“Are you all right? Mary, open the door.”—Polly rapped her knuckles harder against the bathroom door.
Polly woke and listened. Beside her, her husband snored softly. March sunlight pierced the thin veil of clouds outside. She glanced at the wall clock and jolted, fearing she’d overslept for work—then remembered it was a holiday, Mothering Sunday.
Right then—wash up, coffee, breakfast before Mary and John woke. She slipped carefully from under the blankets, but John stirred.
“What time is it?” he mumbled, eyes still closed.
“Half eight.”
He sat bolt upright.
“Easy now. It’s a holiday. Go back to sleep,” Polly said with a smile.
“And why are you up, then?” John pulled her into his arms, nuzzling her neck. “Happy Mother’s Day, my love, mother of my children.”
“Well, we’ve only got the one,” Polly chuckled. “I’ll make breakfast. You stay put.”
“While you cook, I’ll go for a run. Perfect weather.” John tossed the covers aside and padded barefoot to the bathroom.
Polly had prepared the cottage cheese for pancakes the night before. Now, she mashed in a banana, dredged them in flour, and fried them. Soon, the kitchen filled with the sweet, buttery scent.
“Smells lovely.” Mary appeared in the doorway, tousle-haired in shorts and a T-shirt, squinting against the light.
A sunbeam broke through the clouds, glinting off the kettle before flooding the room.
Suddenly, Mary clapped a hand to her mouth and vanished. Polly stood frozen for a heartbeat, then rushed after her.
“Mary, open up. Are you all right?” She pressed her ear to the locked bathroom door, then knocked sharply. The sound of running water answered her. “Mary, open this door!” She pounded harder, fists drumming against the wood.
Dread pooled in her chest. Polly forced it down—maybe just an upset stomach. Then realisation hit like a blow. A chill spread through her. *No. Not Mary. Not her. Sixth form, top marks, university plans… God, why?*
The smell of burning snapped her back. Swearing, she scraped the charred pancakes into the bin. The small task steadied her. “Right. Keep calm.”
The doorbell rang—John returning from his run, surely. She hurried to answer, swinging the door open to find a young man on the step, clutching a bouquet of tulips.
“Hello, Mrs. Turner. These are for you.” He held them out with an awkward smile.
“Thank you,” Polly said numbly, taking the flowers. “Come in. Mary’s in the loo.”
He stepped inside but lingered by the door, still in his jacket. The panic in his eyes told her everything.
“So it’s you?” she hissed. “*You?* Do you know I could have you charged?”
The boy paled. “I came to talk. I love Mary. I won’t run from this—”
Mary emerged then, pale and drawn. Her gaze flitted from Polly to the boy.
“You?” she echoed.
“Which of you will explain why she’s sick every morning? Was it you?” Polly’s voice rose, sharp as a blade.
“Mum! It’s fine,” Mary cut in, hands raised, then retreated to her room.
“Mary! Come back!” Polly called after her.
The front door clicked open, and John strode in.
“Ah, an admirer?” He nodded at the tulips in Polly’s grip. “Hope you were cheering—heard you from the staircase.”
“Cheering?” Polly choked. “He—” The words lodged in her throat.
“I love your daughter. I want to marry her,” the boy blurted, scarlet to his ears.
“Well, that’s a declaration. And here I was, jealous.” John chuckled, but his tone hardened. “Mary’s still in school. So are you, I reckon. This calls for a proper talk. What’s your name?”
“Eddie. Eddie Hart. I came so you wouldn’t think I’d—”
“Take your coat off. Polly, put those in water. I’ll shower, then we’ll talk.” John vanished into the bathroom.
His presence steadied her. Polly arranged the tulips in a vase, their bright petals splashing colour across the kitchen. Then she returned to the pancakes.
The sun retreated behind the clouds, as if wary of the storm brewing. Soon, a stack of golden pancakes sat ready. Polly laid out plates just as John returned, smelling of fresh soap.
“Pancakes! Mary, fetch your guest!” He turned to Polly, voice low. “What’s happened?”
Before she could answer, Eddie shuffled in. Daylight made him look painfully young. John gestured to a chair, and Eddie sat, eyes fixed on his plate.
Mary reappeared, changed into jeans, her hair brushed. Polly’s hope flared—*Maybe I imagined it?* She fussed with the sugar bowl.
“Polly, sit.” John forked two pancakes onto Eddie’s plate. “Not hungry?” He glanced at Mary, lingering by the door.
“No.”
Polly’s gaze snapped to her. *Afraid she’ll be sick again?*
“You neither?” John studied Polly. She shook her head and left.
“More for us.” He winked at Eddie, shovelling in a forkful.
In the living room, John sat beside her. “What’s happened?”
“It’s—” She broke off as Mary and Eddie entered.
“Time to explain, lad. Why’s my wife in such a state?”
Eddie cleared his throat. “I’m here to take responsibility. I love Mary. I’ll marry her.”
“Is there a reason for the rush?” John’s voice turned flinty.
“There is,” Polly cut in. “Our daughter’s pregnant.”
“Mum!” Mary’s cry was raw.
“Is this true?” John slapped his knees, standing. “Do your parents know about this, boy?”
“My dad does. I told him when Mary told me.” Eddie met John’s stare, his ears burning.
“And you?” John rounded on Mary. “I won’t say it’s too young. Won’t scream or punish you. Pointless. But do you mean to keep it?”
“John!” Polly snapped.
“Easy.” He held up a hand.
“She’s keeping it,” Eddie said firmly.
“You’re *seventeen*,” Polly hissed. “Did neither of you think of protection? Mary, do you understand what you’ve thrown away? No university. A child will take everything. You’ll resent each other—” Her voice cracked.
“Polly, enough.” John gripped her shoulder. “First, she finishes school—quietly. Then she can study remotely.”
“You’re so *calm*!” Tears shimmered in Polly’s eyes.
“What should I do? Thrash them? Or would you rather she ended it? She’d never forgive you if it left her barren.” John’s composure frayed.
“God, *why*?” Polly turned away. “I’m thirty-seven. I’m not ready to be a grandmother. How will you even live?”
“I’ll work,” Eddie said stiffly.
“Work? Then they’ll draft you, and Mary’s alone with a baby. Brilliant!” Polly’s cheeks blotched red.
“They won’t.” Eddie scowled.
“Oh, he’s ill too!” Polly spat.
“I’m not. My dad’s army. He’ll arrange deferment.”
“See? The lad’s got sense.” John’s tone was unreadable.
“Pity he didn’t use it sooner,” Polly shot back.
“Polly, it’s not the worst that could’ve happened. What if she were gravely ill? *That’s* tragedy.” He pulled her close.
“Let’s settle. We’ve months to prepare. First, we meet Eddie’s family.”
“Just my dad. My mum’s gone.”
“I’m sorry. May I ask—?”
“Cancer. When it got bad, she… jumped.” Eddie’s voice was barely audible.
“That doesn’t excuse ruining my daughter’s life,” Polly muttered.
“Enough.” John tightened his hold. “He came forward. You’ll make a smashing gran.”
“Listen to yourself!” Polly shoved him off.
“We’ve space. My nan’s retired—she’ll help.” Eddie’s voice was steady. “I won’t abandon them. Sorry to spoil your day.”
“Quite the gift,” Polly said bitterly.
“Best you go now, Eddie. Mary, see him out. We’ll expect your father.” John’s voice brooked no argument.
***
News of a seventeen-year-old’s pregnancy is a blow. But the best parents can do is stand by their child—not become their foes.
Over tea, the families agreed: until exams, life would continue as before, avoiding gossip. Mary’s condition wouldn’t show for months. Then, a quiet wedding. She’d move in withThey would face hardships, as all young parents do, but in the end, love and determination would guide them through.
