22April
I still cant believe how the first week after the delivery turned out. The hospital discharged us early on a rainy Thursday, and we were met at the train station by Chriss parents and my own mum and dad. We trudged back to our semidetached house on Willow Lane, set the babys pram down, and, as usual, Chris flopped onto the sofa, flicked the telly on, while I tackled the kitchen a place that had somehow turned into a disaster zone during his fourday absence.
After feeding Emily, I tried to steal a nap on the cot in the nursery, because today felt unusually exhausting and chaotic. I hadnt even closed my eyes when there was a firm knock at the front door. I opened it to find the guests Chris had already invited: Jane, his older sister, her husband, and two of Janes friends acquaintances I barely know.
Brother, were here to celebrate you! Jane boomed, waving her hands. I remember you as a tiny lad, and now look a proper dad already! The rest swarmed Chris, shaking his hand, hugging, planting kisses.
Jane, could you keep it down? Emily just fell asleep, I whispered, hoping not to wake her.
Ah, she wont hear a thing, Jane replied, waving a hand. Just set the table weve brought some sparkling wine and a birthday cake. Its all yours, she said, eyes gleaming.
I laid out the remnants of the modest meal my parents had helped us finish.
Looks a bit scant, Jane remarked with a grin.
Sorry, we werent expecting visitors. I just got back from the hospital, and Chris has been holding the fort alone, I explained.
Ladies, no fuss! Ive ordered three pizzas Margherita, Pepperoni and Veggie. Nobody will go hungry, Chris announced, trying to lighten the mood.
The gathering lingered until about nine oclock. By then I was ready to change Emilys nappy and coax her back to sleep. When the guests finally left, Chris grumbled, Victoria, you could have been a bit more gracious. They came to wish us well, yet you spent the whole time hovering over the baby and sent most of them off.
I snapped back, What was I supposed to do? Its my first day out of the maternity ward; I cant pretend Im fine with a crowd. At least they brought a cheap rattling toy for the baby.
He sighed, From now on, the baby is the priority in this house. Emily needs a routine. So please, no more guests for the next three months.
Fine, I replied. If I want to see the lads, Ill have to do it elsewhere.
—
A month later
Chris kept his job; I stayed home with Emily. She settled into a calm little routine, and I managed the house, though I stopped trying fancy recipes simple soups and stews now suffice, and Chris never complained. Life was ordinary, until a new problem crept in, seeded by Chriss mother, Lydia.
Lydias mother, Catherine, was an eightyyearold widow living in a tiny Cotswold village about sixty miles from Birmingham. She lived in a modest cottage with a well, a woodstore in the outbuilding, and a garden the size of a small field. The plot was only a tenth of an acre, which Catherine tended herself, with occasional help from her daughter and grandchildren when they needed to plant or dig up potatoes the very potatoes they ate throughout winter.
That winter Catherine fell ill with a bad chest infection and could no longer work the garden. Lydia insisted that Victoria should spend the summer in the village with Emily to help her mother.
I thought she was joking at first, but Lydia was deadserious.
I cant take Mum into the city the gardens already full of crops. Who will look after her? I work myself. I can only pop over on weekends; who will haul water from the well during the week? she pleaded.
The well was a short threehundredmetre walk, but the bucket was heavy. Youd have to carry halfapint each time. Do you realise how much water we need for the house and the garden? She spends half the day shuttling back and forth.
Im not becoming a water carrier, Lydia, I retorted.
You could use the wheelbarrow. It holds two fortylitre barrels, enough to get the water home. Mum cant manage it alone, but you could help. Its not a huge chore, and you could also pull weeds, Lydia suggested.
No, let Mum tend her own garden. Chris and I buy all the veg from the supermarket, so let those who harvest the crops do the work, I said. Send Jane; she doesnt work either, I added.
She has two children, Lydia shot back.
And Im supposed to have none? I snapped. Dont compare Janes kids are five and three. They need constant care, and Artie would have to be taken out of nursery all summer. Meanwhile Emily? Shell just sit in the pram while I run errands, Lydia replied.
Do you realise I have to take Emily to the GP every month for checkups and vaccinations? I asked.
You could skip the appointments. The childs fine; theres no point dragging us to the clinic and catching something there, Lydia argued.
In short, youll go. No one else is going. Besides, my mother raised all three of my children. I never stayed on maternity leave for long, she declared.
Two months later I handed over some of the household chores to Jane, Victor and Chris all four of us and now my motherinlaw was too frail. It was time to repay the debt of help.
I respect Catherine. Shes helped you a lot, but I owe her nothing personally. You, Jane, Victor and Chris owe her, I said. I wont be covering anyone elses debts.
Friday morning, Chris reminded me, Did you pack? Were heading to the village tomorrow.
Ive already told your mother and am saying it again: Im not going to any village, let alone take Emily there. What if she falls ill? Id have to walk a hundred kilometres to the nearest town on foot, I snapped.
The village you speak of doesnt even have a bus service; the nearest shop is in the next hamlet, Chris replied.
Two kilometres on foot to buy a loaf of bread? I dont know whether were needed at all, I muttered.
When your mother suggested I lug fortylitre barrels, you stayed silent. How could I lift a barrel weighing fiftyseven kilograms when Im only fiftyseven kilograms myself?
We dont have to fill the barrels all the way, Chris said. Enough arguing. If Mum said you must go, then youll go. No one else. Father will pick us up at ten tomorrow. Pack today.
I packed while Chris left for work, then called my own parents.
My mother, a former paediatric nurse, was horrified. You cant leave a baby under a year without regular monitoring. In three months you need to see specialists again. This is reckless! she scolded.
My father quietly helped load the car.
We drove to my parents flat, where I stayed with Emily for the night. When Chris returned from work and found the house empty, he realised Id gone. He called several times, but I didnt answer. He eventually showed up at the flat, only to find Id already left.
Why did you send me to the mines? he demanded, bitter. To the countryside? All because of your mothers foolishness?
Yes, I caused this mess myself, but not today. Two years ago, when I married you, I fell for a tall, broadshouldered, kind man. I never realised the man behind that charm was my mothers little boy, always doing exactly what she says. If shed sent you to work in a mine, you would have obeyed too.
Will you ever come home? he asked.
No, I replied. Home is where you feel safe, loved and protected. Thats not here. Live with your mother.
Six months later we finally finalised the divorce.
