The day my former mother-in-law turned up to reclaim even my daughters cradle.
It seems a lifetime ago now, but I remember every detail. When I told my ex-mother-in-law that I was leaving her son, she didnt so much as blink. With that tone only mothers-in-law seem to perfect over a lifetime, she declared, Then tomorrow, well come for my sons things.
And so she didjust as promised, and with all the subtlety of an invading army. My ex-husband showed up, arm-in-arm with his brother and a matelooking rather like a removal squad on a mission. There I stood, baby in my arms, watching as they emptied my home as though they were looting the Crown Jewels.
“Please, can I at least keep the telly?” I begged, clutching my daughter a little tighter. “She she loves to watch cartoons, you see
He looked at me as if Id asked for the moon on a stick.
Thats MY television, he shot back, yanking out the cables with grand, unnecessary drama.
They took everything. The bed, the table, the chairsright down to the mirror in the loo, which was falling off the wall anyway. When they left, the house was so empty my voice echoed off the bare walls. All that remained was my daughters cradle, one rickety chair, and metrying not to let the tears fall in front of my baby.
And thenthe very picture of a scene from a moving-picture showthe lorry outside, packed sky-high, he suddenly stepped back into the empty room. There I was, forlorn as a shipwreck survivor.
Tell me you dont want me to go, he pleaded out of nowhere, eyes like a scolded dog.
I looked at him then, drew in a deep breath, and with all the dignity I could muster, I replied, No.
He left with everything. Well, nearly. He magnanimously left the dining chairs and the old cookerthings we had bought together. How very generous.
That night, I cried looking at those naked walls. But I was also PROUD. Id sooner go without than beg anyone for even a single fork.
A year went by.
The bell rang. It was her. My former mother-in-law, visiting her granddaughter (so she saidthough, truth be told, Id have believed it if she claimed to be the Queen herself). I opened the door with what I fancied was an award-winning smile.
Come in, Mrs. Brooks, I said, standing aside.
And ohthe look on her FACE.
The house was full. New sofa (well, borrowed from Aunt Edith, though she neednt know), a grand dining table, a shiny bookshelf, a proper, enormous flat-screen television on which my daughter watched her cartoons in glorious high-definition, curtains, rugs, even proper art on the walls.
I see youve settled in well, she said, jaw nearly on the floor.
Yes, Mrs. Brooks, I replied, pouring her tea from MY new porcelain set. A year is quite enough to get ones life in orderespecially when not playing nursemaid to a drunk.
She spluttered into her tea. I REJOICED.
Because, in the year Id spent enduring her sons boozy nights after family gatheringsalone, with only a babe in armsId managed to fill that house with love, hard work, and furniture that NO ONE could take from me.
My daughter played, bright as sunshine, on the new carpet. My ex-mother-in-law looked around, as if shed been transported to some alternate world. And I sipped my tea, smiling inwardly: Thank you for taking everything. You gave me the best reason to show exactly what Im made of.
And tell me: Have you ever had that moment of pure satisfaction, when someone who once doubted you finally seesnot only have you survived without them, but youve BLOSSOMED?
