The Second Mother
Ive already seen those papers you tried to foist on me, Mrs. Valentine. It wont work a second time.
She didnt even blink. She stood in the doorway of my own kitchen, her beige coat fastened with pearl buttons, handbag looped gracefully over her arm, as though she were attending a proper tea at the vicarage, not here to crush anothers life. Expensive perfume lingered around her, the very scent Edward had fetched for her from London on her birthday. Shed kissed him over and over, telling him at least he had tasteunlike some.
Helen dear, youve quite misunderstood,” she said, in that voice Id learned to decipher like an old, well-thumbed book. Soft on the surface, hard as flint within. I only want whats best for you. Nothing but good.
I set my teacup on the table. My hands didnt tremblea new development, for just last year her glance would have had my toes curling with unease.
Youve already wished so much good on me that it took a year to pull myself from the depths. I think thats rather enough.”
She narrowed her eyes ever so slightly. Trouble always followed that look. In seven years of knowing her, Id come to recognise it like clockwork.
Youre exhausted; I do understand. All those treatments, endless consultations, walking from one doctor to the next. Thats why Ive come to help. Just a small form to signa simple change
What change?
Well, some paperwork. Finances, really. So youd be protected, should anything happen.
I looked at her hands, slim, veined, adorned with delicate rings. At the folder she held like a bouquet.
Give it here, I said.
For the first time in my life, she hesitatedif only a heartbeat.
Then she handed it over. I opened it there at the table, standing. First page, secondand on the third, I stopped, reading twice, not believing my eyes.
It was a petition for divorce. All prepared and neat, my name typed at the top. All it needed was my signature.
The silence in the kitchen grew so deep I could hear a car trundle past in the street beyond, and, somewhere far off, a child shout.
You I could scarce find words. You came here so I myself would sign to leave my own husband. And you call that wishing me well?
Helen, you simply dont understand. Edward needs a family. A true family. Children. But you cannot give him that. All these years, all that money, all that hopeand nothing. Youre wasting away, and so is he. Let him go, darling. It would be noble of you.
I closed the folder, setting it on the table. Slowly, with something almost gentle, though inside I was ablaze.
Leave my house, I said.
Helen
Please. Go.
And so she did. I was left on my own in that kitchen with her folder and the trail of her perfume and the sensation that Id just peered over the edge of a great chasm and managed to step backonly just, only by a whisker.
I was thirty then; Edward, thirty-two. Wed been married for five years, nearly four of them spent wishing for a child. Outsiders must have thought it was simply not working out. But they didnt know. Didnt know that each month brought hope, then defeat. That it meant endless tests, forms, injections each morning, and you mustnt cry because stress is harmful, nor get angry, nor despair. You must be calm, think only pleasant thoughts.
I tried, God knows. I thought all the right thoughts. Meanwhile, my mother-in-law made it her business to whisper among friends that something was quite off with me and that I had let myself go. I knew this. News had a way of circulating in our little town.
Edward was away on work then. He often travelled for the construction firm, projects all across the Midlands. I never complained. He rang every evening; our talks were long, and his voice was tired. I spared him the bad news. Tried to protect him. Or myselfperhaps I wasn’t sure anymore.
That evening, after Mrs. Valentine had gone, I sat a long while by the window, gazing out. It was the plainest sort of autumnNovember, bare trees, wet pavements. People passed by with groceries under their arms. A woman with a little girl in a red coat skipped over the puddles, laughing. The woman didnt scoldonly held her hand a bit more tightly.
I watched them and thought, thats all I want. Nothing special. Just a child leaping puddles. Just a hand in mine.
I said nothing of the folder to Edward when he called. I didnt want him worrying from a hundred miles away. I simply told him I missed him. He said hed be home sooner than expected, in a week. And he told me he loved me. I believed him. I always did.
But that was the week everything turned upside-down.
On Wednesday, my school friend Isabel phoned. Her voice was so careful it seemed she was carrying something precious, afraid to let it shatter.
Helen, have you heard what theyre saying?
Sayingwhere?
About you. At the surgery, and at the hairdressers too. Its going about that you well, that you have someone else. Another man.
I was silent for three seconds. That was all I needed to realise where it had come from. Didnt take long to work out.
Who started it, Isabel?
She hesitated.
They say Edwards mother told it to Mary at her birthday party Helen, I dont believe a word, you know that. Just thought you should know.
Yes. Thank you.
I didnt cry. I just sat on my quiet sofa, unable to fathom what I had done to deserve any of it. Id never been rude, nor quarrelled, nor stood against her. Id even chosen gifts to her taste, after asking Edward beforehand. Always Mrs. Valentine, always formal, even in my own head.
Why did she hate me so? Simply for loving her son? Because I failed to give him a child? Or because I was too ordinary for her tastes? Edward, the promising engineer; me, a simple primary school teacher at St. Georges School. Maybe that was it.
I never did find out. Not then, nor after.
Friday, I went to Hope Clinic for a routine check. Dr. Smith and I felt almost like family by then, after all wed been through. She was gentle, attentive. Each time we failed, she explained something new, tried something else. No reason ever found. Everything in order. Unexplained infertility, they wrote. Doctors just shrugkeep trying.
I waited in the corridor, flicking uselessly through a magazine. Beside me sat a glowing woman, clearly expecting, blissful in her own world. I wasnt enviousan important point. I just quietly longed for the same.
Then I heard a familiar voice.
I turned, barely believing my sight. Edward stood at reception, duffel bag over his shoulder, in that grey jacket Id picked for him two years ago.
Ed?
He looked startled, then quickly came to me, gathered me up and I pressed my cheek to the jacket, breathing in the scent of travel, exhaustion, and something private and dear.
You werent due for three days yet, I murmured.
Got away early. Wanted to surprise you. Popped homeyou werent there. Rang your phone, but you didnt answer.
Its in my bag.
I figured where youd be.
He took my hand and we sat together out the way. I couldnt keep it in anymore. I told him everythingthe folder, the divorce petition, the rumours. How weary I was of faking normal.
He listened in tense silence. I could see his jaw clench, which always meant he was holding something tightly inside.
Why didnt you tell me sooner? he asked at last.
I didnt want to worry you.
Helen.
You were away, you had enough, I
Helen, he repeated. In that word, I heard he wasnt angry, just deeply upset. Im your husband. Thats first. Second, we should have talked properly about my mother long ago. I know she isnt always
She hates me, Edward.
He didnt answer right away. That said enough.
Soon Dr. Smith called me in. Edward came, sitting beside me. Then something happened I never could have foreseen.
The doctor was oddly tense, reading the monitor, then me, then the notes again.
Helen, I must askbetween our treatments, did you ever take anything extra? Without prescription?
I was blank for a moment.
No. Never. Always exactly as told.
She nodded slowly. Then spoke:
Someone came to us with an offerwell over two years ago. To, shall we say, correct your test results. Just slightly, but always to one side. For a fee.
The office was terribly still.
I refused, she went on. But in your first clinic, Riverside, as I understand, the offer was taken. I have no official proofonly a colleagues word, but she told me recently. Couldnt keep it to herself any longer.
Edward stood up.
Who was it? Who made the offer?
Dr. Smith looked at him, then at me, then back.
I dont know exactly. It was a woman. Not young. Very self-assured.
I heard Edward exhale deeply beside me. I gazed through the window at a small courtyard with an autumn-bare birch tree and a lonesome bench.
Perhaps I was losing my senses. Who could believe any mother would do such a thing? It was beyond imagining.
Yet somewhere deep down, Id known it all along. Just never let the thought rise to the surface.
We need to talk, Edward said.
We left the clinic, got into the car. He sat for ages before starting the engine, staring out at the rainy street.
Ed
Just give me a minute, Helen.
We sat in silence, the window streaked with rain.
It was her, he said at last. Not a question, just fact.
I cant know
I know. Because Im a fool. A year ago she spoke of doctor friends who cared about us. I thought it just her trying to be helpful. I never dreamed
He trailed off.
Good Lord, Helen. Four years.
I did not cry. By then, Id long since learned not to, even when I wanted to. I took his hand on the wheel, palm to palm.
What now? I asked.
He turned to me.
Firstdo you believe me? That I never knew?
I looked into his eyestired, brown, bloodshot from nights away. So familiar it hurt.
I believe you, I answered. It was true.
We sat for a long time, thinking aloud. Where could we turn? The police? But with whatjust a doctors anecdote and an unsigned divorce petition? Not a crime, only words against words.
We needed proof.
I suddenly remembered Isabels cottage. Her old family holiday home near Pinewood, thirty miles away. Isabel hadnt sorted it for yearssaid she would one day for retirementbut Id kept the keys since last summer.
Maybe we should get away, I said.
Where to?
Someplace she wont find us straight away. So we can think. If we confront her now, shell twist it all aroundyou know she will. Shes good at that.
He agreed.
We drove home, packed in twenty minutes. Clothes for a few days, chargers, documents. Edward collected his laptop, some folders. No one saw us leaveor if they did, who noticed? Travelling with bags is nothing unusual.
I rang Isabel from the car.
Isabeldont ask questions, but do the keys to Pinewood still work?
Yes, of course. Helen, are you all right?
Not exactly. Ill explain later.
Go on. Theres firewood in the shed, the gas works, and spare blankets in the wardrobe. Watch the corners for mice, though.
Thank you.
Helen, she paused, justbe careful.
I didnt ask what she meant. I understood.
We drove into darkness. Rain thickened. Edward got her head down, I stared at the streaming lights. I was frightenednot of the dark, but of the fact we were running from someone who was supposed to be kin. How could anyone inflict this, year after yearsee their daughter-in-law stabbing at herself nightly with needles, quietly sobbing in the bath, and deliberately thwart all hope?
Once Id read in some magazine about toxic relationships. It had sounded like other peoples problems, far away. But here it wasmine, ours.
The cottage was cold, but solid. The place smelled of old wood and leaf mould. Edward started the stove, I found blankets in the wardrobemusty, but cosy. We made tea in chipped mugs painted with windmills, and talked more than we had in ages.
Tell me every detail, he said. From the start.
So I didabout the pinpricks of suspicion Id noticed but never pieced together. About how shed ring always on the day of implantation, and Id always answer for fear of offending. About the doctors at Riversideone always distracted, treatments stalling for silly reasons: equipment failures, late labs, wrong batch of medication. Id thought it just bad luck.
Edward listened, sometimes closing his eyes.
She told me you werent following the rules, he said quietly. Eating anything, never calm, doctors always told her the trouble was you.
And did you believe her?
A long silence.
I didnt believe. But I didnt not believe. I just wanted the problem fixed. Im a coward, Helen.
No. You just love her. Its not quite the same.
He looked at me and something clenched inside.
The next morning, we schemed. Plainly, if we simply accused her, shed deny everything. She could do it so well that, by the end, youd begin to think youd imagined it all. Id been through it, more than once.
We needed a recording. Her real voice. Her words.
Shell come, Edward said. As soon as she realises weve disappeared and that Im home early, shell start looking. And shell find us. She always finds out.
How do you know?
Because Im her son. I know her better than you do. She cant bear anything slipping out of her control.
We got ready. Edward had a recorder on his phone. Clear, tested it a dozen times. He could keep it running in his pocket, invisible. We agreed Id lead the conversation, asking plain questions, giving her room to speak.
We waited three days. Three days with the floors creaking, the smell of wood smoke in every room. We cooked, rambled down to the edge of the woods. In those days, something shifted between usnot for worse, just different. As though all the false fronts and careful masks burned away in the fire; only the truth remained.
One evening, Edward hugged me from behind in the kitchen and said,
Well move, you and I. Start fresh somewhere new after this is done.
You mean it?
I do. I turned down a job in Bristol oncebecause Mum was here. But nowI see it all differently.
I didnt reply. I just covered his hands with mine.
She arrived the fourth day, Sunday afternoon. We heard the car coming up the gravel, then Edward switched on the recorder in his shirt pocket.
Ready? he asked.
Yes, I said. That too was true.
She came in through the unlocked door as if it were her own, scanning the room, taking in the sight of us both.
Edward. Her voice was clipped, but steady. She could keep her composure well. I had no idea you were here.
Of course. You thought I was still away.
Her eyes fell on me, long and weighing.
Helen. Why have you dragged him out here? What have you been telling him?
Only what I know, Mrs. Valentine.
And what is that? Always imagining things, you are; the doctors have remarked on your nervousness
What doctors? I asked, quietly, calmly. The ones you paid to ensure my treatments failed?
A pause. Barely perceptible, but I saw it.
Nonsense, she snapped, the edge of her voice sharpening.
Nonsense? At Riverside there was a Dr. Vernon. Two years ago. Remember?
She said nothing.
She confessed to Dr. Smith. Some time ago. She said someone made her an offerand she agreed. Mrs. Valentine, lets not drag this out. Is it true?
Youre deranged.
Mum, Edward said, and in that word, too, was something that made me not look over. I spent my whole life beside you. I know when youre lying. Answer Helens question.
Something shifted in her then. Not on the surfaceshe still stood tall in her coat with pearl buttons. But it was insideI felt it.
I did it for you, she said, not to me, but to Edward. You dont understand. Shes not the woman for you. Never was. Just an ordinary teacher, nothing special. You deserve betterI gave you everything
Mum.
I only wanted you to realise. To come to it yourself, quietly, gracefully; no scenes. What harms in that? No one was hurt
No one was hurt, I echoed, not recognising myself in my own voice. Four years, Mrs. Valentineevery month hoping and losing. Injections every morning. Tests every third day. I followed every rule, tore myself up when things failedbecause I believed it was me. That I was the failure. No one was hurt?
For the first time in seven years I saw something other than calculation in her cold gaze. Not pitysomething more raw, but real.
You stole four years from me,” I said. All in the name of caring for your son.
Im his mother, she replied, softly.
And I am his wife, I answered.
Edward stepped from his corner to stand by me. Just nearshoulder to shoulder.
Weve recorded all of this, he said. Everything you said. It’s no longer words against words.
She looked at him long, as if truly seeing him for the first time.
Youll take this to the police? she asked at last, as blunt as a notary in court.
Yes.
Im your mother.
I know.
She stayed a moment, then strode out.
Wait, I called after her, not knowing why, only that it had to be said.
She stopped, but did not look round.
Did you ever love him? Properly love him? Or did you only want to keep him as yours?
No answer. Only the sound of the door closing.
Edward stared at where shed stood, then covered his face, pulled out the phone and stopped the recorder.
I’ll call Matthew, he said. His old school friend, now in the police. Hell know what to do.
Right.
I stepped out to the porch. It was cold, the air sharp with pine needles and the damp scent of earth. Her car had gone; only fresh tyre marks on the road remained.
I simply breathed.
After that, it was out of our handsthe system took over. The recording, Dr. Smiths testimony, Dr. Vernons confessionshed taken the money, but conscience doesnt stay bought for ever.
They arrested Mrs. Valentine two weeks later at her home. We heard from Matthew. Edward sat for ages holding his phone, staring into space.
Are you alright? I asked.
I dont know, he said, honest for once.
Thats alright. Not to know.
Shes my mother, Helen.
I know, Ed.
He wandered the room, picked up one of Isabels old books and put it down again.
Strange thing is, he said, Im not even shocked. Some part of me always knew she was not exactly this, but capable of something like it. I ignored it, becausewell, because its Mumbecause you tell yourself, no, it cant be. Youre imagining.
Thats just how toxic families work, I said. Not all at once, but bit by bit, till you start doubting your own eyes.
He looked at me.
Did you understand everything?
No. I just got tired, Ed. Sometimes exhaustion is a kind of wisdom. Or cynicism. Hard to tell.
We left Pinewood after three weeks. Never went back to the flat. Edward packed while I was with Isabel, then we returned the keys and moved to Bristol.
Autumn there was brighter, gentler, with palm trees along the avenuesnot quite real to my eyes. We rented a place in a peaceful part of town. Edward started work at the new office; for a while, I didnt work, just set up our home, shopped at market, made soup, let myself settle.
Dr. Smith wrote a reference to her colleague in Bristol, Dr. Irene Wallace. She was in her forties, brisk but warmly encouraging: nothing is impossible, never give in.
We began anew with examinationsno strange hands, no bribed results, no betrayal.
The third round worked.
I learned in February. Edward was home. I stood in the bathroom, looking down at two lines on a test. I came out to himhe sat on the sofa, reading.
I didnt say a word, just held out the test.
He looked at it, then me, eyes red and damp.
Helen
Yes, I said.
He got up, hugged me so tightly it was hard to breathe, and I did not ask him to let go.
Our son, Arthur, was born in October. Seven pounds eleven, twenty-one inches, a shock of dark hair and such a serious look that the nurses laughed: A fine little intellectual, that one.
I criednot for pain alone, though it hurt, but because when they lay him on my chest, all those burdened years eased somewhat.
Not disappearedthose things never vanish. They just stop being the heaviest thing you bear.
Edward stood by me, held my hand. He still did, after alljust like that day outside the clinic.
Arthur was three months old before we allowed ourselves a peaceful evening. He slept, and we sat in the kitchen with tea, a candle flickering on the window-ledge. Bristols autumn murmured outside.
Ed, I said.
Mm?
Do you ever think about her?
He didnt need to ask who. He knew.
Sometimes. Not as often as before.
Me too. Sometimes I wonder, how such a thing could ever be possible. And then I look at him (I nodded towards Arthurs little room) and think: it doesn’t matter. Were here. Were alive.
Are you angry with me? he asked softly, as if afraid to voice it.
For what?
For not seeing. Or not wanting to. All those years.
I thought, honestly, not for the sake of an answer but truly.
No, I said at last. Im not angry. But theres somethinga splinter of it. Not painful, but there.
He nodded. Didnt protest. Simply accepted it.
Thats fair, he said.
I try to be fair. Im tired of pretending everythings fine when it isnt.
Is it fine now?
Almost. Hes healthy, youre here, we have a home. I wrapped my hands around the mug, warming my fingers. But were changed, you and I. Not the same as before. I dont know if thats good or bad. Maybe it just is.
He watched the candle flame shiver.
Do you rememberwhen she left, and you stood on the porch?
I do.
I watched you through the window. Wondered how you could hold so much. All those years, all that painand still you stood. You didnt break.
I did break, sometimes. Just not in front of you.
I know. Im sorry.
Ed. I placed my hand over his. We could both have done things differently. Lets not argue about who is more to blame.
A soft sound came from Arthurs room. We both frozea moment, listening.
Silence.
Hes sleeping, said Edward.
He is, I agreed.
And we sat there, together, in that good quietthe silence that only comes with your truest companion, when words no longer matter, yet you dont wish the night to end.
Are you happy? he asked suddenly.
I thought, for realnot for the sake of a pretty reply.
Yes, I said. Only happiness tastes different now. I used to think it meant never hurting anymore. Turns out its when things are good, even if something still aches. But you dont want the day to end anyway.
He smileda slow, careful smile, as if hed forgotten how to do it quickly.
A good flavour, he said.
Yes, I agreed. It has a bitter edge. But its good.Outside, a wind rattled faintly at the window. I thought of the past as something shut behind new glass, the light of our small life golden inside while the dark pressed gently at the panes.
In the silence, Edward squeezed my hand. Tomorrow, lets take him to the park, he said. Lets let him see the leaves fall.
Even if it rains?
Especially if it rains.
I laughed, and the sound was easy. Arthurs breath, soft through the wall, chimed like hope. I realized, for the first time, I was no longer waiting for something to be taken away. I was here, present, fierce-minded and undiminished.
Edward stood and pulled me up beside him. Come to bed, he said, a tired mans invitation, tender and real.
I looked around our kitchen, at the mugs and the blinking candle and the shoe by the doora quiet unremarkable scene, the sort Id yearned for all along.
Tomorrow, there would be breakfast, a walk through wet grass, a child learning to laugh at the worlds surprises. Pain had shaped me, loss had hollowed me, but somehow Id found a way to fill the space with love and not bitterness.
As I turned off the light, I felt Arthur stirring, small and restless in his crib. I lifted him, close to my chest, breathing in that sweet, ordinary scent of new lifeno ghosts here, only warmth and promise.
We were changed. But we were enough.
And in our little house, with rain at the windows and arms curled around what was ours, I understood: happiness dwells not where all is perfect, but where you choose, again and again, to let the day begin.
