If only everyone got help like this
Polly, Ill be around today. Ill help with the grandchildren.
I wedged the phone between my ear and shoulder as I bounced a howling Max on my hip.
Thank you, Mrs. Hope, but honestly, were
The line cut dead. My mother-in-law was already gone.
A crash erupted in the sitting room Alex had just tipped over the box of building blocks, and Maisie immediately screeched with delight as she threw handfuls across the floor. Max was still wailing in my arms as if he hadnt eaten in a week, though hed finished his bottle less than half an hour ago.
I looked over at Anthony. He was sat on the sofa, eyes glued to his phone, feigning deep concentration. A little too pointedly.
You called your mum.
It wasnt a question.
He gave a shrug, still staring at his screen. Well yes. Youre struggling, I can see it. Mum will help
I wanted to say I was coping. That I didnt need her help. That Id managed, three months after Max was born, to keep the house in order, feed three children, sometimes even get some sleep. But Max started up again, so all I could do was slip away, rocking him in the bedroom and bracing myself for Hopes arrival.
She turned up by lunchtime, standing grandly in the doorway with two massive suitcases and the determined expression of a woman ready to rescue the Titanic.
For heavens sake, Polly, you look done in! Mrs. Hope swept past me, eyeing the house with a critical gaze. And what a mess in here. Never mind now Im here, its all going to be sorted. Well soon have everything right!
By the days end, I already wished Id deadbolted the flat.
Whats this, then? Mrs. Hope eyed the chopping board suspiciously as I sliced courgettes.
A stew. The children like it.
Stew? She said it as if Id suggested feeding the kids rat poison. No, no, no. Anthony loves proper English beef stew. My recipe. Move aside, Ill do it.
I stepped away from the stove, fingers tight around the vegetable peeler.
The next morning, she woke me at seven, although Max had finally settled at five.
Polly! What are these clothes on the children? What on earth is this, a circus?
Alex and Maisie stood in their favourite jumpsuits one bright yellow, one cherry red. Id bought them so I could spot the twins from a distance at the playground.
Its just normal clothes.
Normal? You call this normal? Mrs. Hope was already dragging out grey trousers and beige jumpers from her suitcase. They look like parrots! And its chilly outside, theyll catch their death. Ive brought them proper things to wear.
Theyre comfy in
Polly. She drew herself up, arms folded across her chest and watery tears shining in her eyes. Im here to help. And all you do is argue. I raised Anthony, I know what Im about. You you just dont appreciate me.
She dabbed her chest and collapsed dramatically on a chair, the very picture of wounded virtue.
Anthony poked his head out of the bedroom, glanced at his mum, then at me.
Oh come on, he muttered, shes only trying to help. Were lucky to get this sort of help.
I kept silent. I changed the twins into grey and beige, forced a smile at Mrs. Hope, and felt another tiny piece of me give way inside.
By the weeks end, the flat was enemy territory. Mrs. Hope had rearranged the nursery the cots stood differently now, the right way. The childrens daily schedule was revamped now they ate and napped on her timetable. I fed Max with her hovering, commenting that I wasnt holding the bottle at the right angle.
Anthony would disappear onto the balcony every half hour, gazing pointedly into the courtyard as if nothing was amiss.
I couldnt sleep. At night I just stared at the ceiling, in a perpetual state of alert. Every creak from the corridor set me on edge was Mrs. Hope coming to check her grandchildren were breathing, tucked in, just so?
Mornings, I rose shattered, hands shaking, and made coffee that never helped.
Thursday evening, I opened the cupboard for baby formula. My breath caught. The shelves were bare.
Mrs. Hope? I walked into the kitchen, where she was shredding cabbage for yet another stew. Wheres Maxs formula?
Threw that muck away, she said, not turning around. Full of chemicals. I read about it. I bought proper, healthy stuff.
She nodded towards the table.
There sat a tin cheap, and the very brand that had given Max a rash head to toe a month earlier.
Hes allergic to that brand.
Nonsense, she scoffed. He was only ill because you fed him wrong before. Trust me hell be fine this time, youll see.
I stared at the tin. At Mrs. Hope, slicing away, unruffled. I pictured Anthony, almost certainly still sulking on the balcony.
Something snapped in me. Quietly. Finally.
Forty minutes later, I was in a taxi, clutching Max. Alex and Maisie, hastily zipped into their brightly coloured jumpsuits Id rescued from beneath the mound of proper clothes, watched out the window. In the boot was a bag with the bare essentials.
At Mums house, I broke down on the doorstep.
Mum, I cant do it anymore. I just I cant live like this.
She bundled me into the kitchen, made tea, stroked my hair while I sobbed into my cup.
There, there, love. Everything will be alright. Youll stay here as long as you need.
The phone started buzzing at eleven that night and didnt stop until three.
Polly, what the hell are you playing at? Anthony shouted down the line. Mums in bits! She was only helping! She did everything for us, and you
I just want a normal life! I hissed, trying not to wake the kids. She threw away Maxs formula! Hes allergic to what your mum reckons is best for our son!
What allergy? You always exaggerate! Mum knows best shes older!
Well maybe your mum can move in with you then!
Youre an ungrateful madwoman! Anthony spat. If not for my mum, youd never cope. Get home now.
I wont come back while shes there.
Silence. Then, finally:
Do what you want, and he hung up.
The next morning I filed for divorce.
Three days later, I came back for our things alone, the kids staying with my mum. Mrs. Hope met me at the door.
How can you do this to us, Polly? Taking the children from their father! Separating grandma from her grandchildren! Its cruel! Inhuman! I put everything I had into helping you people would be lucky to have a mother-in-law like me!
I looked at her this woman whod ruined my life in the name of help. Whod thrown out formula Max needed and replaced it with something that made him break out in hives. Whod rearranged furniture, changed the childrens clothes, elbowed me out of my own kitchen and pushed me to the edge.
Youll cope. Youll survive, I heard my own voice ice-cold, unfamiliar.
She recoiled, gasping. Anthony burst out of the bedroom, grabbing my wrist.
What are you doing? Thats my mother!
I yanked my hand back. Looked at my husband an adult man who still ran to his mother with every problem.
Dont touch me, I said.
I walked past him, packed the rest of my belongings in the bedroom, shoved them into a suitcase, and left without looking back.
The divorce went through two months later. Anthony tried phoning for a couple of weeks, then gave up. I received a long message from Mrs. Hope telling me Id destroyed the family and ruined her sons life. I deleted it unread.
At my mums, the house was cramped, but it was peaceful. At night, Id get up with Max, rocking him in the kitchen, watching the dark world outside. In the day, I took the twins to the park, cooked them vegetable stew, dressed them in their bright outfits.
Six months later, Alex and Maisie started nursery. I found remote work editing documents at night, while the children slept. There wasnt much money, but it was enough.
In the evenings Id collapse on the sofa, Max cooing in his cot, the twins crawling under my arms begging for a story. I read them The Three Little Pigs, putting on voices for each character, Maisie giggling, Alex nodding solemnly over every page.
And in those moments, stretched out on the sofa, surrounded by my children, I knew Id done the right thing. Hard years lay ahead, raising three on my own. It was exhausting, sometimes lonely, often frightening. But it was right.
