Another girl? wailed the motherinlaw, Dorothy Stephenson, as she stormed into the kitchen of the modest terraced house in Manchester. How ungrateful! Weve done everything for youfinanced your education, set you up in a proper job, and now you cant even give my son an heir!
Emily turned a ghostly shade of pale. Shed just been discharged from the maternity ward, still feeling the aftereffects of a third pregnancy at her age. Her health was already hanging by a thread, and now her motherinlaw arrived with a fresh batch of melodrama. Thank heavens she hadnt been there for the discharge; otherwise the whole day would have gone downhill.
Nothing good ever comes from you! All you do is produce freeloaders, drat!
Emilys patience snapped. How can you speak like that about our grandchildren? Have you lost your mind?
Dorothy shot back, At least Im better off than you! Shame my dear Andrew isnt as lucky in the marriage department.
Why are you even in my house? Get out! No one invited you! Emily snapped.
In truth, Emily hadnt invited Dorothy at all. Shed only opened the door when the doorbell rang, not bothering to peek through the peephole. She was holding baby Mia in her arms, waiting for her teenage daughter, Victoria, who had promised to pop over and help. The knock could have been anyone, she thought, and she let the door swing open.
Dorothy didnt get past the threshold. She planted herself on the landing and launched into a tirade, first asking, Boy or girl?as if shed never been toldthen, after the answer, she let loose.
Summoning a sliver of courage, Emily slammed the door shut right in Dorothys face, exhaled a weary sigh, and flopped onto the sofa. The shouting woke little Mia, who needed soothing. Thankfully Victoria would be there soon to tidy up, cook, and tackle the laundry.
* * *
Emily and Andrew might never have wed if she hadnt gotten pregnant. At the time, Andrew was a promising secondyear university student, and Emily was a year younger, not yet in higher education, so she took a job straight after school. They met through mutual friendsAndrew was a mate of Emilys colleague. When Emilys parents learned she was expecting, they pushed for a wedding. The couple rushed through the ceremony despite Andrews own parents objections. Already then, Dorothy had warned that wayward Emily would ruin a bright young mans career. She imagined her son, Andrew, becoming a ships captain, while his future wife would only be a distraction.
When their first child, Victoria, arrived, Dorothy started spouting, Since youve started having kids early, hurry up and have anothermy son needs an heir! at the tender age of six months.
Both families pitched in: Emilys mother babysat, Andrews parents tossed in cash, and Dorothy expected a song of thanks in return. When the money ran low, Dorothy would complain, If we didnt help, youd be buying nappies with pennies! Emily dutifully replied, Thank you, as many times as she could muster each morning.
Dorothy never liked Emily. Whenever she visited, shed scrutinise the kettle for limescale, rummage through the fridge, and comment, You must be struggling to breathe with all that dust! Andrew was off training, giving Dorothy free rein to poke at Emilys nerves. One day Dorothy hauled a kitchen sideboard into the hallway and climbed atop it, wiping every reachable surface. I told you! Look at all this dust! No wonder it feels stuffy! she declared. Emily simply lowered her head; arguing would only make things worse.
How can you sit at home and let the house get so filthy when youre not even working? Dorothy hissed, forgetting that Emily was on maternity leave and Victoria was already a year and a half old.
* * *
When Victoria started nursery, Emily marveled at how fast three years of maternity leave had flown by. Shed never completed any formal training, had no work experience, and felt stuck. Andrew, meanwhile, was nearing his final year and already being praised as a future maritime professional. Envy crept in, and Emily decided she needed a qualificationeven if just a basic one. Her parents backed her, and Andrew smiled supportively when she told him.
Dorothy, as usual, dropped by unannounced, claiming she had the right to appear since shed helped with the rent. She caught Emily rummaging through piles of paperwork.
What are you doing? Dorothy asked, a mix of curiosity and disdain.
I need copies of my GCSEs, but I cant find them, Emily muttered, unaware that Dorothy was about to lose her temper.
What GCSEs?! Dorothy shrieked. You think you can just go back to university now?
I want to apply to university, Emily said, trying to keep her voice steady.
Dorothy sneered, Studying is fine, but who will look after the baby? Youll need a proper mother to set a good example, not a halfgrown student. She added, When will you start looking after your son? He might become a captain somedayour family needs a naval dynasty!
Emily, though hurt, managed a weak reply, I just want to study.
Dorothy, finally relenting, said, If youre that keen, do it. But youll have to fund yourselfour family wont give you a penny. With that, Emily applied for a place on a bursary, studied accounting, and got a modest job. Andrew spent months at sea, leaving Emily to juggle work and motherhood. She learned to cope, even if Dorothys constant critics never ceased.
* * *
Years passed. Victoria excelled at school, teachers calling her a bright girl. Emily and Andrew built careers; Dorothy continued to sprinkle unsolicited advice. One afternoon she barged in, claiming Andrew had just returned from a voyage and wanted a walk.
Why is your child always buried in books? she demanded. Even a short stroll would do you good.
Well finish the homework, then well go out for a bit, Emily replied. Shes also taking dance lessons.
Dorothy scoffed, Dance? Teaching a girl to twirl is nonsense! Proper girls dont dance.
Its folk dancing, half her class does it, Emily explained.
Dorothy huffed, Whateverjust dont let her grow up thinking its proper to be frivolous.
Emily snapped, How dare you speak to me that way! If you have a problem, keep it to yourself. The argument escalated until Andrew returned, shaking his head.
Mother, he said gently, why are you always complaining?
Dorothy blurted, Look at what youre raising! Shell never be proper.
Andrew winced, Dont speak like that about my wife.
Dorothy muttered, Youll never get more from me. She never asked for money again; Andrew earned well enough at sea to support the family without parental help.
When Victoria entered Year 9, Emily sensed another pregnancy. Andrew floated on cloud nine, lifting Emily in his arms. Hope its a boy? Emily asked with a wry smile.
Whatever it is, as long as the babys healthy, Andrew replied.
Dorothy, however, never ceased muttering about needing a grandson. You must try harder, she urged Emily. If it were up to me, Id have a boy by now.
I cant control that, Emily said dryly. Its not my job to produce an heir.
When little Molly was born, Dorothy was so upset she went two weeks without speaking to Emily or Andrew. He, feeling insulted by his mothers absence at the birth, cut ties with her financially and emotionally. The familys bond frayed, and arguments piled up like a snowball. Dorothy blamed Andrew for being ungrateful, for the help shed given when they were young, and even called him a bad father. She also ignored her granddaughters, only attending holiday meals when her husband, the steady grandfather, insisted.
Emily endured it for the sake of peace, but the strain was real. Eventually, the grandchildren grew up: Victoria went to university, married, and started her own family; Molly earned a scholarship and moved to another city for her studies. Emily and Andrew settled into a quiet life, interrupted only by occasional calls from Dorothy.
A few months later Emily began having odd stomach troubles, blaming it on the occasional takeaway sandwich shed share with colleagues. She also developed a sudden craving for pickles and sauerkraut, which she blamed on getting older. When she discovered she was pregnant again, she burst the news to Andrew, who thought she was joking until the doctor confirmed it.
She called Dorothy, who immediately erupted, Youre ruining my sons career with another baby! Emily, trying to keep calm, replied, Im not making anything up. Im having another child. Dorothy scoffed, At your age? Youll be an old mother then! Emily retorted, Women older than me have babies all the time. Dorothy hung up, leaving Emily to plan for the third child without interference.
Andrew, still on a long sea stint, promised to return as soon as possible. Emily, weary but determined, answered her motherinlaws occasional calls with short, polite replies, even when Dorothy tried to pry about ultrasound results. Did you find out if its a boy? she asked. No, Emily said, I want it to be a surprise.
Dorothy, finally softening, began sending gifts via Victoria and tried to be more supportive, though she still whispered about wanting a grandson for the family naval dynasty. She never attended the delivery, but Emily, having learned to handle her motherinlaws dramatics, kept her sense of humor intact.
* * *
Meanwhile, in a quiet suburb of Bristol, young Lucy Clarke lived under the shadow of a plastered portrait on the livingroom wall. The picture featured a darkeyed girl in a lacecollared dress, her name, Emma, written beneath it. Around the portrait lay a few scarce chocolate bars, plastic dolls, and an assortment of treasured trinketsthings Lucy was never allowed to touch.
One day Lucy swiped a couple of chocolates and played with the dolls, feeling the thrill of an illicit treat. Her mother, Mrs. Clarke, stormed in, eyes magnified behind her spectacles, and shouted, Are you stealing Emmas sweets? How shameful! She slapped Lucys cheek and brandished a belt, her voice booming like a kettle about to boil.
Lucy was locked in her room for a week, with no grandparents or father to interveneher dad pretended to be invisible, barely uttering a word to her. Lucy believed this was normal; after all, Mums raise kids, dads are busy. It wasnt until she started school that she saw other children being dropped off by both parents, holding hands, laughing. She wondered why her own father never appeared, and why her mothers portrait seemed to replace a real sister.
Emma, the girl in the picture, had died in a traffic accident three years earlier and was somehow preserved on the wall. Lucys memories of her were hazy, but she sometimes dreamed of a strange, comforting figureher mother, but not the one she knew. In those dreams they stood on a roof under a violet sky, the sun sinking like a giant heater, and her mothers hand clasped Lucys tightly.
Waking up, Lucy wept, unable to ask her mother about the dream. Then, one afternoon, Lucy stumbled upon a hidden box in the attic containing an old photograph of a smiling Emma, alive and holding a stuffed rabbit. The revelation that she was not the only child in the house hit her like a scone to the head.
The next day, Lucys best friend, Sophie, visited and whispered, Your mums a bitodd, isnt she? She never lets us play with the sweets. Lucy, cheeks flushed, replied, Shes just protective. Sophie shrugged, Maybe shes scared youll grow up like that girl in the picture.
Lucys world shifted. She began to see her mothers overprotectiveness as a quirk rather than cruelty, and she learned to protect herself from the occasional tirade. When her mother finally asked, Did you take the sweets? Lucy answered honestly, No, I just wanted a taste. Mrs. Clarkes eyes softened just enough for a sigh, and the house felt a touch lighter.
Both families learned, in their own stubborn ways, that love often comes wrapped in irritation, and that a good laugh at oneself can smooth even the roughest of inlaws or overbearing mums.
