Today has been a day of tangled feelings, and I feel I need to put pen to paper. My mothers side of the family has always been rather large she grew up with five siblings, though now there are just three left. Mum and one of my aunts live here in the village, making a living from seasonal work. In the summer, they work on the farms and take up odd jobs, storing every penny they can for the winter. Of course, both our family and theirs tend to our vegetable patches, always ready with a basket of home-grown potatoes and runner beans.
Mums other sister, Aunt Margaret, chose city life long ago. She and Uncle Philip now have a lovely flat in Reading and a cottage retreat by the Thames. Uncles done well for himself, now the director of a construction firm. But they werent always so well-heeled once upon a time, they too trudged through the muddy lanes of our village, and it was Mum and Aunt Ruth who saw them through the lean years. But it seems that, once fortune smiled on them, they practically erased us from their lives.
Mum only found out by accident that Margarets daughter, Lucy, had got married. The news left her speechless at first, though she tried her best to cover her surprise in front of us. I could tell she felt deeply embarrassed who wouldn’t, after all, if your own sister hadnt even bothered inviting you to her only daughters wedding?
Back home, Mum shared the news with Aunt Ruth. Shocked is an understatement Aunt Ruth was visibly wounded. They decided, finally, to ring Margaret and offer their congratulations in the hope that she might feel a twinge of remorse. Instead, Margaret just muttered a flat thank you and hung up without another word.
Strangely enough, something must have played on Margarets conscience, because a few days later she turned up at our door, with Lucy and her new husband in tow. They brought along a joint of beef and what looked like a rather pricey bottle of wine. But by that time, Mums hurt had turned to anger. She told them, right at the doorstep, that if they considered us country yokels unfit for their big-city celebrations, they had no business coming round for tea now.
To my shock, Uncle Philip snapped that yes, they were ashamed for us to be seen at the reception that if we appeared, everyone would know from the smell of roast pork that we belonged to the countryside. Mum was crushed, and, tears in her eyes, told them to leave and never come back. Aunt Ruth, loyal as ever, sided with Mum, vowing never to speak to Margaret again.
Tonight, as I write this, my heart aches for the family I thought wed always have. The rift between village and city, old days and new money, feels wider than ever. I wonder if they realise how much theyve hurt us and if time can ever undo whats been said.
