“Still Not Good Enough”
“Mum, why can’t you just accept him? He’s nothing but trouble! Mark my words, you’ll regret it—he’ll end up in prison, and you’ll spend years waiting like some tragic Victorian widow!”
“Mum, stop! Alex isn’t a troublemaker. He’s kind, he cares for me. And he loves me!”
“Oh, they *all* love you—until they don’t! Forget him. Why not give Geoff a chance? *He’d* make a proper husband. A steady man, reliable as a brick wall. Take it from me, I know what I’m talking about.”
Lydia glared at her mother, who simply refused to understand.
“Mum, I don’t *like* Geoff. He’s just…”
“Just *what*? So he’s not some rugged heartthrob, but he adores you! Give him a chance! Send that Alex packing!”
“No, Mum. I’m marrying Alex. That’s final.”
“David, for heaven’s sake, talk some sense into your daughter!” Margaret shot her husband a desperate look. “Well? Cat got your tongue?”
David heaved himself off the sofa and ambled over to the pair. He wasn’t Alex’s biggest fan, but he believed Lydia was old enough to make her own mistakes—and her own happiness. That was her life to live, not theirs.
“Alright, ladies, what’s the row about? Margaret, love, let her date who she likes. And Lydia—just be careful. If things go pear-shaped, I’m here, alright?”
Margaret threw her hands up in exasperation while Lydia beamed and hugged her dad.
“Thanks, Dad! It’s not like Alex has even proposed yet.”
“Good. Let’s hope he never does,” Margaret muttered under her breath.
Lydia bit her tongue—no point poking the bear.
At twenty, she was certain she knew her own mind, even if her mother refused to see it. To her, Alex was the sun, the moon, the whole bloomin’ universe. They’d been smitten for years—much to Margaret’s irritation. Geoff, her uni mate, was Mum’s golden boy, but Lydia couldn’t muster so much as a flicker of interest.
With Dad’s blessing, she stopped hiding her relationship. Alex was chuffed. Sure, he had a bit of a wild streak and mates who’d make a vicar faint, but Lydia was his lightning bolt. For her, he’d straighten out—even if it killed him.
“Alex, we *are* getting our own place after the wedding, yeah? You can manage it?”
“’Course I can. Worst case, my folks will chip in. They’re dead chuffed about us, by the way. Say you’re a ‘good influence’.” He grinned.
“Really?” Lydia flushed, equal parts embarrassed and delighted.
This chat happened in her final uni year. Alex was already working, both saving for the big day. Margaret, ever the ray of sunshine, refused to contribute—”Find a *proper* bloke, then we’ll talk.” David quietly slipped Lydia some cash behind his wife’s back.
Thankfully, Alex’s parents were lovely.
“I wish Mum liked you more. Dad says I can make my own choices—he even *supports* me.”
Alex pulled her close, tilting her chin up.
“Lyd, don’t fret. She’s just lookin’ out for you. I’ll win her over—or at least outlast her. Plenty of folks have hated me before; I’m still here.”
“Oh? *Who* hated you?” She nudged him playfully.
“Ah, y’know…” He kissed her. “Point is, you’re the only one I’ve ever loved.”
“*Always*?”
“Always.”
True enough. He’d fancied her since primary school, back when she’d moved to the neighbourhood. Little Alex had teased her mercilessly—until she shoved him into a mud puddle. Somehow, that became friendship, then love.
Didn’t stop him from skiving school or scrapping, though. Not that he regretted it much—until now.
These days, he’d cleaned up his act—finished vocational school, landed a decent job at a garage.
They married without Margaret’s help. Alex was earning well, leaving his wild days behind. Lydia was happy, even if her mother still sniffed at her “good-for-nothing” husband.
“Alex, let’s visit Mum and Dad tomorrow?” Lydia hugged him, her rounded belly pressed between them.
He rubbed her bump gently.
“Lyd, love, you really need the stress? Let’s wait till little Henry’s here—*then* we’ll show him off. By the way, my parents want to pop round soon.”
“Lovely! Ask your mum to bake that heavenly apple crumble, yeah?”
Alex chuckled. “She’d bake you the Crown Jewels if you asked. Adores spoiling you.”
Lydia sighed, patting her stomach. “It’s all for Henry, really. She says he’ll grow up strong if I eat well.”
“Let her fuss,” Alex laughed.
Money was tight sometimes—Lydia hadn’t gone back to work after uni—but Alex didn’t grumble. The ex-delinquent had turned responsible, all for her.
Then Henry arrived, and suddenly, the world was nappies and sleepless joy. A month later, they finally visited Lydia’s parents.
Margaret had cooked enough to feed an army. David, doting granddad, even dusted the mantelpiece (a miracle).
“Hi, Mum!” The couple burst in—Alex cradling Henry, Lydia lugging the nappy bag.
“Lydia! Must you carry *everything*? Some husband you’ve got!” Margaret sniffed.
“Mum, the bag’s *light*. Alex is holding Henry. *Drop it*.”
Alex squeezed her arm—*we agreed, remember?*
“Here, give him here.” David scooped up the baby. “Put him on the sofa, love.”
Margaret gawked. “*You* handling a baby? You used to panic if Lydia sneezed!”
“I *told* you I’ve been visiting. Playing granddad.” David shot her a look.
Margaret huffed. “Fine. Dinner’s ready—I made your favourite, Lydia.”
“Smells amazing,” Alex offered.
Margaret ignored him.
At the table, talk turned to Henry’s future.
“We’ll sign him up for rugby or boxing,” Alex declared.
“Oh, so he can turn out like *you*?” Margaret snapped.
“Mum! *Enough*.”
“Let her talk.” Alex met Margaret’s gaze. “What’s the problem? Bad husband? Bad dad? Don’t earn enough? Or d’you just hate me on principle?”
Silence.
Margaret folded her arms. “People don’t *change*, Alex. You’ll break her heart—that’s what you do.”
“I’m *already* happy—” Lydia began.
“Margaret,” David cut in, “how many school windows did I smash as a lad? Spent half my teens in the headmaster’s office!”
“That’s *different*! You grew out of it!”
Alex burst out laughing. Even Lydia smirked. Then Henry wailed, and the argument dissolved into baby talk.
Alex knew Margaret might never fully accept him—but maybe, just *maybe*, she’d soften. For Lydia’s sake. For Henry’s.
Time healed most things. Even mother-in-law wounds. Probably.
