Go away! Oliver bellowed.
It still rings in my ears. Id never heard him shout like that in all our six years together.
His mother started to rise, clutching the edge of the dining table. Oliver, son, please
I am not your son right now! Oliver snatched her handbag and hurled it into the hallway. Dont set foot in this house again! Do you hear me?
I flinched, frozen in the doorway. I was fixing the blanket around our daughter, Annie, who slept like a tiny starfish in her cot. Its always been a solace, watching her, thinking back on years of longing, the determination it took to finally become a mother.
Oliver got home from the night shift; I could hear his familiar steps, the light shuffle in the hall. I left the nursery, quietly closing the door behind me as Oliver took off his boots. He looked thin, worn out. Hed worked like a draft horse, desperate to clear the loansloans wed taken for the IVF treatments.
She sleeping? he whispered.
Just fed her. Down like a log.
With his arms around me and his face buried in my neck, I felt what he rarely spoke aloudgratitude, devotion.
Grateful I stayed. Grateful I didnt leave for someone healthier. Grateful I chose him and brought happiness into his life.
At sixteen, Oliver caught mumps. Too embarrassed to tell anyone, he suffered in silence. By the time his mother found out, it was already too latenear total infertility had set in.
My mum rang, he murmured, arms still tight around me.
My muscles tensed. What does Margaret want now?
Shes coming. Said shes baked a pie. Misses us.
I sighed and slipped out of his embrace. Oliver, do we have to? Last time she nearly put me in tears with her talk of home remedies and baking soda solutions.
He squeezed my hand. She just wants to see Annie, Mary. Shes still her grandmother, never mind everything. Shes only seen her in pictures. Its been a year.
I gave an uneasy smile. A grandmother who called our daughter a mongrel.
We adopted Annie just a year ago. The queue for healthy newborns in our part of England was so long we mightve greyed while waiting.
A generous donation, some careful connections, and the kindness of a friendly midwife made it possible. Annie was born to a frightened sixteen-year-old, for whom motherhood would have crushed what little hope she had. I remember the day vividly: that tiny bundle weighing barely three kilos, blue eyes peering up at me.
Fine, I said, resigned. Let her come. Well survive. But the moment she starts again
She wont, I promise, Oliver said.
Margaret arrived right at lunchtime, instantly filling our little flat with her boisterous presence. Big-boned, loud, bursting with the same country grit that could stop a runaway horse or burn the house down for warmth.
Oh, saints almighty! she hollered from the hallway, dumping her tartan holdall. Getting here was a nightmare! The train was packed, the Tube even worse.
And you lot live way up here? That lift is terrifying. Swore Id meet my maker before I got to the right floor!
Hello, Mum, Oliver kissed her cheek, taking the heavy bag. Come in. Wash your hands.
She shed her coat, revealing a flowery dress stretched across her formidable frame, and immediately fixed me with a thorough gazelike a farmer inspecting livestock at a market.
Afternoon, Margaret, I smiled.
Eh, Mary, you look practically see-through. Nothing but bones left for my boy to hold onto!
Turning to Oliver: You too! Youre pale as a ghost. Is she starving you? Is she letting you subsist off rabbit food and carrot sticks?
Oliver eats perfectly well, I replied, cheeks burning. Please, have a seat.
On cue, Margaret unpacked her holdall at the kitchen table, producing pie tins, a jar of her famous pickled onions, and a thick wedge of cured ham.
Eat up. Food out heres nothing but plastic. Chemicals on every shelf.
Elbows firmly planted, Margaret surveyed us.
So, come on then. Hows life treating you? Got those loans sorted from thatexperiment?
My fork trembled. Experiment! Thats how she dismissed six years of pain, hope, and heartbreak.
Mostly cleared, Mum, Oliver grunted, busying himself with salad. Lets not talk about money.
And what else is there? She bit into her pie. Weathers no fun. At homeyour uncle Colins youngest just had her third baby. Gorgeous girl, healthywhat was she? Over eight pounds! And your sister Izzys expecting twins. Thats our breed! Good stock!
Our familys always thrived, Oliver. Fertile lot we are. Her pointed look at me stung.
If the genes arent damaged, mind you
I set my fork down, carefully.
Margaret, weve had this conversation a hundred times. It isnt me. Medical reports say so.
She waved a dismissal. Doctors print those for profit, love. Mumps, they say. Absolute nonsense. Half the boys in our village had itstill have a busload of kids each.
Thats just your wife pulling the wool over your eyes so you wont blame her, she accused Oliver.
Mum! Olivers hand smacked the table. Enough.
With theatrical flair, Margaret clutched her heart. Dont you raise your voice at your mother! I raised five, Ive seen life. Look at hernarrow hips, nothing to her. Shes barren, son, barren.
Were happy, Mum, Oliver whispered. We have our daughter, Annie.
Daughter, is it? she scoffed. Lets see her then.
We headed to the nursery. Annie was awake, quietly fiddling with her teddy bear, always so calm-natured. Margaret approached the cot, and I stood nearby, bracing to snatch Annie away, just in case.
Margaret glared at her, squinting. Reached out, touched Annies soft cheek. My girl shied away.
Whose child looks like this? Margaret griped. Eyes arent rightdark, peculiar. Our familys always had pale eyes.
Her eyes are blue. Deep blue, I corrected.
And her nose? Stumpy. Youve got a sharp nose, Olivers is straight. Whats this, then?
She wiped her hands, grimacing. Wrong stock, through and through. Not ours at all!
Back in the kitchen, Oliver poured himself water, hands trembling.
Mum, listen to me, he spoke with forced calm. We love Annie. She is ours, in every wayheart, paperwork, everything. And well keep trying. The doctors say theres a slim chance still. But even if it never happens, were a family.
Margaret pursed her lips, practically swelling with indignation. For a mother of five, grandmother of twelve, it was agonizing to watch her sonher flesh and bloodwaste himself, as she saw it, on anothers child.
Youre hopeless, Oliver. Thirty-five, prime of your life, playing nursemaid to a stray!
Dont you dare call her that! I hissed.
And what should I call her thena princess? Margaret snapped, twisting to face me fully. You shouldve kept your mouth shut! Cant make your own babies, tricked my son, spent a fortune Bought a child like a kitten at a stall!
Shes our daughter!
Daughter is when shes yoursfrom the start. Sickness and labour, real pain, not this childs play. She gestured toward the nursery. Playing at families. Took in a ready-made, from some young hussy. You think genes just vanish? Wait till she grows upshell cause havoc, mark my words! Just get rid of her before its too late!
I saw Olivers eyes widen. He stood, slow, deliberate.
Leave, he said quietly.
Margaret frowned, confused. What?
Get out! Oliver thundered.
I shuddered. All these years, never heard this.
Oliver, son She gripped the table.
I am not your son! He seized her handbag and flung it down the hallway. Not another word! Asking me to give Annie away? Shes my child. My daughter! And youyou
He was practically choking. Youre no mother at all. Take your country set and count your blessed bloodlines elsewhere. Stay away from us! Forever!
From the nursery, Annie began to wail. I hurried to the door, but stopped, watching as Margarets complexion changed from flushed red to ashen grey.
Her mouth worked for air, hand clutching at her chest, fists twisting the flowers of her dress.
Oliver she rasped. It burns Burns
She sank, heavy as a wheat sack, twisting the chair to the ground, the thud mingling with Annies sobs.
I called an ambulance. Oliver knelt by his mother, fumbling desperately with her collar.
Mum, whats wrong? Mum, breathe!
She struggled, choking.
Paramedics arrived quickly, the lead one barking, Heart attack. Major. Stretcher, now!
When the front door finally closed behind them, Oliver slumped against the corridor wall, staring at the scarf Margaret left behind.
Did I do this? he whispered.
I sat down, took his freezing hand.
No, love. This was her, and all her bitterness.
Shes my mother, Mary.
And she wanted us to discard our child like faulty stock. You stood up for us. For our family.
Olivers phone buzzed an hour laterfirst Izzy, then Colin. He didnt answer. Then a message from an aunt:
Mums in intensive care. Doctors say shes not likely to make it. Hope youre proud of yourself! We curse you, every one of us! Never come back!
Well, thats it. I have no family now, he said.
I wrapped my arms around him, feeling his body tremble.
You do, Oliver. You have me. You have Annie. Were your family now. Your real family. The kind that doesnt walk away.
I helped him up, tugging gently.
Come on. Annie needs her dinner. Shes scared, poor thing.
Later that evening, with Annie playing content on the rug, Oliver watched her as if for the very first time.
You know, he said, suddenly thoughtful, Mum was right about one thing.
I tensed. About what?
That you cant erase genetics. But genes arent just eye colour or nosestheyre about how we love. Mum had five kids, but as much love as a stone. Maybe I was adopted. Because I know how to love Dont I, my girl?
He leaned down, picked Annie up; she grabbed his nose, giggling.
Daddy, she said suddenly and distinctly. Her first clear word. No more jumbled mama or babajust Daddy.
Oliver froze. Tears hed held in all day streamed down his cheeks onto her little pink romper.
Daddy, he repeated. Yes, Annie. Im your daddy. And Ill never let anyone take you away.
Margaret survived, but Oliver never spoke to her again. The family declared him a traitor.
It shames me to admit it, but I feel relieved. Lifes simpler without their constant put-downs and nastiness.
Who needs relatives like that anyway? Were better off without…
