An old childhood friend had come back to town. Shed never had children. Shed made that choice long ago, deciding she would live just for herself.
This afternoon I met up with her for the first time in decades. We were both sixty now, faces etched with time and memories. After wed finished our university days, she had hurriedly packed her things and vanished from our little market town. At first, we exchanged letters, told each other about our new lives, but the letters slowed and then stopped altogether.
It was only occasional news from mutual friends that kept me informed about her. I heard that she was always on the move, never rooted anywhere for long, changing men as easily as she changed cities. By the time she was fifty shed already had three husbands, but in the end, each marriage fizzled out. Children? She had never had any. I never really understood it. Most women I know at least have a family; even if things fall apart with a man, there are children, and eventually, grandchildren to dote on.
Now she had returned to our quiet English town, sorting out the last of her possessions to sell off. For a time, shed been letting her old flat to tenants, but now she was ready to let go of it for good.
We sat together in my cosy kitchen, the air thick with nostalgia. I told her about my life: the heartbreaks and the milestones, the pride in my children, the baby photos and tales of grandchildren. She spoke of faraway places and fleeting romances, of freedom and solitude.
At last, curiosity overcame me. Clara, why did your life take this path? Why no children? Even just for yourself, for company when youre old. So someone might offer you a cup of tea one day, when your hands cant stop shaking?
She laughed, but not unkindly, her eyes glinting with something I didnt recognise. A cup of tea? Do you really believe your children will be there to fetch you tea? Children in this day and age dont look after their old parents. Its wiser to save your pennies and pay for a decent carer than to rely on gratitude or guilt.
I chose not to have children because I simply didnt want to, Margaret. I didnt fancy the idea of fussing over someone my whole life, spending my days worrying, handing over my wages, or losing sleep over another persons troubles. I wanted a life just for me. I wanted to travel, to see the world, to earn my own money and spend it as I pleased. My marriages ended because I wouldnt change my mind about children.
But even now, Im still living just for myself. I dont have to babysit my grandchildren or pinch pennies from my pension to help grown children who cant stand on their own feet. I regret nothing. On the contrary, I pity those who filled their houses with children and now sit alone, blaming their sons and daughters for leaving them or moving abroad. Ive got none of that hassle, not a bit.
As I listened to Clara, the truth of her words rang in my ears. She was right, in her own way. Why bring children into the world if you don’t want to? Why bear all the worry and hope just to be let down one day, imagining help in old age that might never come?
