“Mum, please stop!” Edward spun sharply from the window where he’d been watching passing cars. “How much longer? I’ve explained a hundred times!”
“Explained?” Margaret threw her hands in the air. “Explained what? That you abandon us for some strange woman and her children!”
“She’s not strange! Emma’s my wife!” Her son clenched his fists, voice trembling with anger. “And those children are mine now, understand? Mine!”
Sophie sat silently at the kitchen table, twisting a teaspoon. Tears dripped straight into her cooling tea. She wasn’t crying; the tears simply fell, like the rain outside.
“Yours?” Margaret’s bitter laugh was worse than shouting. “You’re mad! You have a sister who barely walks since the crash! A mother who devoted her life to you! And you… you leave us for strangers!”
Edward sank onto the sofa edge, running a hand over his face. He was bone-weary from these endless rows.
“Mum, try to understand. I’m thirty-two, a grown man. I deserve a life of my own.”
“A life of your own?” Margaret sat opposite him, taking his hands. “Edward, dear heart. What kind of life is it with a divorced woman and two children not your own? You’re young, handsome, with a good job. Find a younger girl, have your own children…”
“I don’t want other children!” He pulled his hands free. “Alfie and Charlotte – they’re already mine. Alfie called me Dad yesterday. Understand? For the first time in my life, someone called me Dad!”
Sophie choked back a sob, rising from the table. Limping slowly, she approached her brother. “Edward, what about me?” Her voice was faint, broken. “You know I won’t cope without you. Since the crash, you’re my only hope. Mum’s pension barely covers food. Who helps me if not you?”
Brotherly arms. Edward held her close, stroking her hair. “Sophie, love, I’m not dying. Just moving nearby. I’ll still help, of course I will. But I have my own family now.”
“You always had your own family!” Margaret snapped. “We are your family! Your blood!”
“Emma’s pregnant,” Edward said quietly.
Silence fell. Only the clock ticked on the wall and the rain drummed outside.
“What did you say?” His mother paled, sinking into an armchair.
“Emma’s expecting. Our child. Understand now why I can’t leave her?”
Sophie stepped back, staring at him with wide eyes. “How far along?”
“Only five weeks. But doctor says all’s well.”
“Lord help us…” Margaret covered her face. “What have you done, son? What have you done?”
Margaret had worked as a nursery school assistant for over thirty years. She loved children deeply, but she’d pictured grandchildren from Edward differently. Not from a divorced woman with two children, but from a nice girl from a good family.
“Mum, what’s so wrong?” Edward sat beside her, trying to embrace her. “You’ll finally have a grandchild. A boy or girl. Isn’t that good?”
“From whom?” She moved away. “A woman who rushed into one marriage? Who already has two? Who is she? Where did she even come from?”
“Emma works as a paediatric nurse at the Royal Infirmary. She’s a good woman, kind. Her children are lovely, well-mannered.”
“And their father?” Margaret persisted.
“He died serving in the forces. Emma was barely twenty-two, left with two little ones.”
“Ah,” Margaret nodded grimly. “So she was looking for some fool to support them all. And she found one.”
“Mum!” Edward exploded. “Enough! I’m not a fool! I’m a grown man who chose a woman he loves!”
“Love?” Margaret stood, pacing the room. “What do you know of love? All these years you sat at home, commuted to work, helped us. No real experience with women. The first one wraps you round her finger.”
Sophie sat back at the table, resting her head on her hands. Headaches plagued her since the crash, worsened by family rows. “My head is splitting,” she complained. “Can you keep it down?”
“Sophie, sorry,” Edward approached her, touching her forehead. “No fever. Taken your pills?”
“Did. Didn’t help.”
“We’ll go the hospital tomorrow,” Edward promised.
“Tomorrow?” Margaret scoffed. “Tomorrow you won’t have time. You have other cares now. Strangers to walk to school, homework to help with.”
“Alfie’s eight, Charlotte’s five. They aren’t strangers,” Edward repeated wearily. “And tomorrow we definitely go.”
“And the day after? Next week?” Margaret pressed. “When your girl starts showing, she’ll need constant help. There’ll be no time left for Sophie.”
“There will be. I’m not emigrating. Just to the neighbouring borough.”
“Neighbouring borough,” Margaret mimicked. “You used to be through the wall. Sophie sick in the night, she’d knock, you’d run in. Treat over the phone now, will you?”
Edward slumped back on the sofa. The argument circled like earlier ones. His mother wouldn’t yield, Sophie wept, and guilt warred fiercely with his own anger.
“Edward, could I meet your Emma?” Sophie asked suddenly.
“Why?” Margaret eyed her daughter suspiciously.
“I want to see her. Understand what’s so special.”
“Of course,” Edward brightened. “Let’s all meet up tomorrow. Come to ours or a café.”
“Yours?” Margaret frowned. “Where’s yours now?”
“We’re renting a two-bed flat. Planning to buy a three-bed, so the kids have more space.”
“And what money do you plan to buy with?”
“My savings. Plus, Emma’s selling her one-bedder.”
“Oh, clear enough,” Margaret nodded. “So she needs your money too. It all adds up.”
“Mum, stop it!” He leapt up. “If you carry on like this, I’ll stop visiting!”
“Stop visiting your own mother and crippled sister?” Tears edged Margaret’s voice. “How can you say that?”
“I can! Because I’m sick of hearing vile things about my wife!”
“Wife…” Margaret shook her head. “You’ve tied the knot already?”
“Registering next week. Church blessing after the baby comes.”
“Blessing…” She perched on the armchair edge. “In church?”
“In church. Emma’s a believer.”
“Children christened?”
“Of course. We go to church with them Sundays.”
Margaret fell silent. She was churchgoing herself, though infrequently, preferring prayers at home. If this Emma took children to church, perhaps she wasn’t entirely lost.
“Edward, what’s she really like?” Sophie asked. “Tell us plainly, without anger.”
He sat beside his sister, taking her hand. “So kind. Quiet, calm. Respected at work. Kids adore her, even difficult ones. Alfie and Charlotte are polite, well-behaved. Emma raised them alone five years, managed it.”
“Is she pretty?” For some reason, Sophie needed to know.
“To me, very. Not a model, but… she shines. Kind eyes, warm smile. When I come home, she always lights up, meets me at the door.”
“Didn’t we
Gregory kissed his mother’s silver hair and squeezed Catherine’s thin hand, realising that caring for one’s roots didn’t mean you couldn’t let new branches grow, and that family wasn’t a cage but a garden where every season brought different blooms.
