I always had a feeling my stepmother-in-law didn’t like me. But when my darling children opened the Christmas presents she’d bought them, I realised the truth was far worse

It’s often said that in-laws are the price you pay for falling in love. I was reminded of this – again – last week when my not-quite-mother-in-law took the opportunity to show her true feelings, maintaining a teeth-baring grimace of festive welcome.

I know that most mothers-in-law, even the difficult ones, at least try to make their daughters-in-law feel at home during Christmas. However, Agnes is not my husband’s mother, but his stepmother, and that makes all the difference.

Jim’s father, Kenneth, left home when my husband was five and married his mistress, Agnes. They went on to have two handsome sons, Stan and Ed, with whom Jim gets along well in an aloof, masculine way. He would sometimes have a drink with them in the pub, but he never called them to talk about their problems. his feelings. They certainly regard Jim, a graphic designer, as their admired “big brother,” and were more than welcome when we married 20 years ago – as was Kenneth.

To a lesser extent, his dreaded stepmother.

On our very first visit, Agnes went into “gracious hostess” mode, waving linen napkins and asking me to “keep an eye on the roast” while she went to touch up her lipstick. I was somewhat disgusted that she asked me instead of the men, but assumed she was trying for some old-fashioned female bonding. Those ties were quickly severed, however, when Kenneth’s heavy-handed wine pouring left me hopelessly tipsy and deeply forgetful. Agnes came downstairs with clouds of smoke coming from the oven and a roast chicken that was even drier than the tone in which she said, “Good job.” Never mind.’

Our first Christmas visit took place a month later. Jim’s half-brothers were present with their wives, Sally and Jo. They had all grown up together in the small town of Yorkshire, and the two women were like daughters to Agnes.

Jim had already warned me not to expect much. “She always treats me like a poor relative because I don’t belong to her,” he explained. “I hope she doesn’t say that to you.” But I had already decided to organize a festive charm offensive.

I had bought Agnes a lovely blue cashmere sweater because she was feeling the cold, and I had given out expensive Jo Malone bath products for Sally and Jo.

My family has always loved gift giving and really enjoyed customizing the Christmas gift to suit the recipient, and I hoped to replicate that care and excitement with my new extended family. I realized that I might have misinterpreted the situation when we gathered around the artificial tree after dinner (I wasn’t trusted as an oven clock this time).

Agnes handed Jim his gift and we all watched as he… opened a white T-shirt. Jim is quite petite, but she had bought a wavy XL size. A look at the label revealed that it was a supermarket own brand from the ‘Basics’ range. I never expected luxury, but Kenneth had recently sold his successful business and retired with a savings pot the size of a Faberge.

“I warned you,” Jim said to me, as Sally and Jo exclaimed about Gucci eau de perfume and an Estee Lauder gift set of Agnes cosmetics.

I had no idea how to arrange my face as I carefully unwrapped the large, flat gift that Agnes handed me, an expression of charity on hers. The paper fell away to reveal… a thin wall planner, the kind of takeaways sent to valued customers. I had seen exactly the same one that week in Poundland. Agnes had spent the staggering sum of £1 on me.

“That’s nice, thank you,” she said stiffly, unwrapping her cashmere in return. I liked to imagine that her pent-up gratitude came from shame, but she was probably just annoyed because the blue didn’t match her eyes.

Of course, Jim and I laughed about it later – and the wall planner went straight into the trash. (I think he wore the T-shirt a few years later when he painted the kitchen.)

Over the next few years, I made sure to present my gifts accordingly, in line with Agnes’s. I’ve indulged in a bit of passive aggression myself – she’s a very simple cook, so I bought her a year’s subscription to Good Food Magazine, and once I bought her a brooch ‘to pin on your cashmere sweater ‘.

But it wasn’t until Jim and I had children that it really started to sting. Ed and Jo had baby twins, and Sally was the first to be pregnant with hers, when we came to visit with ours, when we were two and five years old. The twins received gifted cuddles and beautiful little outfits, while Agnes’ eyes glowed with grandmotherly love. Sally received a large baby layette.

For a moment I dared to hope – until our youngest opened his little present. Agnes had given him a die-cast model car absolutely out of character for his age, from an unrecognizable Chinese brand, while our eldest was gifted a paperback novel by David Walliams that had clearly been picked up in a charity shop.

At first, Jim was furious—not for himself, but for our children, who were forced to watch their nieces and nephews happily plow through piles of thoughtful gifts while opening ridiculous side hustles. But we didn’t get there every year – and as they’ve gotten older, Agnes’ terrible gifts have turned into a game of “who got the worst item?”

Our eldest received a paperback novel by David Walliams that had clearly been picked up from a charity shop, Anna writes

One year the youngest won with a fancy inflatable football; for another it was my turn, when she outdid herself by gifting me a plastic turkey baster – especially when we exchanged gifts after Christmas that year.

In my eyes, she’s friendly enough, although the strange comment she makes to Jim infuriates me. I know he’d rather I not rock the boat, so I smile tightly and move on – besides, I’m very fond of Kenneth, who seems completely oblivious to his wife’s favoritism, and always has a bottle of brandy receives from me, at his own request.

Fortunately, my parents adore the children, just like Jim’s real mother, and they are never short of gifts and love at Christmas. For them, Grandma Agnes is a comic character. Now that they’re teenagers, when we visit at Christmas there’s real competition over whose gift will be the most hilariously terrible. This year our youngest won with a pack of second-hand felt-tip pens.

Of course, even if I don’t care about it on my own, I do resent her treatment of Jim; it wasn’t his fault his parents split up, and Kenneth has been a good father to him. Sadly, I suspect Agnes wishes Jim didn’t exist, and that her perfect family could be untainted by what came before. But in that respect I refuse to satisfy her. We keep visiting, and I keep buying her presents. This Christmas I gave her a bottle of Poison perfume. It was pricey, but looking at her face as she unwrapped it, it was well worth the cost.

• Anna Cooper is a pseudonym. All names have been changed.