Ive had my fill
You might as well have sent him off to a kennel, like a puppy. Why not? Paid your poundsoff you go, enjoy your freedom, my mother-in-law, Eileen, said, her voice laced with her usual biting sarcasm.
My own irritation bubbled up as I yanked the zip on my suitcase. Stuck, of course. Just like Eileens broken-record complaints whenever we planned a holiday.
Mum, enough, my husband, Alan, tried to smooth things over. Harrys off for a break too, just in the countryside. Hes not with strangers, but with my in-laws. Hell have fresh air, a garden, a paddling pool, and proper farm milk every morning. Its just the thing for his age.
Thats not a holiday, thats banishment! Eileen threw her hands up. Hes only threehe needs his parents. And what do you do? Swan off to London to traipse around museums while your sons dumped in the sticks? Doesnt he need a bit of cultural growth as well?
I finally managed the zip, braced myself, and fixed Eileen with a cold stare.
Not at the moment, Eileen, I answered, my voice frosty. Right now, he needs routine, proper naps, and a potty close by. Not a nine-hour flight with connections, jetlag, and miles on foot. When was the last time you even took Harry to the local park?
I did my bit with Alan! Eileen huffed, nose in the air. Had him with me everywhere. And I survived, didnt I? But you lotyou just want whats easy. You should think of others for a change.
Exactly! I nearly shouted. Others! Like the people sat near us on the plane, forced to listen to your grandsons wails for hours. Or the tour group, whod rather hear the guide than Im tired, I need a wee, my feet hurt, when can we go home? Travelling with a three-year-old is not a holiday, Eileen. Its torturefor everyone, including Harry.
Eileen pursed her lips and looked away, stung.
Oh, I see. Had enough playing happy families? Just admit you want to be rid of him for a bit. If you really cared, youd make it work.
I closed my eyes and silently counted to a hundred. If Eileen only knew the hell wed survived last time, maybe shed hold her tongue. But she never got involved in looking after Harry anyway.
I remembered it all too well. It took a month for the twitch in my eyelid to disappear after that trip.
It was just last summer. Wed naively decided to visit friends at their cottage out in Kent. Just a hundred miles. Theyd a daughter, swings in the garden, a huge orchard. Sounded delightful.
Everything went wrong from the start.
The car wouldnt start. Friends were waiting, barbecue marinating… Instead, we scrambled to buy train tickets.
Then the weather turned against usscorching, close to 35 degrees. Air-con bust, windows wide open but useless, the carriage packed so full you could barely breathe.
Harry lasted ten minutes. Then he started whining. Then he moaned about the heat. Then tried to escape up and down the carriage.
Let me go! he howled, wriggling like an eel in Alans arms. Wanna go over there!
Harry, sweetheart, you cant. People are sitting there, Alan hissed, red with embarrassment and strain.
I dont want to sit! Aaaargh!
Harry shrieked with such gusto he drowned out even the trains rattle. At first, passengers glanced over with pity; then, irritation; after half an hour, outright glares. A woman in a white blouse scolded, and Harry, in righteous fury, whipped his juice aroundsoaking Alan, me, and the very same lady.
It was nothing short of a scandal. The woman roared even louder than Harry. I apologised, nearly in tears, offering cash as compensation. Harry wailed on, devastated by his lost juice. Alan just gritted his teeth.
Ninety minutes of hell.
When we finally tumbled off at the platform, we were too shattered to rest. Harry, riled up, refused to nap, fussed until bedtime, and nearly tipped the barbecue over. The return was no better.
That was only an hour and a half. And Eileen wanted us to drag a toddler through London for a week of tours? Not on your life. Thats not fair on anyone.
You just dont discipline him enough! Eileens favourite line, whenever I tried to argue.
Though, truth be told, Eileen was a textbook grandmotheremphasis on theory. Every fortnight, shed breeze in, drop off bananas or a chocolate bar (despite Harrys allergy, which wed explained a dozen times), coo over him for twenty minutes, and leave. Sometimes, shed snap a photo for Facebook.
What does it matter, Eileen, who looks after Harry? Its not even you, Id once asked in the middle of another squabble.
Im not obliged! Shed snorted. Hes got parentsthats their job. If you were desperate, in hospital or something, then Id help. But youyou treat him like a stray. No idea what to do with him.
All these arguments chipped away at me, slowly but surely. Eileen stood firm in her convictions, never listening to our side.
Still, life has a way of teaching lessons.
Suddenly, four years sped by. Harry was sevenold enough now, reading, school, clubs
Eileens world had changed too, though in a much sadder way. She was widowed; the flat that used to buzz with TV and her husbands chattering was now eerily quiet. Whether from loneliness or a need to prove herself (especially to my parents), Eileen one day made a grand declaration.
Bring my grandson here, she said magnanimously. Hes not a baby now. Well get along just fine.
Are you sure? I checked. Harrys lively, he needs someones attention. Or at least a computer…
Dont tell your grandmother how to suck eggs! Eileen scoffed. I raised Alan, didnt I? Well read, play board gameswell get on without these computers. Bring him!
So, with fingers crossed, we delivered Harry to hertwo whole weeks. Meanwhile, Alan and I booked a tiny break for ourselves. Only the weekendI had a gut feeling our time would be short-lived.
And I was right.
Eileen imagined some sort of idyll: Harry, neat and tidy, flipping through a wildlife encyclopedia while she knitted socks, gently commenting now and then. Soup for lunch, leisurely walks in the park, hand in hand.
That rosy fantasy shattered within thirty minutes of us leaving.
Gran, Im bored! Harry declared. Have you got an iPad?
No. What would I have one for?
Lets play zombies, then! You be the zombie, Im the survivor!
What zombies? Eileen blinked. Harry, love, why dont you do some colouring? I bought you a book.
I dont want to colour. Thats for babies! Harry started lapping the sofa in circles. Come on! Play with me! Gran! Watch me! Youre not looking!
He didnt stop a momentflying about as an airplane, banging saucepan lids, dragging Eileen into a dozen games she didnt understand. He couldnt care less for Chekhov, or ancient Lego. He wanted company, a playmate, an entertainerall rolled into one. Gran, why? Gran, lets Gran, look! every three minutes.
Eileen, used to a slower pace, felt as if shed unloaded a coal train by lunchtime.
That, though, was just the start.
The real trouble came at dinner. Eileen triumphantly served up homemade beef stewshe never cooked that for herself, but did for her grandson.
He peered into the bowl, nose wrinkling.
I dont want it.
And whys that?
Theres onion in it. I dont like cooked onion.
What? Eileen looked insulted. Its good for you! Eat upand dont be silly.
Im not eating it!
So what would you like?
Pasta. With cheese. And a sausagebut cut the sausage like an octopus, please.
Eileen raised her browsshed never done anything like that.
Im not a restaurant! she snapped back.
Harry shrugged and wandered off to build a fort from pillows, chairs, and lamps.
By evening, Eileens blood pressure was all over the place. She couldnt even recline on the sofaHarry bounced on top of her, shouting, Get up! The enemies are coming! She couldnt watch the news; he demanded cartoons, then whizzed around the room all the more.
Meanwhile, Alan and I sat on the cottage porch, watching the sun go down as the barbecue crackled.
Its so quiet, I sighed, shutting my eyes in bliss. Maybe we were too hard on your mum, after all?
Just then Alans phone blared.
Hello, Mum?
Come get him now! Eileen shrieked. Take him home! This instant!
Whats happened, Mum? Is everything alright?
No, its a nightmare! Your son is impossible! Hes destroyed half my flat! He wont eat real food! He jumps on me like a horse! My hearts had enough! If youre not here in an hour, Im calling an ambulance and the police. Take him! I cant! Im finished!
She hung up.
I set my glass down, wine forgotten, barbecue left half-raw.
Pack up, Alan said grimly. There goes our break
We drove back in silence, both fuming. After all, this was Eileens idea, and now she was throwing a fit.
As soon as we rang the bell, the door whooshed open. Eileen stood there pale, reeking of Rescue Remedy, looking like shed survived a war.
Harry skipped out, perky as ever.
Thank God youre here, Eileen exhaled, practically pushing him onto us. Take him. And never ask again! Hes no childhes a little monster! Doesnt like onions, wants to jump and attack his poor nan!
Hes just a child, Mum, Alan replied flatly, taking Harrys hand. A lively, healthy, normal child. We did warn you. You said you could cope.
I thought he was normal! But hehe needs a doctor! Take him away, I need to lie down, or Ill collapse!
Back in the car, Harry snuggled up and murmured,
Mum, when are we visiting Grandpa David and Nana Jean?
Soon, love. Well go soon.
Good he mumbled, eyelids drooping. Gran Eileens weird. She just shouts and cant play. And her food is gross.
After that evening, Eileen never brought up the subject of holidays or why she never looked after Harry. Whenever we set off for a break, all she offered was a safe journey.
Harry spent every school holiday at my parents. He dug for worms with Grandpa, played soldiers, and ate Grandma Jeans soupno onions, because she remembered what he liked.
My relationship with Eileen didnt particularly improve, but that suited me just fine. No more lectures, no more guilt trips. Eileen was left with her encyclopedias and her rightnessuntouched and unneeded.
