Mum Only Wanted to Help
Did you hear? Janes second grandchilds arrived, said Mrs. Thompson as she topped up Emmas tea. A boy, nearly nine pounds. Healthy as an ox and chubby as anything.
Emma nodded, letting the warmth of the china mug thaw her chilled hands. Mrs. Thompsons flat was always coolshe preferred to save on the heating billsbut her table was a feast of pies, homemade cottage pie, and salads, as if Emma had come for a wedding banquet rather than the usual visit.
And you and Jack, still nothing to tell me? Mrs. Thompson pressed, sliding a little dish of strawberry jam closer. Emma, how much longer are you going to wait? Youre not getting any younger, you know. Jacks thirty-one, youre twenty-eight. Its the perfect time! I always thought Id have grandchildren by now, and you two keep saying ‘lets wait, lets wait’.
Mrs. Thompson, things aren’t easy at the moment, Emma said gently, careful not to give offence. Were saving up for a place of our own. Its just not realistic to juggle a baby and a mortgage, you know? Its better to get settled first, then think about kids.
Mrs. Thompson waved her hand dismissively, as if to shoo away a fly.
Oh, youre overthinking it! Have a baby, thingsll sort themselves out. Pete and I started in a bedsitnot much more than a broom cupboardbut we managed just fine, brought Jack up, saw him off to uni. If you keep waiting for everything to line up, youll never have children.
Emma took another sip of tea, buying herself time. Outside, the February sky was dull and it was hard to tell if it was rain or sleet trickling down the window. In the next room, the old mantel clock tinked awayone of the few things Mrs. Thompson had brought from her family home.
Life doesnt work like that anymore, Emma set her cup down. It was different back then. Now theres council tax, doctors bills, nappies, the cost of living… wed drown in debt. Honestly, its better to get our own flat before bringing a baby into it.
Ill look after the baby! Mrs. Thompson declared, leaning forward as if that solved everything. You just have to give birth, Ill do the restwalks, feeding, getting up at night, whatever you need.
A wave of irritation stirred inside Emmanot anger, but a dull, sticky frustration.
Mrs. Thompson, I want to raise my own child. I dont want to dash back to work three months after, just for money. I want to be there for them when it counts. The first years are so important.
Mrs. Thompson pursed her lips and turned to the window, wounded. Emma knew the expressionnow shed go silent and clatter crockery, letting her daughter-in-law know just how deeply shed been hurt.
Emma finished her tea and stood.
Thank you for the tea, I ought to get going. Jack wanted me home by seven.
Mrs. Thompson nodded, staring at her hands. Emma got her coat, kissed her mother-in-law’s cheekcool, formaland stepped outside.
In the cab, she leaned her head against the cold window and closed her eyes. The grey blocks of flats, billboards, people in thick coats all slipped by. Mrs. Thompson simply didnt understand that times had changedone couldnt have babies on a whim, fingers crossed for the best. Children were a responsibility. Emma wanted to give hers everything: their own room, a good school, clubs for music and sport. For that, they needed a flata place of their own.
Two months passed…
For dinner, Emma made Jacks favourite: roast chicken and potatoes. Mrs. Thompson had called the day before, inviting herself round for a chat. Emma hadnt thought much of itusually her mother-in-law just reeled off recipes or grumbled about the next door neighbours.
Over dinner, Mrs. Thompson pushed her plate away and Emma felt something was up.
Do you remember Aunt Margaret, my mums cousin? Mrs. Thompson glanced at both of them. She passed away last month. Poor soul
Jack nodded. Emma shruggedshed only met the woman once at some family do.
Well, Mrs. Thompson straightened, and Emma sensed this was something big, shes left me her flat. Two bedrooms. It needs a bit of work, but its a good place. Solid brick building.
Jack whistled.
Really, Mum? Thats brilliant!
Wait a moment, Mrs. Thompson held up a hand. I want to sign it over to you two.
Emma nearly dropped her fork.
Theres one condition, her mother-in-law looked Emma straight in the eye. Give me a grandchilda grandson or granddaughter, I dont mind. Have a child, and the flats yours.
Silence filled the room. The kitchen tap dripped loudly in the stillness.
Mrs. Thompson hurried on, as if afraid Emma would object.
Think about it! You dont have to save up any morea homes waiting for you, yours to keep! The money youve got saved can all go towards the babypram, cot, clothes, whatever they need! No worrying about mortgages.
Jack looked at Emma, waiting. And Emma realised she had nothing left to argue. Theyd wanted a child, just put it off for a home. Now, that was being given to themjust like that, a signature away.
We agree, Emma placed her hand atop Jacks. Its what weve always wanted, reallyjust waiting for the right time.
Mrs. Thompson lit up as if shed been handed the keys to a new life herself.
A year went by…
Little Matty had just turned one month. Emma was in the bedroom, singing a tuneless lullaby, when she heard the front door open. Holding her son close, she stepped into the hall.
Jack? Youre home early?
Instead, Mrs. Thompson stood there with shopping bags and an air of ownership.
Emma hesitated in the doorway.
How did you get in, Mrs. Thompson?
Her mother-in-law jingled a plastic daffodil keyring. I kept a spare, just in case you needed help and didnt answer.
Emma bit back what she really wanted to say. Not the time, not the place. Matty had only just fallen asleep, and a row would wake him.
Mrs. Thompson sailed into the kitchen, clucking at the dishes and crumbs.
This wont do now, Emmadishes unwashed, crumbs everywhere She peered into the fridge. What have you got in for tea? Just milk and a bit of cheese? Jackll be starving after work, what are you planning to feed him?
Emma clutched her baby. He squirmed, but didnt wake.
Ive been with Matty all day, Mrs. Thompson. He wants to be held all the timeif I put him down, he cries.
Her mother-in-law strode to the nursery, Emma trailing helplessly. With a frown, she assessed the changing table and shelves.
Youre doing this all wrong. And these muslinstoo rough for his skin.
Theyre flannelette, theyre soft.
I know soft, thank you! I raised my own son, Ill remind you. Mrs. Thompson pursed her lips. Youre home all day, Emma. Why is the place such a tip?
Emma nodded toward the sleeping Matty.
Thats why.
Nonsense, Mrs. Thompson tutted. I cooked, cleaned, washed and managed Jack when he was a baby. Managed it all.
An hour later, she left. The flat was rearranged, the baby bottles had all been moved, Emmas nerves felt bulldozed.
That evening, after Jack had eaten, Emma sat down opposite him.
Jack, this cant go on. Your mum walks in whenever she likes, shes got her own key. Im at my wits endexhausted, overwhelmedand she comes in acting like this is her kingdom.
Jack looked away.
She just wants to help, Emnot trying to upset you.
When will she actually sign the flat over?
He hesitated.
She says theres no rush, what does it matter whose name its inwere living here anyway.
Emmas fists clenched on the table until her knuckles turned white.
Another three months passed…
Mrs. Thompson became a fixturea daily visitor. She critiqued everything: how Emma fed Matty, how she wrapped him, dressed him, even how she wheeled the pram. Each visit ended in either lectures or stormy silence about ungratefulness. Emma pleaded with Jack, but hed just shrugWhat can I do? Shes my mum.
One night, Emma snapped. After her mother-in-law left, she fetched the suitcase.
Her things went in first. Next, Mattys. Nappies, bottles, a couple of favourite toys. Jack watched from the doorway.
Emmawhere are you going?
To my mums.
Dont be like this, come onfamilies fight, itll pass
Jack, Emma zipped the suitcase and met his gaze, either your mum stops coming here, or Matty and I are leaving. Choose.
He stayed silent. He stared at the suitcase, at their son, at her. Then he sat on the sofa and covered his face.
Emma waited. Five seconds. Ten.
He didnt move.
She called a cab and left.
He rang the next day, and the day after, and then a week later. Each time promising to talk to his mother, swearing things would change. But he never took the key back, and Mrs. Thompson was still the real lady of the house theyd supposedly been given.
Six months later, the divorce went through. Child supportvia the courts, since Jack wasnt quick to pay.
Emma moved back in with her mum, to her old room with its tiny flower wallpaper from her childhood. Her mother looked after Matty, sitting with him while Emma found a jobhalf days at first, then full time. It was hard. Much, much harder than Emma had pictured motherhood.
But at night, when Matty drifted off in her arms, nuzzling his small nose into her shoulder, Emma knew shed be all right. She had to be. For him.
Because sometimes, those we hope will stand by us simply cant find the strength. But that only makes our own resolve more important. We must remember: the best life for our children is the one where their parent stands up for themeven if that means doing it alone.
