A Baby for a Friend: How Lily Chose Her Daughter Over Betrayal, Poverty, and Family Schemes—A Tale of Loss, Manipulation, and Maternal Instinct in Modern England

Author Mitsuko NagasakiReading 12 minViews 2

A Child for a Friend

When I, Lily Evans, had finally reached the final months of my pregnancy, everything in my life seemed to unravel. My younger brother left the family home, and from then on, Father started drinking heavily again. Since then, my days have turned into an endless loop of misery.

Every morning, Id open all the windows to air out the stuffy house, sweep empty cans and bottles from under the table, and wait for Dad to wake up from his drunken sleep.

Dad, you shouldnt be drinking. You only just recovered from your stroke.

Ill drink if I want, Lily. No one can stop me. It dulls the pain a bit.

What pain, Dad?

The pain of knowing no one wants me anymore. Not even you. Im just a burden to you, arent I? Im a washout, Lily, shouldnt even have been born. Shouldnt have got married, shouldnt have had kids who turned out as weak-willed and hopeless as I am just as poor, too. All pointless. Easier just to drink.

Already feeling low, I snapped back.

Its not pointless, Dad. People go through far worse.

Worse, Lily? You grew up motherless. And now youre about to bring another child into this cruel life, without a father, and trapped in the same poverty as us.

Its not all that bleak, Dad. Nothing lasts forever. Things can change in an instant.

I thought sadly back to happier times, to when I was about to marry Ian. My world had collapsed, yes, but life had to go on.

That particular day, Dad drank himself into oblivion again. In frustration, I shouted at him,

Did you really go and drink the money Id set aside? How did you even find it? You mustve turned the whole house upside down, you went through all of my things!

Everything in this house is mine! he declared. Including that pension you try to keep from me! My pension.

And you spent every last penny? Did you even stop to think what wed live on?

Why should I? Im ill, arent I. Youre grown up now its your turn to look after me!

I scavenged through every cupboard.

Im certain there were two packs of pasta and some butter left yesterday. Now theyre gone! What are we supposed to have for dinner?

I was beside myself. I slumped onto a chair, burying my face in my hands.

Little did I know that Aunt Natalie had made it a habit to come round in my absence, coaxing Dad to drink and helping herself to whatever was in the cupboards.

She slithered into our house like a sly fox, ready to tear my family apart.

That night, I lay in bed weeping empty, crushed, and so very hungry.

In the morning, a firm knock at the door jolted me awake. It was Aunt Natalie herself, dressed to the nines in a stylish coat and heeled boots. She didnt even bother removing her shoes and strode right in.

Morning, Lily. My friend who works at the council tells me youve got arrears piling up. If you dont pay, theyll be cutting off your electricity soon. Whats going on, love? Arent you even going to offer me a cuppa?

Without waiting, Natalie marched into the kitchen and began rummaging through cupboards and the empty fridge.

Ill make the tea myself since youre expecting, just like my daughter Sophie Oh, hold on you havent got any tea or sugar at all. Not even a biscuit. Lily, its like Old Mother Hubbards. We should nip to the shop.

I kept my gaze fixed on the floor, avoiding her.

Aunt Natalie, youd best go. I wont be making any tea.

But she was having none of it.

Youre in a state, I see that. Remember I offered before, you could move in with me? Well, this time Im not asking Im telling you. Come and live with me, love. This house isnt fit for a baby your father’s off his head and theres nothing left to eat. You need fresh food, fruit, vitamins Get your things together, youre coming home with me.

My head spun and tears spilled down my cheeks as Natalie gently hugged me.

Look, sweetheart, I know how you feel about me. I know I was unforgivable after all, my daughter stole your fiancé. But Im not heartless, Lily, I cant stand to see you miserable. Like it or not, I will look after you.

The rest went by in a blur: Natalie helped me pack my things and called a cab.

***

When my labour pains began, Natalie refused to leave my side.

Listen carefully, Lily, she whispered. I’ve already told the staff youre planning to give up the baby. When the time comes, dont hold her, dont feed her, dont even look.

Between contractions, I groaned,

Oh, Aunt Natalie, I really dont care. This pain I just want it over with.

Dont forget, you cant manage a baby on your own. Ive found a proper couple wholl adopt your child right away.

A few hours later, my baby girl was born.

Three-point-three kilos, healthy as can be.

The nurse bundled her up and whisked her away before I could see her face.

But the paediatrician shot a stern look at me:

Whats all this about? You have a beautiful, healthy daughter, and you wont even look at her? Jane, bring the baby back. She needs her mother.

I shook my head, miserable.

I cant. I have nothing, I didnt even want to give birth There are people who need her more than I do, Ill sign the papers…

At least look at your little one.

I squeezed my eyes shut, but then I felt a delicate, warm touch on my hand.

The nurse placed my baby beside me; she whimpered, searching for me with hungry little lips, and then, finally, I looked at her.

Such a tiny, helpless thing, blinking up at me, arms waving in search of comfort.

Thats it, Mum, the paediatrician smiled. She seemed almost cheerful, seeing me tremble at the sight of my child.

Shes beautiful, and she needs you, not some strangers, do you understand?

I cradled my daughter, tears streaming down, and nodded.

The next two hours I just lay there by her side, unable to take my eyes off her.

Thats when I finally understood what it meant to be a mother.

Here it is, my purpose my daughter.
It doesnt matter if Ian left, or if Dad drinks My daughter needs me, and thats reason enough to carry on.

***

A voice woke me it was Natalie.

She strode into the ward, clutching her robe.

Have you forgotten what we agreed? she said quietly. You promised youd give up the baby. Ive already arranged for a family to take hertoday, if you like.

Ive changed my mind, Natalie. I wont give her up.

You have nothing, youre homeless for all intents and purposes what are you going to do with a baby?

Ill go home. I dont want to burden you anymore. Somehow, Ill manage.

Her face hardened into a mask of rage.

Are you mad? You have no money! What are you going to live on? Beg in the street?

Natalies shouting woke my daughter. I picked her up and she quietened instantly in my arms.

Dont touch! Ill give her a bottle, well tell the doctors you cant feed her yourself, Natalie said with authority.

I shook my head.

You dont get to decide, Natalie. Shes my daughter. I told you Ive changed my mind. Im not giving her away!

You cant do this! You promised! Natalie spluttered, almost gasping with frustration.

Please leave.

Natalie stormed out. The woman beside me in the ward, whod been quietly minding her own business, sat up.

Who was that?

My aunt.

Goodness. Dont listen to her. You did the right thing, love, telling her to get lost. Im Laura, by the way if you ever need anything, Ill help. There are still decent people in this world.

Im Lily.

Pleased to meet you. That woman she looked like she wanted to snatch your baby and scarper. Utterly bizarre.

***

The day before my discharge, I had a visitor. She wasnt allowed in the ward, so I met her in the corridor.

It was Sophie my ex-friend. She looked very expectant, her hands rubbing her swelling belly nervously.

Hi.

I sat quietly on the bench.

I heard you had the baby, she said. A girl?

Yes, a daughter.

She fidgeted.

Lily, you know Mums found a family willing to adopt your daughter.

And?

Theyre good people, very well-off theyll give the baby everything Theyre offering a hundred thousand pounds. Imagine you could buy a flat, or at least put down a deposit.

Are you serious? A hundred thousand? My voice was flat. If youre so bothered, maybe you should sell your own baby.

Sophies lips trembled, but she kept hold of my arm.

Wait, Lily. Give her to me! Ill look after her shes Ians daughter too.

And how will you cope with two kids, Sophie?

You dont understand, Lily! My marriage is falling apart!

I stood up, ready to walk away. Sophie clung on, her eyes wild.

I need this baby, Lily!

Let go.

A couple of hours later, Ian himself showed up. I recoiled when I saw him.

Oh, you had the baby? Can I see?

No! Youll have your own soon enough with Sophie see to that one!

We need to talk, Lily. Since the baby was born, Ive barely slept. I want to take my daughter give her up, and Ill adopt her straight away.

I shook my head.

Im not like you. Ill never abandon someone who needs me. Youve wasted your journey Im keeping my daughter.

Ian wouldnt leave, pressing his case.

Hand her over! You had no right to have my child! Shes mine, and Ill take her!

Go ask your mothers permission first, you mummys boy!

I pushed him aside, scooped up my daughter, and went straight to the nurses station.

Could I ask you not to let anyone visit me anymore? I dont want to see anybody. Its been like Piccadilly Circus in here!

Epilogue

On the day I was discharged, I held my daughter tight to my chest and stepped out of the maternity ward.

Laura, my ward-mate, was leaving too, greeted by her husband and mum.

I paused at the entrance when I spotted the Reece familys car Ians parents.

Out stepped Valerie Reece, Ians mother. She craned her neck, squinting to scrutinise me.

A chill ran down my spine.

The would-be mother-in-law regarded me like a predator awaiting her chance.

Laura noticed the look and came to stand by me.

Whos that, Lily?

Ians parents.

Shes watching you as if shes waiting to pounce. Honestly, Lily, the way theyve crowded round you is odd. I told you before theres a room ready for you at ours, so come home with me.

I nodded. I felt that unnameable fear knot in my stomach.

***

Staying with my new friends, I found an unexpected happiness Lauras cousin, John, a lifelong bachelor, started courting me.

John turned out to be a good-hearted man. Not only did he marry me and become a loving adoptive father to my daughter, but he also lent a helping hand to my dad.

As for Sophie and Ian, their marriage quickly crumbled.

It turned out Sophie had only pretended to be pregnant, fooling the whole Reece family with a pillow strapped to her stomach.

Natalie, desperate to protect her daughter, finally admitted to her son-in-law that Sophie had suffered a miscarriage early on. Then shed offeredbelieving it a clever solutionfor Ians family to adopt my baby in secret, pretending Sophie had given birth herself, to avoid upsetting Ians parents.

Ian liked his mother-in-laws plan.

Everything would have gone to script if I hadnt refused to give up my baby daughter, leaving both my former friend and her mother with nothing but disappointment and defeat.

Ians mother, Valerie, devastated by Sophies lies, threw Sophie out and forced Ian to divorce her.

As for me, I finally found what I needed: my child, a new family, and, most of all, hope.

My Husband Meant More to Me Than Any Bitter Grievance “Igor, that was the last straw! That’s it, we’re getting divorced! Don’t bother dropping to your knees like you always do—it won’t work this time!” With those words, I drew a firm line under our marriage. Of course, Igor didn’t believe me. He was convinced it would all follow the usual script: he’d kneel, apologise, buy me another ring, and I’d forgive him, just like always. But this time, I was truly determined to break the chains of our matrimony. My fingers, right down to the pinkies, glittered with rings—yet I had no life. Igor drank himself into a stupor, day after day. And yet, it all started so romantically. My first husband, Eddie, went missing back in the 1990s—those were frightening times to be alive. Eddie was never easy to live with, always rushing headfirst into every scuffle as if he were invincible. Just as they say: eagle’s eyes, mosquito’s wings. If anything rubbed him the wrong way, he’d kick off a right dance—always trouble. I’m convinced today that Eddie got killed in some dodgy row; there was never a word from him again. I was left alone with two little girls—Lizzie, five, and Rosie, only two. Another five years went by after his mysterious disappearance. I thought I’d lose my mind. I truly loved Eddie, despite his explosive temper. We were as thick as thieves, two halves of one whole. I resigned myself: life was over, I’d just raise my girls alone. Gave up on myself. But then… It wasn’t easy in those turbulent times. I worked at a factory and got my pay in… irons, which I’d have to flog at the market for money to buy food. That was my weekend routine. One winter, numb with cold while selling irons, a man approached. He was concerned for me. “Cold out, miss?” he asked gently. “How could you tell?” I tried to joke, but my teeth chattered. Still, his presence brought a feeling of warmth. “Right, silly question. Maybe we can warm up in a café? I’ll help with those irons you didn’t sell.” “Well, lead the way, or I’ll die of frost here,” I croaked out. We never made it to a café. I led him close to home, asked him to watch the bag of irons while I dashed to fetch the kids from nursery. By then, my legs were stone-cold, but my heart felt warm again. Returning with the girls, I saw Igor (that’s how he introduced himself) waiting outside, shifting from foot to foot, smoking. I thought, “I’ll offer him tea, and then—who knows what’s next!” Igor helped me lug the bag to my sixth-floor flat (of course, the lift didn’t work). While I got the girls up to the third floor, he was already coming back down to leave. “Wait, my hero! You’re not leaving before you have some hot tea!” I caught his coat sleeve with my icy fingers. “Well, I don’t know—am I intruding?” Igor eyed the kids. “Don’t be silly! Take the girls’ hands, I’ll dash ahead and put the kettle on,” I said with no hesitation. I didn’t want to let this man slip away—he already felt familiar somehow. Over tea, Igor offered me a job as his assistant, with a better wage than years at the factory could bring. Naturally, I nodded my obedience, itching to thank him a hundred times over… Igor was on his second divorce, with a son by his first marriage. And so it began. Soon after, we married—Igor adopted my girls. It was as if we danced through life. We bought a four-bedroom flat, filled it with sharp furniture and gadgets. We built a lovely cottage. Every year, we holidayed by the sea. Life was a bowl of cherries… Seven years of cloudless happiness passed. Then, as if reaching the summit of bliss, Igor started hitting the bottle hard. At first, I didn’t react—it’s stressful work, I thought, everyone needs to unwind. But when Igor started drinking at work, I grew uneasy. Persuasion didn’t help. I should mention—there’s an adventurer in me. To distract him from his drinking, I decided… to give him a child. By then, I was nearly thirty-nine. My friends were shocked—but supportive. “Go on, Tanya! Maybe we’ll decide to be young mums at forty too!” they laughed. I always say, “If you end a pregnancy, you might regret it bitterly later, but if you have the baby—even if it was unplanned—you’ll never be sorry.” Igor and I had twins. So now, we were raising four girls in total! Igor’s drinking didn’t stop. I put up with it for a time, but then I craved country living—a farm, some animals, fresh air for the kids. And maybe, with work to do, Igor wouldn’t have time for drink. We sold our flat and our cottage. We bought a house in a small English town and opened a lovely café. Igor took up shooting—bought a shotgun and hunting kit. Lots of game in the woods. Things rolled on, more or less fine, until Igor got drunk one night. I don’t know what poison he drank, but he went wild—smashed everything, even pulled his rifle and fired into the ceiling! The children and I ran to the neighbours, terrified. The next morning, all was still. We tiptoed home to carnage—everything broken, nothing to sit, eat, or sleep on. Igor lay on the floor in a drunken stupor. I gathered what little was left and, with the children filed out to Mum’s, who lived nearby. “Tanya, what am I supposed to do with this gaggle of girls? Go back to your husband—families go through things, it’ll all come out in the wash!” Mum said. She always believed “grin and bear it, at least your man’s handsome.” A few days later, Igor showed up. That’s when I finally drew the line. For what it’s worth, he didn’t even remember his wild rampage. He didn’t believe a word of it. But I was beyond caring. I broke all ties—burned all bridges. What to do next, I didn’t know. But I decided: better to starve and live than be killed by a drunken husband. We sold the café for peanuts, just to get away, and settled in a tiny house in a nearby village. The older girls eventually married. The twins were in year five at school. All the girls loved their “Daddy Igor” and kept in touch. Through them, I heard Igor was begging for me to come back. The girls pleaded too: “Mum, stop being so stubborn. Dad’s changed, he’s apologised a hundred times!” But I wanted a quiet life, free from drama. Two years went by. Loneliness gnawed at me. All the rings Igor gave me were pawned and never bought back. I missed what we had—our house was always full of love, Igor loved all the girls, was never cruel to me, always tried to make amends. We were exemplary, really. What more did I want? Now even the older daughters just called; no time to visit. I understood—they were young and busy. Soon, the twins would fly the nest too, and I’d be left all alone. Girls are like ducklings—they feather up and then they’re gone. So I asked the twins to find out how their dad was getting on—maybe someone else was in the picture? They asked everything. Turned out he lived and worked in another city, hadn’t touched a drop, and was single—no one in his life. He left the girls his address, just in case… Long story short, we’ve been back together for five years now. I did tell you, I’m an adventurer at heart…

My Beloved Wife —How have you managed to live with the same wife for so many years? What’s the secret?—my brother would ask me every time he visited. —Love and enormous patience. That’s the whole secret,—I’d always reply. —That recipe isn’t for me. I love all women. Each one is a mystery. As for living with a book I’ve already read—no, thank you,—my brother would smirk. My younger brother Peter married at eighteen; his bride was ten years his senior. Kind-hearted Anna fell hopelessly in love with Peter for life. For Peter, she was little more than a fleeting amusement. Anna became a proper part of her husband’s household—one bustling with relatives—and gave birth to a son, Michael. The newlyweds received a tiny room to themselves. Anna treasured her delicate collection of porcelain figurines—ten rare pieces, all displayed proudly on an old dresser. Our large family knew how precious they were to her. She’d often stand, gazing at them in quiet admiration. Back then, I was only getting ready to start a family of my own, searching for that one special woman to be my wife for life. To my delight, I found her and we’ve now been married for over fifty years. Peter and Anna were married for ten years, but it brought Anna little to boast of. She tried her best to be a devoted wife and loving mother, compliant, gentle, agreeable. Still, something was missing for Peter. One evening, my brother came home the worse for drink. Something about Anna annoyed him—her look, her manner—so he started picking at her, joking crudely, grabbing her arms. Sensing an argument brewing, Anna silently left the room, taking little Michael outside. Suddenly, a terrible crash rang out. Anna knew instantly—it was her figurines. She rushed inside and couldn’t believe her eyes. Her beloved collection lay smashed on the floor, all but one piece miraculously spared. Anna picked up the lone survivor, kissed it, but said nothing to her barbarian of a husband. Only her tear-filled eyes spoke. After that, a deep rift formed between Peter and Anna. I think Anna, in her mind, grew distant from the family. She still did all her wifely duties, kept house well, but it was with effort, without enthusiasm. Peter turned more often to drink. Vulgar women and shady friends began turning up. Anna guessed what was going on, but closed into herself and grew distant, untethered. Peter all but abandoned his family, and Anna—watching his antics—realised you can’t chase the wind across a field. In the end, Anna and Peter quietly divorced—without shouting or blame. Anna took Michael and moved back to her hometown. The sole surviving figurine stood on the dresser, left behind in memory. Peter didn’t mourn. Instead, he dived headlong into a wild, reckless life. He fell in love easily and parted ways even more so. He married and divorced three more times, drank heavily, and partied without restraint. Yet, curiously, Peter was a respected economist at a university, often called to consult in other cities. Even a textbook bore his name. His future looked bright, but alcohol and chaos ruined everything. One day, our family thought Peter had finally settled down and was marrying a “stunning” woman. We attended a modest wedding. The bride had a seventeen-year-old son, and it quickly became clear that Peter and the lad would never get along. They were simply too different. Peter ignored the obvious, but after five years, a furious row between the two ended in divorce. Afterward, a string of fleeting “current” sweethearts—Lila, Natalie, Sarah—flitted through Peter’s life. He adored each one, certain he’d found his forever. But life had other plans: at fifty-three, Peter fell gravely ill. By then, no women were left by his side. Only my sisters and I cared for him as his illness confined him to bed. —Simon, there’s a suitcase under my bed. Fetch it,—Peter whispered, too weak to move. I found a dusty suitcase and opened it. Inside—carefully wrapped in soft cloths—was a collection of porcelain figurines. —I gathered these for Anna. I’ve never forgotten that silent reproach when she saw her smashed collection. She endured so much because of me. Remember my business trips? I bought figurines wherever I could. There’s a false bottom—take the money from there. It’s all my savings. Give it to Anna. Ask her to forgive me. We’ll never see each other again. Promise me you’ll give everything to Anna,—Peter turned to the wall. —Alright, Peter. I promise,—I choked out, knowing I’d soon lose my brother for good. —Anna’s address is under my pillow,—he added, never turning to face me again. Anna still lived in her childhood town. Michael was seriously ill, the doctors perplexed. “Go to Europe,” they said, “perhaps you’ll get help there.” I discovered this from Anna’s letter hidden under Peter’s pillow. Anna and Peter had quietly kept in touch, but only through her letters; Peter never replied. After Peter’s funeral, I set out to fulfill his last request. I met Anna at a quiet railway station. She was delighted to see me: —Oh, Simon, you look so much like Peter! Two peas in a pod. I handed Anna the suitcase, as Peter wished: —Anna, forgive your wayward husband. This is for you. There’s money, and something else from Peter. You’ll see at home. Remember, you were always Peter’s beloved wife. With that, Anna and I parted for good. Some time later, I received a single letter from her: “Simon, thank you to both you and Peter. I am grateful God brought Peter into my life. We sold the figurines for a good price—a true collector bought them. I could never look at them without remembering they once passed through Peter’s hands. It’s a pity he left so soon. With the money, Michael and I moved to Canada, as my sister had long invited us. I had nothing left holding me back. I’d hoped Peter would ask me to stay—he didn’t, but he still saw me as his beloved wife. So he didn’t forget me after all. By the way, Michael is doing much better here, and he is happy. Farewell.” No return address.

011

Changed His Mind About Getting Married Late Into the Night, Dr. Archibald toiled away in his lab, endlessly transferring mysterious liquids between test tubes and analyzing granulated powders, his mind consumed by the hope that his painstaking research would soon bear fruit—and that he’d finally unveil his “product,” extracted from the roots of a rare English wildflower, to the scientific community. With all the enthusiasm of a dedicated forty-year-old scientist, Archibald barely registered the awestruck gazes from the institute’s new young cleaner, Sophie, who, forgetting her own work, would linger in his office for hours, propping herself on her mop and watching him intently. Driven by his dream, Archibald noticed neither Sophie’s attentions nor her habit of standing quietly behind him, lost in her thoughts until, one evening, she found her courage: “Dr. Archibald, you’ve hardly left your chair all day,” she said, brightening. “Fancy a cuppa? I happened to bring my electric kettle—and some homemade sausages.” At the mention of sausages, Archibald looked up from his experiments. “Tea with sausages, you say? I’d be mad to pass that up.” Sophie beamed as she rummaged through her backpack, producing first the kettle and then a plastic container of delicious-looking food. “Mother sent me some beef mince from the country yesterday,” she explained, her cheeks glowing with pride, “so I made sausages with a bit of pork fat and roasted them.” Archibald peered into the clear tub, putting his glasses back on for a closer look. “How long has this sat in your bag?” he inquired. “Since this morning, I suppose. Why?” Sophie faltered, apprehensive. “And the lid was sealed tight?” “Yes, it was,” Sophie insisted, now a bit anxious. “You think it’s spoiled already? It’s been cold in the staff room—they haven’t got the radiators on yet.” Archibald weighed his doubts. “Best stick to tea for now. Maybe you should take the sausages home.” Angry at the rejection, Sophie scooped away her container, but curiosity got the better of her, and she opened it anyway. “Smells just fine! Oh, you city types—always worrying! If you won’t have any, more for me.” As the kettle boiled, Archibald eyed Sophie as she tucked in voraciously. The warm aroma and her enjoyment tempted him. He reasoned with himself about food safety, the risk of bacteria, and Sophie’s questionable fridge habits, but the British scientist’s willpower failed under hunger’s persuasion. Finally, he caved—one bite led to another, and Archibald found himself in culinary heaven. “Stunning! Did you really make these yourself?” Sophie smiled through happy tears. “Told you—I’ve been cooking since I was a girl!” The humble supper ended with Archibald offering to see Sophie to the bus stop, and the evening set in motion a chain of unexpected events. Archibald, A Forty-Year-Old Scientist, Visits His Young Girlfriend Sophie’s Eccentric Family in a Snowy English Village—Only to Find Himself Questioning Both Love and Marriage The next day, anxiety gnawed at Archibald as a bumpy taxi ride took him and Sophie to her childhood home in the snow-blanketed English countryside—a crooked-roofed old cottage reminiscent of an eccentric BBC drama. Sophie, headstrong and affectionate, tried to reassure him: “Mum’s understanding. And my stepdad will love you; he agrees with everyone.” Archibald fretted about the age difference. “Your mum’s forty-five, I’m forty. Will she even approve?” “She’ll come round!” Sophie insisted, even vowing, in jest, to invent a pregnancy if her mother disapproved. The cottage was as unwelcoming as Archibald had feared. Sophie’s mother, wrapped in a threadbare dressing gown, sized him up sharply, her voice cold. “My little girl’s twenty-three, and you’re twice her age! What’s your game? Looking for a housekeeper?” The tension snowballed into a blazing row involving Sophie’s handsome young stepfather and the whole family, with accusations and furniture flying. Archibald fled into the frosty night, dodging hurled stools and searching the village for any means of escape, ruing the day he ever left his lab for this rural “adventure.” After collapsing from stress and cold, Archibald was nursed back to health by a local medic and Sophie’s unwavering devotion. But as tempers cooled, doubts about love, marriage, and rural English family drama gnawed at him. Archibald found himself longing for the order and coziness of his city flat—and the idea of remaining a confirmed bachelor started to seem far more appealing. A Comedy of Love, Laboratories, and Culture Clashes: When a Middle-Aged London Scientist Visits His Quirky Young Girlfriend’s Eccentric Family in Rural England, He Starts to Rethink His Plans for Marriage