How can you say you dont intend to look after my sons child? My would-be mother-in-law could not contain herself, her voice slicing through the quiet as sharply as any memory from years gone by.
I drew a steadying breath, recalling that familiar kitchen in the chilly suburbs of London. First of all, Im not shunning little Edward. Lets rememberhere, after work, its me, the dutiful wife, who runs herself ragged in a second shift of cooking, laundry, and cleaning. I can certainly lend a hand and offer advice, but Im not about to shoulder the full weight of parenting. Thats not my place.
Not your place? So this is who you really aretwo-faced?
Oh, give it a rest, Sally, snapped Sarah, once the ringleader for gossip at our school reunions. Old habits, it seems, never quite die.
But those days when I had nothing to say for myself had long passed. These days, sharp words came to mind easily, and I wasnt about to miss my chance to put Sarah, with her sharp tongue, right in her place.
Just because you have to stretch every pound doesnt mean we all do, I said with a casual shrug. My father left me two flats in London. One we lived in before he and Mum split, the other came to me by way of my grandparents. The rent for those places is nothing like it is round here. I have enough for the luxuries in life and can afford to pick work because it matters, not just for a pay cheque.
You swapped your practice for a till at the supermarket, didnt you? I added, a touch of mischief in my tone.
Sarah blushed with indignation. That was a secret. Id promised to keep itbut when she called me a fool in front of everyone, what did she expect? Was I meant to let that slide? If anyone was the fool, it certainly wasnt me.
A shop assistant? Surely not? someone queried, feigning surprise.
You promised to keep quiet! Sarah squealed, mortified, grabbing her handbag and dashing out of the pub, near tears, slamming the old oak door behind her.
Serves her right, Andrew commented after a brief silence.
Absolutely. Shes well past her sell-by date, if you ask me. Who even invited her? Tanya chimed in.
I did, apologised Anna, our old class monitor and reunion organiser, fiddling nervously with her tea. I know she wasnt much liked at school, but people do change. Some of them, at least.
But not all, I shrugged, drawing a round of laughter from around the snug little table.
After that, the conversation turned to my rather unusual job, one about which everyone was genuinely curiousno judgment, just intrigue. Few people come across my line of work, and myths abound.
Why bother treating them if theres no hope? one old classmate asked.
Who says theres no hope? I replied, sharing the story of a little ladfive years oldwhose birth hadnt gone quite right. Oxygen deprived, yes, but he just started speaking closer to three, and with the support of speech therapists and neurologists, he stands a good chance of starting school with his peersno special classes, no stigma. Without care, his story wouldve been very different.
So you chose meaningful work, rather than chasing the pound? Val summed up, and soon the conversation wandered off towards the growing families and oddities of our former classmates.
But there was a persistent feeling of being watched, a fleeting discomfort between stories. I looked around the crowded pubno prying eyes. I dismissed it as fancy. Soon, talk and laughter carried me away.
A week after that reunionhow quickly time fliesI found myself one frosty morning trapped on my street, my car boxed in. Phoning the number displayed in the windscreen of the offending car, I was met with profuse apologies and promises to come down at once.
Terribly sorry, said the young man as he pressed the key fob to unlock his car with a winning smile. Couldnt find a spot anywhere. Im Max, by the way.
Im Claire, I replied. There was something about Maxhis posture, his speech, even his aftershavethat made him instantly likeable. When he asked me out, I said yes without hesitationand then again, and again, until, after three months, life without Max was hard to imagine.
His mother and son from his first marriage welcomed me. The boy, Edward, had his own way of being, but my professional skills bridged the gap. I even offered Max a few new strategies to help Edward settle, and they worked wonders.
By the end of our first year, Id moved into Maxs place with Edward. My own flat was let out through the same agency that handled those London properties, and I settled in with my soon-to-be husband and his child.
Thats when the unease beganat first, little things: Can you help Edward get ready? or, Mind watching him for half an hour while I nip to the shops?
Harmless enough, especially as Edward and I got on, and if I wasnt busy, I saw no reason to refuse. But Maxs requests soon became ever more demanding.
I had to have words with Max. Your son is your responsibility. Ill help when I can, but I wont take on the lions share just because hes your child and, frankly, I deal with enough at work.
At first, Max understood. But as our wedding approached, he and his mother spoke as though I would, of course, handle Edwards therapy after work.
Hang on now, I interrupted. Max, we agreed youd deal with your own son. I dont expect you to clean my mothers house or fix her problemsI manage all that myself, as any grown woman should.
Thats hardly the same, sniffed his mother. A mother is an adult, living on her own. A child needs care. Or do you think youll keep turning your nose up at Edward after the wedding, and well all just accept it?
I dont turn up my nose at Edward. I remind youits me doing all the housework after my job, as any decent wife and mother would. But I wont take on his therapy as well. Hes Maxs son. Max should see to it.
I see. So youre happy to show off your career to your friendsso impressive when people listen to youbut when it comes to really caring for Edward, we cant get a word out of you, is that it? she huffed.
What are you talking about? I said, but then it clicked. Maxs mum worked part-time as a dishwasher at the very pub where our school reunion had been held.
All at once, I saw through it. So this was all a set-up? A way to palm your child off on me?
Did you think I was really keen to start something with someone like you? snapped Max. If it werent for Edward and your expertise, Id never have given you a second look
Well then, now you wont, I said quietly, slipping off my engagement ring and tossing it into his lap.
Youll regret this, Max and his mother spat. A real man doesnt want some drab nobody with a dead-end job and no cash.
Ive two flats in London, so dont worry about me, I replied, enjoying the way their faces changed as the truth hit home.
Of course, they tried to call me back: promises of change, never putting that burden on me again, declarations of undying love. But I was unmoved. I simply laughed in the end, telling Max hed lost his mouse, and I wasnt the one with regrets.
Later, over pints in the pub, the story was shared among friends and we all laughed. As for mewell, I still hope to someday meet a kindred spirit wholl love me not for my money or my skills, but just for who I am.
For now, my work and friends are enough. And maybe Ill get myself a catat least you can count on a cat to mind its manners, which is more than I can say for certain men.
