8th September
How much does your ex pay in child maintenance?
The question landed as unexpectedly as a snowball in July. I nearly choked on my tea. It shouldnt have been so jarring, but still, it stung.
Margaret was sat opposite me at the kitchen table, giving me that expectant look of hers. The apple pie Id baked for her visit was growing cold between us. I knew she was fond of apple pie, but at that moment, it felt unimportant.
We manage, I tried to muster a smile, but my lips didnt quite cooperate.
Im not asking about that, she pressed.
Well thats a rather personal question I faltered.
Margaret pushed her cup aside and folded her hands across the table, her nails neat and pearly-pink, drumming softly on the tablecloth.
Sarah, its not idle curiosity. Jamies starting school this year, isnt he?
I nodded, knowing well where she was heading, even if I didnt want to admit it.
Uniform, books, school bag. After-school clubs, all sorts. Its no small expense, she said, ticking the items off on her fingers. Costs have gone up, havent they?
They have, I admitted quietly.
So who puts in moreJamies dad, or my William?
Her words hung in the air, thick and uncomfortable. A car honked outside; in the flat upstairs, a childs laughter rang out. But in my little kitchen, with the cheery curtains Id sewn last spring, the air was suddenly heavy and close.
I cleared my throat.
We manage, I repeated, hearing the defeat in my own voice. Will doesnt complain.
Margaret let out a short, sharp sniff, like a cat whose tail had been trodden on.
Of course he doesnt complain. Hes got the patience of his father. But the way it looks, its my son carrying all your lot. Both you and Jamie.
Margaret I started, but she was already on her feet, fussing with her cardigan.
She checked her handbag, then turned back. Her gaze had lost its earlier sharpnessa hint of exhaustion was all that remained, along with something I couldnt quite name.
You should think about a part-time job, love, she said, softer. But the kind of soft that stings. I didnt raise my son so he could support another mans child.
She left, shutting the door behind her.
I stood for a while in the hallway, staring down at the Welcome mat.
Later that evening, the flat filled with familiar sounds: Jamie clattering away in his bedroom with his LEGO, Will banging about the kitchen, warming up dinner. Just another evening in our ordinary English home. But Margarets words turned like a stuck record in my mind.
When Jamie was tucked in bed and Will and I were alone with a cup of tea, I finally couldnt hold it back.
Will, are you really alright with how things are? I meando you ever feel youre putting too much towards Jamie?
He looked genuinely startled. He set the tablet down and turned to face me, confusion plain in those gentle blue eyes.
Sar, what are you on about?
Just wondering.
Sighing, Will leaned in closer, his voice warm and steady.
Jamies my son. Whatever his birth certificate says, Im his dad. End of story. I love him as much as if he were my own flesh and blood. Doesnt matter what anyone else says, really. The moneys neither here nor there.
I smiledthese were the words Id hoped for, needed. But somewhere deep down, Margarets barbed comments festered. They lingered, a splinter under the skin.
Six months went by
I sat in the bathroom, heart pounding, staring at two lines on the pregnancy test. Will nearly took my feet off the ground when I told him, spinning me around the living room. Jamie danced in circles, pestering us for answers. And when he heard hed be a big brother, he insisted he wanted a sisterand promised hed teach her how to build with LEGO.
The pregnancy went with ease, barely noticed. In March, baby Grace arrivedtiny, wrinkled, with Wills eyes and my nose. True to his word, Jamie watched over her cot for hours, shushing anyone who dared disturb her nap.
I was sure things would settle now. Maybe Margaret would come round; perhaps seeing her new granddaughter would soften something in her heart.
I was wrong.
She paid us a visit two weeks after Grace came home. Grace was asleep in her crib, Jamie was off at school, and it was just the three of us in the kitchen: Will, Margaret, and me.
Then she set down her cup.
Sarah, youre on maternity, arent you? Margaret started, her tone too sweet, too careful. So your incomes dropped, but expenses havent. How are you planning to make up the difference?
I felt suddenly hollow, as though all the air had been punched out of me.
I think you ought to ring Jamies father, she went on, ignoring the colour draining from my face. Ask him to step up, pay a bit more. After all, its his responsibility. My William shouldnt be expected to cough up for another mans child
Will slammed his hand down so hard the teaspoons rattled and one fell from its saucer onto the floor.
Mum. His voice was steel, a sound Id never heard from him before. Thats enough.
Margaret straightened, bracing herself like a seasoned general, readying for rebuttal.
William, Im only trying to look out for you and Grace. Is that a crime? Im your mumIve every right to worry about you.
Whats there to worry about? Will shot back, jaw clenched. That Im happy? That I love my family?
That youre wasting your money on someone elses child! Margaret threw up her hands. Youve got your own daughter now! Yet you still support him.
I shrank into my chair. Him. My Jamie, who adored Will, called him Dad, made him cards for every birthday and Christmashim.
Jamie is my son. I love him. Hes family. Grace is too. If you cant accept that, Mum, then thats your issue, not ours.
Margaret shot up so fast her chair scraped back and hit the fridge.
Youre ruining yourself! she screeched, voice going shrill. Wasting your life on her and her child! This isnt what I raised you for!
From the bedroom came Graces waila thin, frightened sound, growing louder by the second.
I fled the battlefield for the nursery, clutching Grace to my chest, swaying and shushing softly until the cries faded.
There was the harsh slam of the front door. The whole house trembled.
Then, silence.
Grace nuzzled into my shoulder, her tiny breaths slowing. I stood there, frozen, terrified to return to the kitchen, to see what had become of it all.
The door creaked; Will entered, quiet and weary-faced. He crossed the room and wrapped his arms around Grace and me, holding us tight, like we might never part.
Mums difficult, he murmured into my hair. But I wont have her upset you again. She wont be visiting for a while.
Tears prickled, but I nodded. No words were needed.
We had weathered the storm. Our little family held strong.
Sometimes, love isnt in the blood, but in the choice to stand togetherdespite what anyone else thinks.
