there nervously, at my own table, waiting for her approval, but all she said was, ‘Is there any meat to go with the vegetables, dear?’ From then on, I’d made a mental note to never serve anything to her without meat or fish, so determined was I to be the perfect daughter-in-law. But it seemed that I’d obviously failed and Joy was giving Ella her chance, so what could I do but go along with it?
Ella was now chopping mushrooms finely, and I have to say, like a chef. I was quite mesmerised.
‘Can I do anything?’ I asked, feeling like a spare part.
Neither of the women responded, both completely embroiled in their rhythmic tasks of chopping and peeling, together yet apart in their own private worlds.
‘The sauce smells lovely,’ I said, wandering over to the pan, breathing in the warm, garlicky savouriness. ‘The mushrooms smell delicious too, but I’m afraid the kids probably won’t touch them,’ I said to Ella, shaking my head, though wanting to smile triumphantly.
‘I promise you, the kids will love them the way I cook them,’ she said dismissively, chopping shallots without looking up.
‘Alfie says they look like slugs, and Freddie always follows,’ I said. ‘I’ll apologise for their behaviour now.’ I tried a little giggle.
‘No need. Never apologise for your children, Clare. Just be super proud of them. I mean, you might not live a blameless life, but I’m sure they will. The secret is not to drag your kids down to the parent’s level.’
Irritation fizzed in my head, but I held on, I didn’t give her the fight she obviously wanted. I was dying to tell her I’d seen her take those earrings, to say it there and then and take the smug look off her face, but I resisted.
‘Perhaps we could do a few meatballs?’ I suggested. ‘For the kids.’ I was determined to stand my ground, what little there was left of it.
Knowing there was minced beef in the fridge, I opened it while waiting for Joy’s chorus of approval, but before she could say anything, Ella started laughing. ‘Oh Clare, you crack me up.’
I looked at her from behind the open fridge door with a rictus grin; a quick glance over at Joy told me she wasn’t joining in on this. I was alone, abandoned. ‘Why do I “crack you up”?’ I enquired, a warning note in my voice.
‘Meatballs? You’re determined to give your kids meatballs, aren’t you? I mean, do you know what’s even in minced meat – eww. The clue’s in the title. Meat. Balls.’
So much for Ella’s fragility, I thought, bringing out the minced beef and putting it on the kitchen top.
‘Please don’t say that in front of the kids, they’ll never eat meat again,’ I said, in a bored voice. God, she was so annoying.
‘Ella, I have to say…’ Joy started and I felt this rush of relief like a warm wave. My mother-in-law was now coming to my rescue, and she would agree with me that the children should have meatballs. ‘You’re so right! Meat… balls – they even sound disgusting!’
I stood there, bemused, as they both laughed to each other across the kitchen, repeating the words ‘meat’ and ‘balls’ like it was hilarious. But as Joy turned to go back to chopping her mushrooms, I caught her glance and for a split second I saw in her eyes that Joy wasn’t finding it that funny. Would Joy ever forgive me for saying she was bossy?
‘I’ll set the table,’ I said, gathering the cutlery together and heading for the patio where we were going to eat. Once outside, the sun was still shining and it lifted me slightly. Let Ella compete with me for Joy’s favour if she wanted to, I was the older, more mature woman and I would enjoy this meal graciously. Besides, I knew I was right about the menu, I knew my kids – and when Alfie and Freddie refused to eat and chanted ‘dirty slugs’ at the table, I would just smile benignly.
Eventually, everything came together, and the family assembled for dinner – Ella’s en croute made with field mushrooms and her very own puff pastry. ‘Made with nut butter,’ she announced proudly as she placed it in the middle of the table, golden pastry on a platter of leaves and edible flowers. I had to admit it looked wonderful, but before we were allowed to start, Ella had to take photos of the family and the food, which didn’t go down too well with the boys, and when Alfie started pulling faces, Freddie joined him.
‘That’s enough now, boys, smile for Auntie Ella,’ I tried. I just wanted to eat dinner and relax, but the boys were tired and hungry and resented having to smile for the camera.
‘Come on, guys, give me a smile,’ Ella said through gritted teeth. ‘Say cheese.’
‘I hope you mean vegan cheese, Ella?’ I said, trying to be funny, but no one really laughed except Alfie, who didn’t understand the joke, but laughed so hard he almost made himself sick.
Ella eventually cut the pastry like it was her bloody wedding cake, and I waited for the kids to start grumbling when they realised what it was. But Ella’s ‘vegan feast’ was – against all the odds – a triumph.
‘Ella, you’re amazing,’ Joy fawned.
‘Lovely,’ Bob muttered.
‘Ella, this is delicious,’ Dan said. ‘Congratulations, we’re all converted.’
But it was my children, who ate her mushroom en croute like it was candy, that betrayed me the most. ‘Auntie Ella, I love this dinner,’ said Violet, as the boys ate hungrily, all making a liar out of their mother.
I had to smile graciously when Ella triumphantly raised her glass to me across the table. ‘I told you, Clare,’ she said. And the candlelight caught the glee in her eyes… and something else. ‘You don’t know your own kids, they love mushrooms,’ she said, then leaned close so close I felt her breath on my face, her cloying perfume in my nostrils. ‘You don’t know your own husband either,’ she murmured, ‘and he certainly doesn’t know you. Let’s hope no one tells Dan the truth about his perfect wife.’