Mum was stunningly beautiful, and Father always claimed it was her only merit. I, who adored him with a feverish heart, saw everything through his eyes.
Father lectured in political science at the university in Manchester. He came from an educated family that had never accepted my mother. I learned their story much later. When he was a fresh member of a university workcamp, he was sent to a state farm in Yorkshire to build animal pens. My mother, then only seventeen, worked as a dairyhand. She had just eight years of schooling and, even after many years beside Father, still struggled to read quickly, tracing words with her fingers and whispering syllables to herself. Yet she was a striking beautydelicate, with porcelain skin, honeygolden hair down to her waist, sapphireblue eyes and a perfectly chiseled profile. In the wedding photograph she looks like a magazine pictureperfect model. Father was tall, darkhaired, with a thick moustache and a rugged, masculine air.
That summer Mum fell pregnant, and Father was forced to marry her. Perhaps he once loved her, but his parents pressed him, accusing Mum of having tricked him. Around the university swirled young graduate studentsperhaps not as pretty, but certainly better educated and able to hold a conversation. Moreover, each time Father tried to bring Mum to a dinner or a gathering, she ate clumsily, couldnt use cutlery properly and laughed so loudly that he felt embarrassed. He never hid his criticism; Mum would just shake her head and smile sadly, never daring to argue.
I was determined never to be like Mum. I wanted Father to be proud of me. Before school I had memorised the alphabet and could read far better than my mother. I spent whole days practising numbers so that when Father set me a problem I could answer correctly and earn his praise. At the table I watched Fathers manners and mimicked themeating with my mouth closed, not licking the plate, using fork and knife. Despite all this, Father never really warmed to me; he would only glance at me briefly and ruffle my soft hair with a distracted hand. The few moments when we actually spoke became my treasured solace, and I replayed his words over and over in my mind.
When I was in Year2, Father left us. Mum kept it hidden for a while, but eventually I learned he had a new partner. The word divorce rang in my ears and all I could think of was, If only Father would take me with him. Of course I stayed with Mum. We had to move out of the flat that belonged to Grandma Martha and Granddad George, who were simply glad to be rid of us. For a short time they sent us modest monthly transfersFathers allowance each month and a little extra from Grandma at Christmas and for birthdays. But the countrys economy was collapsing, Father soon lost his job and the payments stopped. Mum took several lowpaid jobs as a cleaner, scrubbing floors from dawn till dusk. Her wages were tiny and often delayed, so we lived in poverty. Her onceradiant beauty faded, and I could no longer see anything good in her. I blamed her silently for Fathers abandonment.
Father, meanwhile, turned to business. One day he stopped by our new address, handed me a brandnew coat and a few notes. That winter I had just come home from school, shivering in my threadbare overcoat whose sleeves were already too short. He waited at the entranceMum was at work and no one opened the door for him, yet he stayed. My heart leaptFather hadnt forgotten me! I offered him tea with sugar, babbling nonstop about my school successes, trying to prove I was clever. He listened halfheartedly, finished his tea, unwrapped the coat, placed the money on the table and said,
Give this to Mum. Ill bring more next month.
Will you come to my birthday? I asked timidly.
He looked at me as if the date had slipped his mind, then replied,
Of course! What would you like?
A doll! I blurted, feeling a little embarrassed. I was already a teenager, but the word slipped out. Usually he bought me books for my birthday.
Alright, he nodded, a doll it shall be.
When Mum returned, I proudly told her about Fathers visit and his promise to bring a doll for my birthday.
On my birthday I ran home as fast as I could, fearing he might not wait. I hoped to see him at the doorstep, but he never appeared. The night before Mum had baked a cake and given me a trendy jumper Id longed for. I didnt touch the cake, waiting for Father. He never came. When Mum got home from work we ate the cake together, but the celebration felt empty; I burst into tears. Mum understood, but said nothing about Father.
The next morning Mum handed me a small parcel.
It came by post, mustve been delayed, she said. Its from Father.
Inside was a brandnew doll in a pretty pink box. I shouted with joy and asked,
Why didnt he come himself?
He was probably sent on a work trip, Mum replied, averting her eyes.
The doll became my most treasured possession. I took it to school, never fearing the other childrens jokes. Father never appeared again, and Grandma never sent another money transfer. Gradually I accepted that only Mum remained in my life, yet I still yearned for Father, hoping one day he would return, see the person Id become and be proud.
After Year11 I gained a place at a medical school in London. I felt an urgent need to tell Father the news, so I decided to find him at any cost. I remembered roughly the address of his old flat, where I had lived for eight years, and the address of Grandmas house where Id only visited on holidays. Without telling Mum, I set off.
At Fathers former flat a woman answered the door. She said no one named Whitfield lived there and that she had occupied the flat for seven years. I tried to ask about previous tenants, but she slammed the door.
Grandma and Granddads house was silent. I was about to leave when a thin, spectacled old lady from the next door opened her door.
Who are you looking for? she asked.
Im looking for the Whitfields. Im their granddaughter.
She peered at me and said,
If youre their granddaughter, you should know theyve been dead for years.
I flushed.
I didnt know My parents divorced and I
Yes, yes, divorced So youre Mary? she guessed.
Yes.
Wanted to see your grandparents?
Yes, and also my father, I whispered.
The old lady gave me a look that made everything click.
Theyre all buried together. Killed over debts. One day. All because of your father
The truth crashed over me like a wave, stealing my breath.
Dont kill yourself, dear, she urged. Youre young, life is ahead of you. Your mother is still alive?
I nodded.
Here, Ill write down the cemetery and plot numbers. Talk to them, itll help.
She rummaged through drawers, found a small notebook, dictated the plot numbers and the name of the cemetery. I thanked her and left, my fear gripping me tightly.
The graves were overgrown with weeds, neglected. I cleared them enough to read the worn inscriptions. Each stone lay in a single row behind a low rail. The dates showed that the deaths had occurred just two days after my last encounter with Father.
On the tram home, trembling, the thought struck me that Father could never have mailed me that doll on my birthday. I had kept the doll all these years, treating it as the most precious gift, yet perhaps the doll had come from Mum all along. A flush of embarrassment rose in my cheeks, a knot formed in my throat. My father turned out to be a petty criminal who had ruined his own parents. It was a relief that Mum and I had never lived together with him; otherwise we would have been lying in a grave side by side.
I kept quiet about my trip, telling Mum I had been out with friends. Later I hugged her, said I loved her, and whispered another lie:
Thank you for everything.
Mums eyes, now a little faded but still bright as cornflower blue, met mine.
I always knew that doll was yours, she said softly. Thats why Ive cherished it.
Large tears rolled down her cheeks. I felt no shame for my deception any more. I felt shame for all the years I had believed there was nothing good in her except fleeting beauty.
From that day I understood that the value of a person is not measured by the grandeur of their past or the promises they break, but by the strength we find within ourselves and the love we preserve for those who truly remain.
