25April
Today the house felt like a battlefield again. Margaret Thompson, my motherinlaw, stormed in with the same vitriol she always brings. How ungrateful you are! she shrieked, as though I were a child who had never even managed to thank her for the roof over her head. We gave you an education, we raised you properly, and you cant even bless my son with an heir!
I turned as pale as a sheet. I had just been discharged from StMarys Hospital with a newborn in my arms, my third child, and my own health was already stretched thin. The thought of Margarets tirade added a fresh weight to my already frail nerves. I was grateful she hadnt been there for the discharge; otherwise, she would have ruined the whole atmosphere.
There’s no use having you around, she spat. All you produce are freeloaders, damn it!
My patience snapped. How can you speak like that about your own grandchildren? Have you lost your mind? I tried to keep my voice steady.
A better mind than yours, thats for sure, she retorted, turning on James, my husband. Its a shame my son got such a lousy wife.
Why are you even in my house? I shouted. Leave! No one asked you to come!
I hadnt invited her. In fact, I barely opened the front door because I was juggling the baby and waiting for my older daughter, Victoria, to arrive and help. I answered the door without checking the peephole, halfexpecting a neighbour or a delivery. When Margaret stepped inside, I shut the door in her face, slammed it shut, and let out a long, exhausted sigh before collapsing onto the sofa.
The baby wailed at the shouting, and I had to calm her while waiting for Victoria to show upshe would tidy the house, make a meal, and sort the laundry.
* * *
Looking back, James and I probably wouldnt have married if I hadnt gotten pregnant. He was a promising secondyear university student, I was a year younger and had left school early to work. We met through mutual friends; James was a colleague of my brothers. When my parents learned I was expecting, they pressed for a wedding despite Jamess own parents objections. We rushed the ceremony.
Even before the wedding, Margaret warned me that a wayward Emma would ruin her sons career. James is a starhe got a scholarship for maritime studies. Youll just hold him back. She seemed to think she was protecting not only her son but also the unborn child.
When Victoria was born, Margaret started urging us: If youre already starting families early, hurry up and have a second child. My son needs an heir! Victoria was barely six months old at the time. Both sides of the family pitched inmy mother helped with babysitting, Jamess parents sent money. Margaret expected constant gratitude, even poetic thanks, though she never addressed James directly.
She would scold us for not having enough money for nappies, claiming she would have been washing cloth diapers herself in our day. Were supporting you both, Emma, and little Nicky, shed say, referring to our son. I would mutter thank you for the hundredth time each morning.
Margaret never liked me. Whenever she visited, she found faultpointing out a film of limescale in the kettle, poking around the fridge, commenting on the dust she claimed I never cleaned. You must be breathing hard because you never dust, shed snarl once, while James was at sea training.
One day she even dragged a kitchen sideboard into the hallway and, perched on it, began wiping surfaces with exaggerated gestures. I told you! So much dust! No wonder you cant breathe! I lowered my head in silence; arguing would only make things worse.
She also mocked my maternity leave, noting that Victoria was already a year and a half old.
* * *
When Victoria started nursery, I was stunned by how quickly three years of maternity leave had vanished. I had no qualifications, no work experience, and felt trapped in domestic routine while James prepared for his diploma and a promising maritime career. I envied my peers, whose lives seemed carefree. Determined, I decided to go back to study, even if only for a piece of paper. My parents supported me, and when I told James, he smiled and said I was being brave.
Margaret, of course, barged in unannouncedshe felt entitled, given that wed accepted her financial help for the flat. She caught me rummaging through a pile of papers, searching for a copy of my school certificate.
What are you doing? she asked, halfamused, halfcontemptuous.
I need a copy of my GCSEs; Ive misplaced them, I replied, unaware she was about to lose her temper.
What GCSEs?! she shrieked. You think you can just go back to university now? Who will look after the child?
Victoria will go to nursery, I answered.
Still, you should have other priorities. Study when youre single and free, not as a mother! she snapped. I bit my lip, feeling the sting of her disapproval.
She then warned, If you want to study, youll have to do it on your own. This family wont give you a penny.
I managed to secure a place on a bursary, studied accounting, and got a modest job as a clerk. James spent long stretches at sea, leaving the household to me. I learned to juggle work, school, and motherhood, while Margarets unsolicited advice never really stoppedjust became background noise.
* * *
Years passed. Victoria excelled at school; teachers called her a bright girl. James became a seasoned merchant mariner, earning well enough that we bought a modest terraced house in Leeds with a mortgage we eventually paid off. I continued working as an accountant, my salary modest but steady, and the job allowed me to stay close to home.
When Victoria entered secondary school, Margaret again popped up, this time complaining about my daughters extracurriculars. Why is she always with a book? Take her outside for a walk! Fresh air is good for her.
Ill finish her homework and well go for a walk in an hour, I replied. Shes also started dance lessons.
Dancing? Really? Proper girls dont dance like that. Itll make her soft! Margaret huffed. I felt my blood boil, but I kept my composure.
Later that afternoon, James returned from a long voyage. He heard Margarets tirade and intervened: Mum, please stop. Were raising Victoria the best we can. Margaret retorted, Youre ungrateful! James shook his head. He never asked for money from his parents again; Margarets attempts to control us were losing their grip.
When Victoria turned thirteen, I discovered I was pregnant again. James was over the moon, carrying her in his arms. I laughed bitterly at Margarets endless pleas for a grandson. Do you think Im hoping for a boy? I asked, sarcasm tinged with exhaustion.
Whatever, James said, smiling. A healthy baby is all that matters.
Margaret, however, kept insisting on a male heir for the maritime dynasty. When Lilyour little girlwas born, Margaret was so upset she didnt even attend the hospital discharge. She didnt call for a few weeks, and James felt hurt that his mother hadnt even seen his own child. Their relationship grew colder; Margarets accusations that James was ungrateful and a bad father echoed in the house.
Soon after, James and I bought a leasehold flat, paid off the mortgage, and settled into a comfortable routine. Victoria went to university, married, and moved out. Lily earned a place at university in Manchester. James continued his sea career, earning a decent wage, and I kept my accounting job. Our life finally felt peacefulapart from the occasional call from Margaret, which had become a rare interruption.
* * *
Lately, Ive been having strange stomach pains after lunch. I blame the greasy takeaway I sometimes share with colleagues. It was probably nothing, just a sign of getting older. I also crave pickles and sauerkraut more than ever.
Why are you so keen on salty things? James teased as he prepared for another long voyage.
Just saw a lovely bunch of cucumbers at the market, I laughed. Cant resist.
I chalked it up to age, thinking Id start making my own preserves each summer.
Then, unexpectedly, my doctor told me Im pregnant againthis time at 32 weeks. The news hit like a bolt. I called James; he first thought it was a joke, then his voice trembled with surprise. Get me ashore as soon as you can! he said.
I tried to call Margaret, but she answered with a shriek: Youre trying to ruin my sons career again?! She accused me of concocting stories, of being a fantasist, of fearing Id become an old mother. I snapped back, Im not a child; women my age still have babies. She hung up in fury.
The reality is that James will be at sea for at least another month, so Ill have to manage the birth on my own. I told him, Dont worry about me; Ill be fine. He replied, Well get through it together.
* * *
10May
The next part of my life feels like a second act. Margaret, after realizing James would stay at sea, softened a bit. She called a couple of times to check on me, though each conversation felt perfunctory. She even asked awkwardly, Did you have an ultrasound? Boy or girl?
No, I answered, I want it to be a surprise.
She laughed, Well, good luck with that.
Now she sends occasional gifts through Lily, always hinting that she hopes for a boy to continue the family line. She never showed up for the birth, but she does send cards with floral prints.
When Victoria called the intercom, she reminded me that shed taken me from the hospital and now was off to help Mom again. She whispered, Mum, whats happening? I saw Grandma in the hallway, grabbing me and shouting about everything being lost.
I forced a smile, She just wanted to see her son, and then she left, annoyed because I didnt name the baby a boy.
Victoria hugged me tightly. Dont mind her, Mum. Were happy without her meddling.
James returned from his latest voyage, and Victoria complained about Margarets interference. James initially bristled, but eventually let it go. Weve learned to focus on our own family, not on the whims of a stubborn motherinlaw.
* * *
The other story that haunts me is Lucys.
She feared her mother, Jane, who seemed to love her older sister, Emma, whose photograph still sits on the livingroom TV. The picture showed a darkeyed girl in a lacecollared dress, surrounded by chocolate sweets, plush toys, and other perfect items that Lucy was forbidden to touch.
One day Lucy snuck a couple of sweets and played with the plush toys. When Jane caught her, she erupted: Are you stealing Emmas sweets? How shameful! She slapped Lucy, brandished a belt, and her glasses lenses widened with a terrifying glare. The punishment continued for a week, with Lucy locked in her room, no one to appeal to. Her father barely noticed, as if Lucy were invisible.
It wasnt until Lucy started school, seeing other children arriving with both parents, that she realized something was amiss. Fathers held hands with their kids, chatted gentlysomething Lucy had never known. She began to suspect that perhaps she wasnt truly loved, that her mothers affection was reserved for the picturesister.
Emma, the girl in the photograph, had died in an accident three years ago while crossing the road, which explained why her image remained forever frozen. Lucys dreams were haunted by a vague, comforting mother figure, but she could never be sure who it was.
One night she dreamed they were on a roof, the sky a violet dome with a crimson twilight rim, her mothers hair fluttering in a gentle wind, holding Lucys hand. The world was beautiful, a river glinting like a ribbon far below, the sun sinking like a heating element. She woke in tears, unable to ask her mother about the vision.
It was only by accident that Lucy learned she was not the real child. The realization shattered her, but also set her free from the constant, oppressive expectations of a mother who lived more in a portrait than in the present.
These memories and present struggles swirl together as I write. I am tired, hopeful, and a little bewildered, but I keep moving forwardone day, one diary entry at a time.
