The Cunning Scheme
Evelyn was washing dishes, the clatter of plates filling the kitchen. Outside the window of Manchester, a September drizzle fell, and the streetlamps shimmered in the puddles. Suddenly, the doorbell rang. On the doorstep stood her mother-in-law, Beatrice, with a strained smile.
“Hello, Evelyn,” said Beatrice. “I thought I’d pop by for a visit!”
“Come in, I’ll fetch Alexander,” Evelyn replied, ushering her into the kitchen.
A few minutes later, they sat at the table sipping tea with raspberry jam. But then Evelyn felt a sudden weakness, her face paling.
“Excuse me, I don’t feel well,” she murmured. “I’ll lie down for a bit.”
“Of course, dear, rest,” Beatrice said with feigned sympathy.
Evelyn retreated to the bedroom but soon heard muffled arguing from the kitchen. Alexander and his mother’s voices were tense.
“What’s the quarrel about?” she wondered, tiptoeing into the hallway. As she listened, she gasped at what she heard.
“You know, Alexander, our Emily is getting married soon,” Beatrice declared proudly, sipping her tea. “Her fiancé wants her to move in with him!”
“Oliver’s taking Emily in?” Alexander scoffed. “Poor chap! Couldn’t he wait till after the wedding, live in peace? Now my sister will nag him to bits.”
“Don’t be absurd,” Beatrice retorted. “Emily’s modest—that’s why she found such a fine match. A dependable man, well-off.”
“Well-off?” Alexander huffed. “His money isn’t his own, and Emily’ll get little if she ever leaves him.”
“You’re wrong, son,” Beatrice said, casting a glance at Evelyn lurking in the shadows. “Love’s built on trust and understanding. But you don’t know the best part.”
She paused theatrically, letting her words land.
“Out with it, then,” Alexander snapped. “I can tell you’re itching to say it.”
“Oliver’s putting one of his flats in Emily’s name,” Beatrice announced triumphantly. “A wedding gift, so she’ll have something of her own. That’s how much he loves her!”
“Words are wind,” Alexander muttered. “I’ll believe it when I see the papers.”
“The papers will come, don’t you worry,” Beatrice cut in. “Emily’s chosen well.”
Silence fell in the kitchen. Evelyn understood: this was all for her benefit. Beatrice was subtly hinting that she, the ungrateful daughter-in-law, didn’t appreciate Alexander, didn’t share what was hers.
A year ago, Evelyn had married Alexander for love. They’d met at the office where he’d come to fix the air conditioning. His easy smile and warm gaze had won her over. He’d joked, helped with little tasks, then finally asked for her number. Soon came dates—walks along the pier, cinema trips, cosy cafés. At Christmas, she invited him over, and their relationship grew serious.
When Alexander learned Evelyn owned a small flat, a gift from her parents, he was stunned. Her hometown near Manchester hadn’t promised much, and after university, she’d stayed, her parents’ generosity securing her a home.
Beatrice, upon hearing of the flat, insisted on meeting her.
“What are you waiting for?” she pressed her son. “Propose already!”
“I’m still thinking,” Alexander hedged. “We haven’t been together long.”
“Still thinking!” Beatrice fumed. “A chance like this, and you dither?”
Alexander proposed, and Evelyn, to his surprise, agreed straightaway. After the wedding, they moved into her flat. But Beatrice didn’t relent, demanding grandchildren.
“When will you make me a grandmother?” she asked at every visit.
“There’s time,” Evelyn said gently. “We’re young, we want to enjoy our marriage first.”
“You must not love him,” Beatrice declared after six months. “Or you’re waiting for something, if you won’t give him children.”
“You’re mistaken,” Evelyn said coldly.
From then on, relations with Beatrice grew strained. But it wasn’t just about children. Beatrice decided Evelyn must put Alexander’s name on the flat.
“You’re family now,” she insisted. “Everything should be shared, including the flat. You live off my son’s wages, buying furniture, doing up the place. What if you throw him out? He’d have nothing!”
“I won’t throw him out,” Evelyn protested, biting back anger.
“Then put his name on the deed!” Beatrice pressed. “He’s the head of this family!”
“Let him earn his own flat,” Evelyn retorted. “It’ll be for the children.”
“Put her in her place,” Beatrice urged her son. “She’ll toss you out, and you’ll have no claim!”
“Mum, how can I force her?” Alexander sighed. “It’s a pre-marital asset—the law’s on her side.”
Yet he began pressing Evelyn to add him to the deed.
“My relatives laugh at me,” he complained.
“Laugh at what?” Evelyn asked. “You had no flat before marriage, and that hasn’t changed. No one’s deceived you.”
“Mum’s right,” Alexander said glumly. “No children, no shared flat. Maybe you don’t love me?”
“What nonsense!” Evelyn snapped. “Why else would I marry you?”
“Exactly my question,” he mused.
“I could ask you the same,” she shot back. “Did you marry me for the flat? Ready-made, refurbished. No mortgage, no hassle. We spend on ourselves, travel, you bought a car on finance. With a mortgage, you’d never manage that. So who married for what?”
Alexander sulked, but not for long. Soon, his aunt Margaret arrived—a domineering woman even Beatrice seemed to fear.
“Well, youngsters, how are things?” she asked when they visited for a family dinner.
“Fine,” Alexander said. “Bought a flat. Mostly my money, Evelyn chipped in a bit.”
Evelyn was stunned. Alexander was lying brazenly, claiming her flat as his own. He boasted of his salary, his car, plans to build a house.
“Well done, Alexander,” Margaret approved. “Our stock! My sons are on their second home. Don’t dawdle—once children come, you’ll have no time.”
Beatrice glanced nervously at Evelyn, afraid she’d expose the lie. But Evelyn stayed silent. She didn’t care what Margaret thought. The truth was clear: Alexander and his family wanted to appear wealthier than they were.
The same farce repeated when Alexander’s friend Thomas visited.
“Cheers, mate!” They embraced in the hall. “Good of you to come.”
“Thought I’d tour my friends while I’m still single,” Thomas grinned. “You’re second on my list.”
“Really?” Alexander feigned surprise.
“Make yourself at home,” Alexander said. “It’s my flat—consider it yours.”
“Brilliant!” Thomas marveled. “Married and a homeowner in three years. I’m still dreaming.”
“Just getting started,” Alexander boasted. “Soon I’ll build a house for the kids.”
“Lucky you, Evelyn,” Thomas winked. “Hold onto him.”
“Aye,” Evelyn managed, stunned by the charade.
She left for her parents’ for a few days, needing space. Alexander wasn’t the man she’d married.
“Don’t rush into divorce,” her mother cautioned. “Give it time. The posturing may fade. His mother’s clearly winding him up.”
“I don’t know, Mum,” Evelyn sighed. “He married me for the flat—that’s plain. Lies about it being his. His mother badgers me to add him. How much longer must I endure it?”
“It’s your choice,” her mother said. “But don’t give them the flat.”
Beatrice arrived unannounced, tear-streaked and hollow-eyed.
“Alexander, it’s Emily,” she sobbed. “She’s drowning in debt. We must help her.”
“What’s happened?” Alexander paled.
“She took loans—a car, a phone, jewellery,” Beatrice wept. “And Oliver left her. No wedding, no flat. She thought he’d cover everything.”
“He left her?” Evelyn echoed from the hall.
“Yes, told her never to call again,” Beatrice cried. “She splurged, thinking him rich.”
“How much does she owe?” Alexander asked.
“A fortune, son,” Beatrice moaned.
“She can sell the car, the jewellery,” Evelyn suggested, stepping in. “That’ll cover some.”
“She tried,” Beatrice sighed. “But it’s a drop in the ocean, and sales are slow.”
“How can we help?” Alexander frowned.
“Evelyn could put half the flat in your name,” Beatrice blurted. “You’ll mortgage your share, we’ll pay the debt. We’ll settle it later.”
“Never!” Evelyn cut in. “This flat’s from my parents. I won’t surrender a brick!”
“YouAfter filing for divorce, Evelyn sold the flat, moved to a quiet village by the sea, and never again let anyone make her doubt her worth.