Mum Only Meant to Help
Did you hear, Junes daughter has had her second grandchild? Barbara poured more tea into Alices cup, her flowery blouse rustling against the table. A healthy little chap, eight pounds six ounces. Cheeky, chubby thing, apparently.
Alice nodded, hands cradling the steaming fine china. Barbaras flat was always cold, as though heating hadnt quite found its way to this corner of London, but the table groaned beneath the weight of sausage rolls, Victoria sponge, kidney pie, coleslaw, scones it felt less a tea visit, more some odd dream of a wedding breakfast.
And you and Jack, you still wont make me happy? Alice, really, how much longer will you wait? Youre not kids any more. Jacks thirty-one, youre twenty-eight. Its time, love! Barbara slid a jar of homemade blackcurrant jam closer, the glass sticky with memories. Id hoped to be knitting booties by now, but you keep saying, Lets wait, lets wait.
Barbara its just, you know, its a tricky time, Alice replied, careful not to bruise her mother-in-laws feelings. Were saving up for a place. I dont see how we can juggle a mortgage and a baby. It just isnt possible, not now. Wed rather get our own place first.
Barbara waved this away as if batting aside invisible midges.
Such nonsense! Have a baby, it all sorts itself out. We started in a bedsit, the three of us crammed in. Eighteen foot, if that. Still, Jack grew up grand, didnt he? Educated and all! All this money talk, youll never have children at this rate.
Alice sipped her tea to fill the silence. Outside, February hung grey above the tower blocks, rain or was it melted sleet? trickling down the window. In the lounge, the tick-tock of the old mantel clock Barbara had rescued from her childhood home.
Life just doesnt work that way, Alice said, setting her cup down. Not any more. Food, bills, nappies, doctors… Wed drown in debt.
Ill look after the bairn! Barbara leaned forward, eyes shining as though this dispelled all worry. You only need to have it, Ill handle the rest. Walks, feeding, late nights leave it with me!
A flicker of irritation crawled up Alices spine, sticky and slow. Not anger something heavier.
Barbara, I want to raise my baby myself. Not rush straight back to work for the sake of money, but actually be there. The early years matter, dont they?
Barbaras lips thinned; she turned to the window, hurt and brittle. Alice knew this look, the prairie-wide silence that followed, punctuated only by the clatter as Barbara made her feelings known with the dishes.
Alice finished her tea, stood up and smoothed her skirt.
Thanks for everything. I should get going, Jack wants me back before seven.
Barbara nodded, face towards the window. Alice put on her coat, gave her mother-in-law a formal, chilly kiss on the cheek, and left.
In the taxi, Alice rested her forehead against the glass, letting the cold numb her skin. The city passed by in blurred slabs: council blocks, advertising hoardings, crowds in black jackets. Barbara would never understand that times had changed, that babies werent something you left to fate. Alice wanted her child to have everything: their own room, a good school, music lessons, and for that, first she needed a home, not a landlords flat.
Two months drifted by…
Alice had roasted chicken and potatoes for dinner Jack liked things hearty and simple. When Barbara phoned the night before and invited herself over, Alice paid it little mind. Barbaras talks usually meant either a new recipe or fresh complaints about Margaret from next door.
But as they sat down, Barbara pushed her plate aside, eyes bright.
You remember Aunt Joan? My mums cousin? Her gaze flickered between them. Well, she passed last month. Finally at rest…
Jack nodded gravely. Alice barely remembered Joan some distant relation glimpsed at weddings.
And, the thing is, Barbara straightened, Alice sensed a dream-logic shift, as though gravity had changed altogether she left me her flat in Walthamstow. Two bedrooms, brick built, but it needs a bit of love.
Jack whistled.
Really, Mum? Thats brilliant!
Wait, Barbara held up a finger, solemn now. I want to sign it over to you two.
Alice froze, fork mid-air.
One condition, though, Barbaras stare was unblinking. You give me a grandchild. Boy or girl, I dont care. Have a baby, and its yours.
Silence hummed. From the kitchen, a drip-drip-drip echoed from the leaky tap. Barbara hurried on, breathless.
You dont need to save any more, dont you see? The flats sorted. And what youve managed to put aside, spend it on the baby! Pram, cot, all those little things. No need to fuss about a mortgage now.
Jack looked at Alice, waiting. And Alice realised she hadnt a single sensible argument left. Theyd wanted a baby, but only held back by housing worries. Now those, like a spell, had vanished.
We agree, Alice placed her hand over Jacks. It was always just the timing.
Barbara beamed, as though handed keys to her own new world.
Another year bled through the calendar…
Young Henry was a month old. Alice swayed in the bedroom, humming nonsense, Henry cradled against her chest. In the hall, the latch snapped. Alice shuffled out, arms tight around her child.
Jack? Youre home already?
Barbara stood in the doorway, carrier bags dripping, a triumphant smile on her lips.
Alice stopped dead.
Barbara? You let yourself in?
Barbara held up a key, a cartoon daisy dangling.
Kept a spare, just in case. What if you needed me and couldnt get to the door?
Alice swallowed the first words that came to mind. Not now. Not with Henry finally asleep.
Barbara clucked through to the kitchen, frowning at a couple of cups left out.
Whats this, Alice? Dishes everywhere, crumbs on the table… she examined the fridge. Is this it? Milk and mature cheddar? How will Jack eat when he gets home?
Alice squeezed Henry; he grumbled in his sleep.
Ive had him all day, Barbara. He just wants to be held or he cries.
Barbara was already barging into the nursery; Alice trailed after.
This is all wrong, Barbara sniffed the nappies, moved the bottles. Those muslins are far too rough, rub his skin raw.
Theyre brushed cotton…
I know whats soft! I raised a son, remember. Youve been indoors all day. Whys it such a tip?
Alice nodded at Henry, snug on her shoulder.
Thats why.
Nonsense, Barbara scoffed. I cooked, cleaned, washed, kept Jack happy, looked after him on my own. Managed perfectly.
She left after an hour, leaving bottles rearranged, sheets refolded, and Alice feeling flattened, as though shed been ironed right through.
That evening, Jack returned home; Alice waited until his plate was empty, then sat opposite him.
Jack, it cant go on. Your mum comes and goes as she likes, shes got her own key. Im shattered. She critiques everything I do.
Jack looked down, avoiding her eyes.
Mum means well. Shes only helping.
Whens she signing the flat over?
Jack hesitated.
She says it doesnt matter whose name is on it. We live here, dont we?
Alice gripped the tables edge, knuckles bone-white.
And the weeks melted by…
Barbara became a permanent fixture, pointing out Alices failings how Henry was fed, swaddled, dressed, walked. Every visit ending with lectures or hurt silences, leaving Alice hollow. She complained to Jack, who only shrugged. What can I do? Shes my mum.
One evening, Alice snapped. After Barbaras march out, Alice took out a battered suitcase. Packed her clothes, then Henrys, nappies, bottles, two teddies. Jack watched in the doorway.
Alice, where are you going?
Mums.
Oh come on. So what if you had a row, it happens…
Jack, Alice zipped the suitcase and looked square at him, either your mother never sets foot in here again, or Henry and I are gone. Choose.
He said nothing. Looked from suitcase, to baby, to Alice, and crumpled onto the settee, face in hands.
Alice waited. Five seconds, ten eternity stretching out.
Jack didnt move.
She called a cab and left.
He phoned the next day. And the day after, and the day after that. Always promising, Ill talk to her, just come back. But he never reclaimed the key, and Barbara remained the mistress of the flat that was supposed to be theirs.
The divorce came six months later. Child support, through the courts, as Jack preferred delays to duty.
Alice moved in with her own mother, in that old rosebud-wallpapered bedroom of her girlhood. Mum minded Henry while Alice went back to work at first part-time, then full. It was hard, bone-wearying, nothing like the soft-focus promise of motherhood shed imagined.
But at bedtime, holding Henry as he drifted, small nose buried under Alices chin, Alice knew she could do it she had to, for him.
Since Henrys father had proved too feeble to stand up for his family.
