My husbands family once called me a penniless girl, yet years later, they appeared on my doorstep, politely asking for a loan to build a summer cottage.
Well, my boy, Mrs. Dorothy Green intoned, having positioned herself conspicuously in the centre of the sitting room, what have you brought into our home? Nothing but a rolling stone, God forgive me. No property, no prospects, just a suitcase with some faded pillowcases. I told you to marry your equal, not to pick up what no one else wanted. How will we hold our heads up in society?
These words were not whispered but projected for all to hear, as she fingered every modest item Id brought from my old hostel room. I, Margaret, gripped the handle of my battered bag so tightly my knuckles showed white, wishing to sink into the floor rather than meet her scrutinising, scorn-laden gaze. My sister-in-law, Victoria, was already twirling about the hall in my only decent shawl, mocking my humble possessions in front of the looking glass.
My husband, Charles, then still a young man uncomfortable with confronting his mother, flushed crimson to his hairline.
Mum, please stop, he said through clenched teeth, trying to reclaim a stack of towels from her. Margaret is my wife. Well be living elsewhere, you know that. Were only leaving our things here temporarily while we look for a place.
Elsewhere? Mrs. Green exclaimed, clutching her hands. With what funds, may I ask? Your engineers wage? Or did your penniless bride sneak in millions under her arm? Oh, Charles, youll have real hardship with her. A provincial she is, and always will be. No taste, no polish, no means.
That wordpennilessclung to me like a stain. It rang out at every family gathering to which Charles and I were grudgingly invited, as if just to give them someone to tease. At every turn: my salad was chopped too coarsely (village style), my dresses were out of fashion (country chic), or my gifts immodestly frugal.
But I endured. Id been brought up to respect my elders, believing better a quiet peace than a roaring quarrel. And I loved Charles dearly. He was my anchor, though he was forever torn between pleasing his overbearing mother and protecting me.
Our first years of marriage were harsh. We lived in rented bedsits, counting every shilling. I, trained as a seamstress, worked double shifts at the factory and took on home jobs in the eveningshemming trousers, replacing zips, making curtains for neighbours. Charles picked up work wherever he could: minicab driving, fixing computers.
His family offered nothing but unsolicited advice and constant criticism, despite being comfortably off. Mr. GreenGod rest his soulleft behind a sizeable flat in Bloomsbury and a cottage in Surrey, and Victoria had snared herself a middling businessman as husband. Not a pennys help ever came our way, only sharp-tongued remarks in abundance.
Once, when our fridge broke down and I had to keep our groceries in a basket out the window, Charles rang his mother for a small loan till payday.
Theres no money, Mrs. Green snapped before he could explain. And if there were, Id think twice. You two cant save a penny. Your wife probably spent it all on new rags, didnt she? Let her learn to run a home. In my day, we made something from nothing.
That night I swore to myself: we would never, under any circumstances, ask them for so much as a single pound again.
Years wore on, softening some memories but not erasing the hurt. I toiled relentlessly; my skill and determination began to pay dividends. At first, I rented a tiny stall in a shopping arcade for dress repairs. Word of mouth travelledmy seams were straight, my fittings perfect. Clients arrived in droves.
Within three years, Id opened my own modest dressmakers. Charles, seeing my progress, resigned from his dreary job to manage the accounts, supply orders, logistics. We became partnerstruly so, bound by shared ambitions.
Five years later, the penniless Margaret Susan owned a chain of bespoke soft furnishings shops. We had our own spacious flat in a new-build, a reliable saloon car, and a countryside house built to our own design just outside Oxford.
Contact with Charless family by then had reduced to rare, polite calls for birthdays or the odd Christmas card. Mrs. Green had grown older and, if possible, even sharper of tongue. Victoria, divorced from her husband (hed tired of her tantrums), returned to her mothers, shedding her polish but not her pride. The two of them scraped by on dwindling savings, grumbling about lifes unfairness.
Our successes were dutifully ignoredwhen Charles brought round the new car, Victoria sneered, On credit, is it? Everyones up to their necks in debt these days.
I simply smiled. I had nothing left to prove to anyone. I knew the worth of every pound and every sleepless night.
Then, one fine autumn day, my phone rang. It was Mrs. Greenshe rarely called me directly.
Hello, Margaret love! Her sugary tone nearly set my teeth on edge. How are you both?
Hello, Mrs. Green. Were well, thank you. Charles is at work. Hell call you this evening.
No, dearest, I rang especially for you, she cooed. The word dearest felt foreign from her lips. I was once only ever her. Victoria and I thought its been ages since a proper family get-together. Wed love to come see youto admire your new home.
I was instantly cautious. Such warmth was not her way. But good manners would not let me refuse.
Of course, do come for lunch this Saturday.
Lovely! See you then, darling!
On Saturday, I laid the tablenot to show off, but because I liked doing things well. Roast ham, English salads, spiced cranberry pieI found comfort in cooking.
They arrived promptly at two. Mrs. Green leaning on a stick, Victoria squeezed into a garish dress two sizes too small. Their eyes swept our home: the wallpaper, the parquet, the Italian sideboard, and paintings. Their gazes were sharp, not appreciativemore appraiser than guest.
Well, well, Victoria exclaimed, unable to contain herself, Youve really made yourselves comfortable here.
Please, wash your hands, Charles said, helping his mother out of her coat.
Small talk was stilted over lunch. They ate heartily but the asides came as usual, half-concealed behind compliments.
Delicious, Margaret, absolutely tender meatmust be dear, surely? We dont see such cuts, what with pensions as they are. Not with your comfortable life, Mrs. Green observed theatrically.
Mum, lets not, Charles sighed.
What? Im only happy for you! she affected to beam. Happy that my son lives in warmth and comfortthat his wife has a good head for business.
After tea and pie, when the air softened (or only thickened with contentment), Mrs. Green exchanged glances with her daughter and began their true business.
Well, children, thank you for your hospitality. Its truly wonderful, rich even. I wish wed come just for company, but, truthfully, we have a family matter Victoria and I want to restore the old cottagethe roofs leaking, floorboards rotted. With ones nerves and age, the citys unbearable. We simply need somewhere in the country.
And what have you decided? Charles prompted, evidently already aware where this was going.
Weve decided to build a new cottage! Victoria declared gaily. A proper place: insulated, all mod cons! We even found the firm, have the blueprints. Two floors, a veranda, panoramic windows
A splendid idea, I replied.
Yes, only Mrs. Greens voice faltered, such things dont come cheap any longer. The company quoted us three hundred thousand pounds. Where are two lonely women to find that?
Silence fell, the only sound the old clock ticking.
And so you? Charles said.
Wed like to ask for help, Mrs. Green cut in, eyes now pinned on me. You people are well off. Three hundred thousand cant mean much to you. For us it would be everything. You could visitroast on the lawn, let the children play. It would be a family nest.
I sipped my now-cold tea. The phrase family nest almost made me laugh. The very home where, years back, I wasnt welcome lest I tread in mud.
Youd like a loan? I asked evenly. On what terms?
They glanced at each other, flustered.
Oh, Margaret dear, why speak of loans, between family? Mrs. Green sighed theatrically. How could I ever repay you on a pension? Victorias between jobs at the moment, finding herself. We hoped for a family understanding. You wont miss it. Youre opening your third shop, imagine! You cant take the money with you to the grave, and its for a good causehelping mother.
You mean you want us to simply give you three hundred thousand, to build your cottage? Charless voice turned cold.
Not giveinvest! Victoria huffed, offended. It would come to you in the end, as inheritanceafter Mum.
May you outlive us all, Mrs. Green, I said quietly. But lets be clear. Youre asking for three hundred thousand pounds, as a gift, for a house with panoramic windows for your comfort.
And yours! she protested.
I rose and stared out of the window. Below, the leaves were turning yellow, like those faded pillowcases from fifteen years ago. I turned to face them.
I remember our wedding day, I said softly. How you, Mrs. Green, rummaged through my belongings, called me penniless and a rolling stoneclaimed I would ruin your sons life.
Oh, dont be so dramatic! Mrs. Green waved her hand dismissively, though her eyes avoided me. I meant well, I worried for Charles. You were young, naive. Now youre quite the lady, arent you?
I became who I am not because of you, but despite all you did, I replied, voice calm. Charles and I made it ourselvestwenty-hour days, five years without a holiday, saving every penny for equipment. Where was family then? When we begged for a mere fifty pounds, you had none to spare.
We truly didnt! Victoria protested.
You did. That was when you bought yourself a new fur coat, remember? Now you sit in my home, at my table, and ask the penniless girl to pay for your comforts.
Were not demanding, were only asking, Mrs. Green shrieked, her composure faltering. You call yourself a Christian! Would you leave your mother-in-law homeless?
Youve a lovely three-bedroom flat, Charles interjected. That is a roof overhead. A cottage is a luxury.
Youre under her thumb! Mrs. Green suddenly shouted, leaping up. Shes turned you against your own familya viper, she is! There she sits, dripping in gold, and leaves me in rags? May you reap what you sow!
Mum, enough. Charles was calm, unmoved. Therell be no money. Not as a loan or a gift. If you want a new cottage, sell your flat, downsize, take a mortgagelive within your means.
Youll regret this! Victoria cried, knocking her teacup overthe dark stain seeped across my white cloth. We will manage. Kind people exist. Youll come crawling back when you lose it all. God sees, and He punishes the greedy!
Please leave, I said quietly.
What? Mrs. Green seemed stunned.
Leave my home. Dont return.
Mrs. Green gasped for air, robbed of the expectation I would stay meek. She thought Id try to buy a place in the family at last. Shed miscalculated.
Lets go, Mum, Victoria took her mothers arm. Theres nothing for us here. The air reeks of rottenness and their precious money!
They stomped out, coats swishing, hurling curses back as they went. Charles handed them their things silently. He didnt apologise, didnt try to stop them. He simply stood, watching as the people who were once closest to him became utter strangers.
When the door closed, silence reigned. I cleared the ruined cloth, tossed it into the wash, then sat on the sofa, covering my face. No shakes, no tears, just a great tiredness and a surprising sense of relieflike a boil at last lanced.
Charles sat beside me and put his arm around my shoulders.
Forgive me, he said miserably.
For what? I looked up at him.
For letting it come to this. For their behaviour. Im ashamed.
Theres nothing for you to apologise for. You didnt choose your parents. And today, you stood up for us. Thats all that matters.
You know, he smiled wryly, I genuinely thought theyd simply missed us. Silly, isnt it?
No. Just that youre a good man, Charles. You always see the best in people.
Three hundred thousand pounds my husband shook his head. Do you think theyd love us, had we given it?
No, I answered firmly. Theyd keep leeching, and despise us all the more for giving in so easily. To them, well always be the wrong sortfirst too poor, now too wealthy and stingy.
Youre right. As always.
Charles fetched a good bottle of red from the cabinet.
Lets have a drink, Margaret. For us. For holding strong. For owing nothing to anyone.
We sat in our lovely lounge, sipping wine, watching the dusk gather at the window. Our phones stayed off. We both knew Mrs. Green would soon be ringing distant relations, painting a harrowing tale of her wicked daughter-in-law and treacherous son who left her to starve.
But we no longer cared.
A month later came rumoursVictoria had persuaded her mother to take out a heavy mortgage against their flat, hired rogue builders who took the advance and vanished, leaving only a muddy pit where the new cottage should have been. Now they shuffled between solicitors and police stations, mired in debt and quarrels.
They rang Charles a couple of times: he never answered. Eventually, he changed his number.
I stood in my atelier, smoothing my hand over a length of cool silk. Life, I reflected, is more just than one ever thinks. In time, everyone receives what they have earned. The so-called penniless girl had built her little empireand her homefull of love and respect. Those who once paraded their birth and connections were left with nothing but their bitterness.
And what I truly understood: a girls dowry is neither pillowcases nor inherited riches. Her dowry is her character, her grit, and her capacity for love. And of this, I had wealth in plenty.
