Margaret Clarke rocked her infant granddaughter, searching desperately for a position that would finally lull the tiny girl to sleep. Emily had been born restless; for the first months she cried almost nonstop. Breastfeeding never took hold for either Margaret or Emilys mother, Grace, and they were forced to rely on formula that left the baby with a constant, gnawing stomach ache. They tried every remedydill water, chamomile tea, countless home curesto no avail, and the night stretched on as Margaret rocked for hours. The elderly district nurse who had been called in could only shrug, Shes a little one. Maybe shell outgrow it by three months.
Margaret gazed at the sleeping cherub with a tenderness that softened her weariness. Shell grow up to be a beauty and a smart one, just like my Grace, she whispered.
The sound of the kitchen door opening snapped her attention to the intruder: her soninlaw, James, who lingered by the simmering pot, snorted softly, then shut the lid with a clatter. Margaret flinched, thinking, If only Grace were home from university alreadyI could go back to the house.
James believed Grace should have abandoned her studies the moment her daughter was born, insisting that a mothers education ended with childbirth. Margaret, however, harboured a quiet resistance to Grace marrying James. Their uneasy compromise was that Grace must finish her degreeno academic leaves, because many students never return once they pause.
But every compromise has its price. Margaret put her own career on hold to care for Grace and the baby until Emily could start nursery. With no other income, she tightened her belt, cutting back on groceries, arriving at Graces flat hungry, skinning down to a frail silhouette. Yet the real trouble was only beginning.
Ma, can you believe it? In a month all our exams and the dissertation are due, and Im still nowhere near ready, Grace said, voice trembling. Tomorrow I have four lectures. Could you look after Emily? I cant miss any seminars or tests, or theyll bar me from the finals.
Maybe James can watch her tomorrow; isnt it his day off? Margaret suggested, trying to keep the peace.
James snapped, I need a break too, Margaret. Grace, if its too hard for your mother, stay home tomorrow. Nothing will happen to your studies. Youre not even going to get a firstclass honour anyway.
Grace sighed, the sting of his words flashing through her heart. Im not counting on a firstclass any more, she muttered. I just want to pass. The modelling module is a dark forestnothing makes sense, and the formulas stretch a halfpage each.
James waved dismissively. That study wont get you anywhere. I never went to university, yet Im earning a decent wage£35,000 a year, and Ill be retired by forty. Your mother studied, and what? Teachers now earn barely enough to cover a mortgage.
Grace felt a hot knot of shame for her mothers plight, but she swallowed the rebuke, offered a strained smile, and suggested they all have tea while Emily slept.
Defying the pessimistic forecasts, Grace passed that semester and the ones that followed with top marks. Two years later she graduated with firstclass honours and secured a lecturing post on her own departments faculty. Margaret swelled with pride, delighted by her daughters brilliant achievement. James, unimpressed, condescendingly told his wife and motherinlaw, All that education is useless now.
Emily grew, entered nursery, and filled the house with first words, mischievous games, school concerts, and delicate dressestender moments that eased Graces lingering resentment toward a husband whose coldness and rudeness had deepened.
A new strain entered their marriage: Jamess inexplicable jealousy. He would barge into phone calls whenever Grace spoke with male colleagues, snatching the receiver and interrupting the conversation. In those moments Grace felt embarrassed and awkward, caught between a demanding career and a husband whose suspicion grew ever more intrusive.
