Emily was considered bad.
Awfully bad, really, to the point where I almost pitied her, so convinced was everyone that Emily was simply dreadful.
People didnt miss a chance to remind herand everyone elsethat she was bad.
Bad, and unlucky too.
No husband, a son whod grown up and moved outEmily lived on her own, hardly needed by anyone.
She came in on Monday; at the office, it was the usual charadeall the women outdoing each other with tales of weekend chores.
One had done the spring cleaning, another marmalade, someone else worked in her garden retreat.
Emily kept quiet. What was there for her to say? She had no husband to fuss over, no young child to run around after. She sat quietly, folding in on herself.
She left work a bit earlier today. Everyone knew she did this a couple times each month.
They shook their heads in disapproval, certain they knew exactly where she was off to: off to meet one of her many so-called lovers.
In everyones mind, Emilys love life must be bursting at the seamsbecause, after all, she was that kind of bad.
They, all the other ladies, were proper married women, busy with family, community, husbands and housework. But Emily was bad.
Emily, Mum said, Why are you like this?
Like what, Mum?
So unprepared couldnt you at least find yourself a nice man? Honestly, my love.
Still time to have a second child, you know! Everyone has babies after forty nowadays.
Mum, why would I want any old man or another child just for the sake of it? For what, exactly? I have a son, Peter, and hes more than enough.
And as for a nice man, as you put it, what am I to do with him? Ive already got Oliver.
Emily! Mum exclaimed, exasperated. Oliver isnt your man!
Isnt he? Oh, but he is! Emily laughed. He calls, takes me out once a week, sends me gifts, whisks me off on holiday sometimes, never nags, doesnt have me round to wash his mums windows, doesnt expect me to iron his shirts, doesnt want dinner on the table every evening, doesn’t dump his problems on me, and certainly doesnt sprawl on my sofa for days.
Sounds blissful.
Of course it is. And all the rest of that, that joy, his poor wife has to deal with!
So, Mum, would you want that to be me instead? No, thank you very much. Im in my early forties. Ive had not one, but two husbands, just so you remember, and I ran out of both marriages so fast I nearly left my slippers behind.
My first, Peters dadyou insisted I marry him at barely eighteen. He was older; More mature, more serious, loves you, respects you, and he’s loaded, you said, Mum.
Five years! Five years locked away. No studying, no friends, not even allowed much time with Peter: I was too young; might do something wrong. I barely did anything but run around after him and his mother.
But, ah, yes, at least I had goldreal precious.
Hed parade me out to show the neighbours: See, my wifes proper, not like your dolled up little madams.
And yet, he’d happily spend the rest of his time with such ‘madams’.
When I left and filed for divorcethanks to my gran for helpingI had to give back everything, pants and all…
Next time I married for loveI was studying at university and working, you remember, Mum?
Up at dawn, lectures all day, making up for lost chances, working evenings so Id not be a burden on you and Dad
Emily! How dare you! Have I ever made you feel you were a burden? Did I ever begrudge my daughter or her little boy bread or soup?
Not you, Mum. But its not only about you. Others had their say.
Who do you mean?
Dad, mainly. And my brother, Jack. He never bothered to sort his own life out because, well, Mum was there. You worked two jobs, dashed around like mad, did the shopping because you had hungry chicks at homeJack on the sofa, Dad at the computer. You cooked, cleaned, did the lot.
Thats why, in a rush of love, I married again, because Id already tried the alternative.
What changed for me? Not much. More chores, really. I was no longer just Emily, I was Emily-the-one-who-does-it-all.
The beloved lounged about; Emily held down a job, picked up the child from nurseryheaven forbid a man should be burdened with a child not his, or any at all, really, because work exhausts him.
I dashed to the shop on the way home, struggled with bags and a wriggling toddler because, of course, the car had to be hishe couldnt take the bus, could he? Thats just how women live; what do you mean youre tired? And wholl cook dinner?
So I cooked, set the table, washed up, did the ironing, and thenGod forbid I didnt give out my portion of warmth and affection, or hed wander off and find it elsewhere, the treasure
And as for moneythat was for his child only. If I wanted help for Peter, I had to go find another mug to pay for you and your brathis words, not mine.
Sorry, not me.
What do you mean, you wont give money to repair the car? Doesnt matter its mine, were a family, right?
Hed compare who earned more, claimed he did nothing for it, said I was lucky.
Youre leaving? Good riddancewhod want you with a child? Ha ha ha…
So, Mum, thats me: been married to a man richer than I, and to one poorer. No real difference.
People got what they wantedexcept me. I was miserable, Mum, just me.
Emily, everyone lives like that, you know.
Then let them, Mum! I shant.
How was your Saturday?
Oh, Jack and Mary dropped their twoOlivia and Williamround here, I took them out for walks, made pancakes, did the dusting, vacuuming, mopped the floor, got laundry on, fed your father, watched a bit of telly while ironing, then to bed close to midnight.
Sunday, the kids were up early and wanted more pancakes; I made them, cooked a roast when Jack and Mary came back, made some salads, pizza, tidied up, then collapsed on the sofa and only made it to bed when Dad woke me.
Mum, funny thingI dont remember you ever leaping to babysit Peter. I dont recall ever dumping him on you so I could gallivant about, eyes shining with joy!
You were always more independent, Emily. These others well, its another story.
Shall I tell you what I did last weekend instead?
Friday night, Peter calledasked if I could have Simba, Marinas cat, as they wanted to drive up to the Lakes.
Course I said yes. Why not?
They dropped off the cat and a pizza, and went.
So I gorged on pizza and watched a whole season of my favourite show. Didnt have to dash out of bed at the crack of dawn.
Got up, made Simba breakfast and coffee for myself, did a whizz-round with the duster, a quick load of washing, called you upthought we could go to the gallery (or at least catch up over coffee).
Dad picked up, you were busy with the washing up, he called me a layabout and said I swanned off to museums while my mother slaved away after my brothers brood.
I was going to be offended, but why bother? Dads always right.
But I went to the gallery anyway, saw your favourite artists work, remembered how much you used to love it.
Then a quiet cafe lunch, did some shopping, remembered Simba, headed homethe great beast was asleep.
Had a nap, watched telly, did nothing else.
On Sunday, Simba and I snoozed until nearly noon. I nearly rang you to suggest a riverboat trip, but Mary answered, mouth full, said you were busywashing up again, I presumed.
In the evening, Oliver invited me to dinner. I went. Why shouldnt I?
Im a free woman, Mum. I dont ask about his wife. We dont talk about problems. He doesnt annoy me, I dont weigh him down.
Had a fantastic evening, slept like a log, and on Monday strolled into work, fresh for once.
I HAVE tried dating single men, Mum. Miserable business.
Only the overgrown boys looking for a mummy, or the ones wounded by the first, second, or third wives and trailing a whole rugby team of kids.
You look shocked, Mum. The worlds changed.
One of them told me Id have to accept his kids, that it was my womanly duty to love them all. Hed support his ex and their children, and Id have to keep a roof over all our headshis hobby (hes a fisherman) would take care of the rest. Hed feed me fish dinners in return.
I asked if hed help with Peter; he was lividPeters got a dad, hasnt he? Let him help.
Fair? Maybe. Thats why I sent him packingIm Peter’s mum, after all.
And so, suddenly, I was the bad oneselfish, greedy, a manipulative minx who just wanted to trap an honest man’ and live the easy life.
So thats why Oliver entered my life.
Yes, Mum, Im badin your eyes and everyone elses. But I have absolutely no shame about living my life this way.
What hurts is watching you exhaust yourself, living like thisand thats why, when I asked for your help today, I lied. I wanted to pull you from the house for once; you, not me, need a break!
Mum, Im all right, truly. Now lets do something for ourselves, together.
Youre mad, Emily! What about your dad?
What about him? Hes not ill!
No, but dinner
Dont tell me dinner isnt ready to warm up.
But its got to be served, and Jack
Mum! I can be offended, honestly. I know Im supposed to be the wicked onelet me be good for once. Lets relax together, please
Monday at work, the office women exchanged weary groans about how exhausting their restful weekends had been.
And there was Emily, sly smile on her lips, walking with a bright, secret confidencethat only she knew the reason for.
Of course, everyone knew what was in Emilys headclearly, only terrible things.
But, I think to myself, perhaps it isnt bad at all choosing to live your own life.
My lesson is this: sometimes, being bad just means refusing to live life by someone elses dreary rules. And, for once, Im truly at peace with that.
