There’s no joy without struggle
How on earth did you manage to get yourself into such a mess, you silly girl? Who do you expect will want you now, with a child on the way? And just how do you plan to raise it? Dont count on me for help. I raised you, and now Im meant to take on your child as well? I dont need either of you here. Pack your things and get out of my house!
I just stood there, head bowed, listening quietly as Aunt Margaret lost her temper. The last glimmer of hope that shed let me stay, at least until I managed to find a job, faded away before my eyes.
If only Mum were still alive.
I never knew my father, and fifteen years ago, a drunk driver killed my mum on a zebra crossing. I was nearly sent to a childrens home, but out of nowhere, a distant relativemy mums third cousinturned up. Aunt Margaret had a steady job and a house of her own, so custody was sorted without any fuss.
Aunt Margaret lived on the border of a small southern English town, where the summers seemed endless and the winters drenched the earth with rain. I never went without; there was always food on the table, clothes to wear, and chores to do. There was the house, the garden, and the odd flock of hens to look after. Perhaps I missed a mothers affectionbut who would notice?
I did well in school and later went off to train as a teacher at college. My student days swept by, bright and carefree. But now they were overId sat my final exams and come back to the town that had become my home. Only, homecoming wasnt what Id imagined.
Once Aunt Margarets anger had run its course, she cooled a fraction.
Thats enough. Off you go. I dont want to see you here any more.
Aunt Margaret, may I at least?
No. Ive said what I needed to say.
I picked up my suitcase and stepped out into the street. It certainly wasnt how Id pictured my return: humiliated, rejected, and with a child under my heart. It was still early days, but I wasnt about to hide it any more.
I needed to find somewhere to stay. I walked and walked, wrapped up in thoughts, barely noticing my surroundings.
It was a southern English summer. Apples and pears ripened in the orchards, golden apricots gleamed on the trees, and grapes hung heavy on the old stonework of cottage gardens. The smell of conserves, roast meat, and fresh bread floated in the air. It was hot, and I longed for a drink. Spotting a woman by her cottage gate, I called out.
Excuse me, may I have some water?
Pauline, a sturdy woman in her fifties, turned and waved me in. Of course, dear, come on. If you mean well, youre welcome.
She filled a mug from the kitchen tap and handed it to me. Gratefully, I sat on the garden bench and sipped.
Mind if I sit a bit? Its so warm.
Certainly, love. Where have you come from, then, suitcase and all?
Ive just finished at college. Wanted to become a teacher but now Ive nowhere to live. Do you know if anyones letting a room?
Pauline looked me up and downa tidy state, but heavy-hearted, she could tell.
Well, youre welcome to stay here for a bit. The house could use some life. I wont charge much, as long as you keep the place decent. If you want to see the room, follow me.
The prospect of company cheered Paulineextra money in a quiet village was always a help. With her son far off and rarely visiting, shed welcome someone to talk to on winter evenings.
Hardly believing my luck, I followed her inside. The room was small but cosy, with a window overlooking the orcharda table, two chairs, bed, and an old wardrobe. Just right. We quickly agreed on rent, and after changing, I set off to the local education office.
And so my days began to fly by: work, home, work again. I barely managed to turn another page on the calendar, each day tumbling into the next.
Pauline and I became friendsshe was warm-hearted, and soon fond of me. In exchange for a roof over my head, I helped however I could. On autumn evenings, when the southern sun still lingered, wed drink tea together in the garden arbour.
My pregnancy felt almost easy. I had no sickness, and though my face was a bit rounder, it was still fresh and clean. Eventually, I told Pauline my storya simple one, the sort you hear a lot.
In my second college year, Id fallen in love with Daniela charming lad, son of well-off parents who both lectured at university. His future was all mapped outmore study, maybe a PhD, a teaching job near home. He was popular, polite, always at the centre of things, but he had chosen methe quiet one, perhaps for my shy smile or for something gentle in me. Maybe he guessed that, beneath my calm, I was someone who knew what struggling meant. Those years, we were inseparable, and I saw my future only with him.
That day remains sharp in my memory. Id been off my food, smells got to me, and Id been queasy for days. The main thinga missed period. How could I have been so slow to notice? I bought a test, drank some water, and waited. Two lines. I stared, unable to believe ittwo! Exams were just ahead, and now this. How would Daniel react? Wed never talked about children.
But then immense tenderness for that tiny life inside me swept over me.
My baby, I whispered, palm flat against my belly.
I told Daniel that evening. He took me straight to see his parents. That meeting haunted mehis parents told me, bluntly, to have an abortion, finish college quietly, and move onbecause Daniel needed to build his career, and I wasnt right for him.
I can only guess what they said to their son. The next morning, Daniel slipped into my room, dropped an envelope of cash on the table, and left.
I never even considered abortion. I loved my child already. This was my baby. Still, I took the moneyId need it.
Pauline listened and comforted me. It could have been worse, love. You did the right thing. A babys a blessingeven if it doesnt seem like it now.
As for reconciling with Daniel, I felt only bitterness. I could not forgive the humiliation, or how easily he turned away.
Time passed. Near the end, I had to stop workingI waddled through the days, longing to meet my little one. I was curious about the babys sex, but the scan hadnt made it clear. As long as the baby was healthy, that was all that mattered.
Late February, on a Saturday, the contractions came. Pauline took me to the local maternity wing. The labour was smootha sturdy little boy arrived.
My Owen, I whispered, stroking his soft, round cheek.
I soon made friends with the other new mums on the ward. They told me that, two days before, a border officials wife had had a baby girl here. Theyd never marriedjust lived together.
Can you believe it? one woman said. Hes brought her flowers, chocolates, even given brandy to the nurses, turns up every day in his Land Rover. But something went wrong between them. She kept saying kids werent for her, and then she just left a note and ran. Said she wasnt ready.
And the baby?
Theyre feeding her by bottle, but the nurse reckons shed do better on breastmilk. Except, weve all our own babies.
When the nurse brought the baby round for a feed, she asked, Would anyone consider feeding her? Shes very frail.
I will, poor little thing, I said softly, laying Owen in his cot and taking the girl in my arms.
She was so tiny, fair-hairedmy little Elsie, I called her.
Compared to Owen, she was barely there at all.
She snuggled close, nursed, and almost immediately fell asleep, utterly spent.
Told you shes not strong, the nurse sighed.
From then on, I fed them both.
Two days later, the nurse told me the girls father was herehe wanted to thank whoever had nursed his daughter. And thats how I met customs officer, Captain James Rowley; not tall, but with unyielding blue eyes.
What happened afterwards became the talk of the entire ward (then the town), and the story ended up remembered by everyone.
On the day I was to leave, the doctors, nurses, and cleaners crowded the entrance. There was a Land Rover parked on the drive, strung with blue and pink balloons. Dressed in his uniform, Captain James helped me into the carPauline was waitingand handed me a blue bundle, then a pink one.
Under a chorus of well-wishes, the car rolled away and disappeared into the countryside.
You can never know where your choices will lead. I gazed out the window, two babies in my arms, as Pauline smiled at me from the front seat. The car was filled with the sweet scent of fresh flowers and baby powder. Captain James, who had knelt by my hospital bed and quietly asked me to share my life, now drove in silence, catching my eye in the mirrortiny Elsie fast asleep, her little fingers wrapped around my pinkie.
Awaiting us, in Paulines old housea real home: love, tea with jam, the wardrobe ready for tiny toys, and a life ahead. One that I could never have foreseen, but which already brimmed with meaning.
