He didnt win me over right away.
Oh, so you think hes already making a move? Maybe you imagined it? Maybe it was an accident?
Mum, what do you mean imagined? I was sure Harry would be left a widower James is a head taller than me!
You know, men dont just raise a hand for nothing Youve always been a firecracker since you were a kid. If somethings wrong, youll bring it to a whitehot boil.
Emily stared, stunned by her mothers words. She had expected protection, outrage, at least a touch of sympathy, not a insinuation that she herself was at fault. If, God forbid, the situation ever turned disastrous, would her mother also blame her?
How can I not be a firecracker when every bloke on his side calls me bunny and kitty? I havent heard those words from him in three years! Emily snapped.
Look, were already shouting at mum, Margaret replied, irritation curling her voice. Remember, a threat isnt a punch. He doesnt drink, he doesnt stay out late, he works. Hes got character. All of them do, and you have it too. Have you ever had a better man? Think carefully before you do anything rash
Oh, Mum, thats enough. Thanks for the support, Emily said, slamming the phone down.
Physical abuse, betrayal and lies were things Emily could never tolerate, especially in marriage. Harry had assembled the perfect setup. She had already decided she wouldnt back down, yet something else bothered her: her mother reacted to her daughters protest as if she were complaining about an expired loaf of bread. That didnt compute for Emily. She realised shed been blind to a lot before.
Margaret Whitfield had a strange habit of changing shoes midstep, even turning around while she was midleap. To the world she said one thing, behind their backs another. Her smile was sugary, her gaze often cold and calculating.
Oh, what a pretty little dress. It suits you wonderfully, she cooed when Emilys younger sister tried on a frock in a shop.
Then Margaret stared at the price tag, eyebrows shooting up in surprise, and promptly changed her mind.
Actually, love, with those legs they look a bit short in that, she declared sharply. No, lets look at something else.
In the end they bought cheap synthetic fabric in a dull mauvebrown, the wrong size, but at a discount, and Margaret bragged to her girlfriends about the great bargain.
Some mums here even stitch gowns for the school leavers. And its only Year4! she complained over the phone to a mate. Its madness. Its just a oneoff expense. I got mine on clearance; at least its not a total loss. Maybe shell wear it somewhere later.
Emilys friends were much the same. She turned up at a birthday party with a slice of cake. Oh, dear Ellie is such a good girl, her parents are proper, someone whispered. When Ellie wanted to visit, Margaret switched shoes instantly.
Why does she need to be here? Remember: no friends are allowed in the house! she lectured Emily. Get used to it from childhood. Friends are like that; they start out all cute, then either gossip behind your back or whisk your husband away.
Harrys arrival was greeted the same way. At first Margaret didnt approve of Emilys choice.
What good is he to you? He pops up, then disappears A decent bloke wouldnt behave like that. I can feel it in my bonesyoure not his only one, Margaret warned.
And Emily believed her. She had little experience, and her mothers authoritative voice drowned out her own intuition.
Emily tried to break up with Harry. Instead, it only spurred him on. He sent her flowers to the doorstep, ordered sushi a few times, and Margarets resolve melted.
You cant let a man like that slip away! she said, trying to spear some rolls with a fork. He may not be perfect, but you dont need a flawless prince. You dont want to end up with a house full of cats, do you? Grab the bull by the horns and marry him.
Again, Emily obeyed, the dutiful daughter. Her mother would never steer her wrong.
The warning signs were there, even before the sudden disappearances. Harrys moods swung like a pendulum: tender one minute, snarling the next. He grew jealous of Emilys friends, constantly critiqued her wardrobe, and declared he liked short skirts and high heels.
Yet Emily clung to her mothers counsel, and within six months she had a marriage certificate stamped in her passport. The early months were honeysweet: romantic dinners, flawless selfies, daily surprises. Then things shifted.
Harry stopped asking what Emily wanted. He scrutinised every shopping list, scolding her for each unnecessary item, even hair dye. He nearly forbade her from wearing red lipstick, saying it made her look like a looseminded girl.
Both worked, but the house fell to Emily alone. Harry came home earlier, only to ask at the door what was for dinner. After the meal he would stand, turn, and retreat to his computer, leaving a mountain of dishes behind.
Harry, could you at least wash your plate? Emily ventured one evening, gathering courage.
What, you dont like looking after me?
Im just exhausted.
Me too. I was working all day.
Emily was stunned. She was also toiling, but Harry was indifferent. He shrugged, claiming his own mother managed everything while also raising her sons.
What did you expect when you walked down the aisle? Margaret asked when Emily complained. A woman must juggle everything. Families depend on us.
Emily disagreed, but when everyone around echoed the same sentiment, she began to doubt herself.
Time marched on. Emily gave birth, and the strain deepened. To friends they appeared the perfect couple; in private they bickered over petty things. Harry refused to help with the baby, insisting a father had nothing to do with a child under a year. He started sleeping in the spare room, claiming the infants cries kept him from rest, while he needed to get up early for work. In the dead of night Emily sometimes found him awake, phone in hand.
She tried to talk, but Harry shut her out. Your feelings are your problem, he said. If somethings wrong with me, the doors over there. Emily spoke calmly, explaining her worries, saying she was fighting for their family, not attacking him.
Youre just being demanding, Margaret shrugged when Emily confided again. What more do you want? He works, provides, you live in his flat
Emily tried to convince herself that everything was fine, that arguments were normal.
Then she uncovered Harrys messages on his phone. No explicit photographs, but the tone was unmistakable: bunny, sunshine, kitten. An entire menagerie of endearments, wishes of good morning and night, even flirtatious banter. No concrete proof of a physical affair, but for Emily it was betrayal.
That was the breaking point. She confronted Harry that very day.
Its just banter, he tried to brush it off. Colleagues, acquaintances Im just being friendly. It makes negotiations easier. Why are you making a scene? You should trust me.
Trusting a husband with a whole virtual harem was impossible.
The argument exploded. Harry pointed to the door, his hand hovering as if to push her out. For Emily it was intolerable, yet she couldnt simply walk away. She hoped for her mothers help, but
Oh, just a bit of texting its nothing, love. He just needs attention, youve been with Sam all day. Hes compensating, Margaret tried to soothe her in a matteroffact tone.
Margaret never budged, even when Emily explained how close shed come to a disaster.
Emily had to fend for herself. When her friends heard she was filing for divorce, they were shocked; shed never complained before. Yet, surprisingly, some kindness emerged.
One friend handed over a spare set of keys; shed just moved in with her boyfriend and her flat was empty. Another loaned her money. A third helped with the move.
A few weeks later Emily filed for divorce and fled the house. Her mothers reaction was, once again, unexpected.
Good riddance! Hes a tyrant, Margaret declared. He never liked you from the start. Remember I told you decent men dont act like that?
Emily blinked, bewildered. Margaret had just praised him as caring and attentive, then turned around and called him a tyrant. Shed spoken so much.
Mum werent you the one urging me not to divorce?
I didnt know youd have anyone to turn to! Where would you have gone? she snapped, then softened. You have me, of course but Im old, my place is cramped, and Im barely managing on my own. Being a lone mum is hard, I know that well.
At that moment Emily finally understood. Her mothers shoechanging wasnt about doing what was best; it was about doing what suited her. She bought cheap clothes for her daughter, barred friends from visiting, urged her not to leave so she wouldnt have to host a child in her own home
Two years passed. Emily still talked to Margaret, but she no longer shared her life or asked for advice. She stopped visiting, and Margaret stopped inviting her in. Work and money were tough, but her mind felt lighter.
One afternoon the phone rang.
Emily Ive gone completely off my meds, picked up a nasty virus. No prescriptions at home, no food. I could really use a cup of soup maybe you could pop in for an hour?
Emily raised an eyebrow. Drop by an hour to a sick mother with a child? It sounded dubious.
Tell me what meds you need and Ill order them.
Silence stretched. Margaret expected a different answer.
Dont send anything, Emily replied, mildly annoyed. I just wanted to see you. Maybe these are my last days.
Mum Id love to help, but you were rightbeing a lone mum is hard. Supplying medicine and food is my solemn duty, but being there that needs trust. I dont trust you. Youre the champion of shoechanging.
Margaret sighed, muttered a little, but couldnt sway her daughter.
From then on Emily chose her confidants with extreme caution, and she learned not to be fooled again, even when she desperately wanted to be.
