22 March
Today I sat down to put my thoughts to paper, as the house feels heavier than usual. Emily, my wife, has always been the sort of woman who kept her head low, never daring to show off. She never boasted about any achievements, though in truth she has none to speak of. Her looks are unremarkable, the sort youd pass on the street without a second glance.
James, her husband, often remarks that there is nothing extraordinary about her. He never notices her beauty; he stopped looking years ago. Once, Emily was among the prettiest girls at university slim, attractive, with delicate features, though her shoulders were a bit broad, a reminder of her mothers countryside strength.
Emilys parents are both educated. Her father, Edward, is an engineer, and her mother, Olivia, a literature graduate. They refined her, straightened her posture, gave her proper manners. Her nose is not as hooked as Agness that stoic grandmother who still lives in the village and her shoulders are not splayed wide. Her legs are not made for sturdy work boots or the rubber boots of a farmer; they are the neat, city legs that a proper London lady might have.
Thus Emily grew up as a wellmannered, timid, and quiet woman which, in its own way, is a blessing. Agnes, the old matriarch, never misses an opportunity to launch a tirade, shaking her teacup so hard that the china rattles. Olivia tried the same in her younger days after marrying Edward, but eventually she learned to bite her tongue. We live in a comfortable flat in a respectable suburb, surrounded by neighbours who are academics and scientists; any sign of disorder would see us promptly shooed away.
Olivia has quieted down, and Emily has become even more withdrawn.
Dont you grow up to be a lazy lass! the old lady croaked one afternoon, shuffling out of her heavy boots that had long lost their shine. Youve become a wilted flower, empty as a barren field! Where have all the good folk of our lane gone, eh? Youve got no sense of direction! she jabbed, looking straight at James.
Edward simply shrugged and retreated to his study, away from the smell of garlic and the lingering scent of the White Sea that Agnes loved to talk about. He would sit there while Olivia brewed tea in the kitchen and listened to stories of her own childhood.
Agnes never hurried. First she would comment on village gossip, tapping the tablecloth with her knuckles, then drift into talk of crops and harvests, both hers and the neighbours. Finally, with a click of her teeth, she would bellow for the granddaughter hiding behind the kitchen door.
Emily emerged shyly, glancing uncertainly at her mother, who turned away. Edward never greeted the motherinlaw, though he would crunch the pickled cucumbers she preserved in vodka. Cucumbers are cucumbers, but Emilys contact with Agnes was kept to a minimum. It was decided that Olivia should send Emily to her own room. Yet, Olivia had helped Olivia raise a newborn, and had cared for Emily when she fell sick with pneumonia, became weak, and ate nothing. Aunt Ann, a family friend, once drove Emily home in a small car, wrapped in a coat, during a harsh winter.
Later Edward complained that he should not have let them in, but Olivia calmed him. With decent food and fresh air, Emily recovered quickly and clung to her mothers chest, sighing with relief. Edward merely waved a hand, opened his mouth, and closed it again, eyeing Agnes with a sideways glance.
Agnes possessed a strange, fierce strength, as if she could slam a spotlight onto any thought Olivia dared not entertain. Even her soninlaw feared her.
Why dont you welcome me, dear? I gave you a good dowry at the wedding! Its not my fault I cant speak eloquently; its just my plight, Agnes complained loudly while offering Emily a large piece of chocolate.
Emily nodded in thanks but did not eat the chocolate, placing it on the table instead.
Come on, dear, have a bite! Take a bite just one, the guest urged, but Olivia stopped her.
James wont allow sweets before dinner. Its not customary here she whispered, and the word here made Agness cheeks flush and Olivia feel uncomfortable. Still, there was a man in the house, and a roof over our heads, so Olivia kept her head down, never claiming authority. When guests came to see James, she would set the table, smile, and nod, never speaking up. She learned from her mother not to stand out.
After a few months, Aunt Ann found it unbearable to stay at Jamess house; everything irritated her. After a handful of arguments, she stopped visiting. Occasionally, when James was away, she would call, listen to the long silence, and then sigh, hearing Emilys voice.
How are you, my dear? You havent visited she would whisper, wiping a handkerchief over her tears. Emily replied, Alls well, dear. Im at university, todays a holiday, Mum is at the clinic, Dad at work. It was a simple life, following the familiar rules and traditions of a modest family.
Jamess father, Edward, is the head of the household, educated and stern. Emilys mother, Olivia, is simple, still chewing sunflower seeds and spitting the shells into a cupped hand. Edward is annoyed by this and tells her to behave, eventually sending her out onto the balcony.
Sit there if you cant understand how repulsive it is! he snapped, waving his hand at the balcony door.
Olivia, in a thin housecoat, continues to spit and sigh, grateful to Edward for pulling her out of the countryside, for giving her a home, and for forgiving her many faults.
Olivia met Edward at a dance in the local park when they were youths; love sparked, and the result was Emily. Their families were surprised at their union, but eventually saw it as a noble merging of city intellect and village sturdiness. Olivia settled nicely into city life.
Emily followed in her mothers footsteps, graduating from university and choosing teaching, though she never actually held a job, just like her mother. She married James, who, though less lofty than Edward, still came from an intellectual background. By the time Emily was a teenager, the fashionable rockandroll crowd had taken over, not the oldfashioned scholars.
James, in contrast, was a traditionalist. He wore plain suits, read classic literature, and enjoyed heavy philosophical tomes. Edward knew him from a school project and approved the marriage.
After the wedding, Emily moved into Jamess threebedroom flat, which his parents still owned. James had an older sister who had moved to America years ago. His parents, now retired, handed the household reins to Emily and asked James to take them to the countryside for the weekend.
Carry on as you will, love. We wont be staying; the kitchen cant handle two matriarchs, his mother said before leaving.
The flat was draped in dark wooden paneling, piles of linen, old curtains, mismatched china, dim bulbs, and curtains drawn tight to hide the view of the neighbouring house where James kept his savings. It all felt gloomy to Emily. She thought of repainting, buying new furniture, perhaps refinishing the parquet, but it would cost too much and James was content as he was.
Jamess frugality was extreme. He would fry an egg in his old trousers for breakfast, never spending a penny on extras. Emily, halfasleep, would stare at the clock, wondering whether James would be home all day. They rarely left the flat; James never went to the theatre or the cinema, claiming they needed to save.
At first Emily thought Jamess pennypinching was simply his way of being a good provider. She grew up believing a man should decide everything while a wife should acquiesce. That was the way her mother lived.
James was an intellectual from a modest background; his parents had no university degrees, yet they were proud of his prospects. He was a junior researcher, approaching forty, with a dissertation almost finished but never written. He ruled the household with an iron fist.
One afternoon, Agnes, irritated, shouted at Emily, Whats the use of a man like him? There are plenty of decent lads out there! James replied, Emily made a fine choice. We have a flat in central London and a respectable job. A woman should be wellestablished, even if it sounds lowly. Being thrifty is a family trait.
Agnes retorted that she never wasted money, yet she always ensured Olivia had decent clothes and a good coat, borrowing from neighbours if needed. When Emily was about to enter a tailoring school, Agnes took her to a boutique where a beautiful dress was made. She thought herself generous, even if she was pinching pennies.
When Emily finally took a teaching job at a primary school, she was exhausted each evening, dragging her feet to the kitchen while James lounged on the sofa, reading philosophy and waiting for dinner. She would rush through the meal, hoping the night would end quickly.
James would sip a small measure of whisky, mutter about the state of education, and lecture, If you ever get a promotion, maybe youll be more than just a teacher. He dismissed her aspirations, saying, When you move to the Royal College of Education, perhaps youll be worth more. For now, wear the cheap coat.
One night, after a particularly harsh argument, Emily burst out, Im pregnant. I cant bear this! James froze, bewildered, as if the notion of children had never crossed his mind.
What? No, we werent planning that he stammered, trying to calculate the financial impact. We must stop. Its too late now, he said, glancing at his watch. Make me a coffee, but just a little, enough for a month. Then well discuss this in the morning.
Emily stared at him, his breath smelling of stale fish and cheap perfume, and vomited on his knee. James jumped up, swore, and sent her to the bathroom, the sound of soap splashing echoing through the flat. When he emerged, Emily was gone. All her belongings were still there, except her, as if she had vanished.
He sat, feeling the eyes of nosy neighbours watching from their windows, tempted to curse in the coarse language his drunken father once used, but remembered that he was just weeks away from earning a doctorate. He swallowed his anger.
We eventually divorced quietly. Emily packed her things, and James even helped her load them into a cab, telling nosy neighbours it was a temporary arrangement for the sake of the child. He then returned to the empty flat, poured himself a dram of whisky, turned on the television for the weather forecast, and listened to the same old lies.
Emily gave birth to a thin boy, whom we called Kirill, a name that reminded Agnes of fiddlerstall and lean. Olivia spent her days with the grandchild while Edward, now softened, played with toy soldiers and wooden cars.
Dad, hes only six months! Emily laughed, holding Kirill.
Itll sell, youll see! Thank you later! Edward replied, arranging toys on the table, trying to coax the infant to smile.
Life with Kirill turned out to be something altogether different. Agnes would visit, her frail voice still strong, and shed sit on the doorstep, watching us all together. Shed say, We have each other, we have you, we have Olivia and James. Thats enough. Just keep trying, and everything will be alright.
One afternoon, James called to collect his things, a few weeks after our separation. He stood at the gate, looking dishevelled, and shouted, Emily, get your things, its time to go! Agnes, leaning on the gate, replied, Are you dusted off from your travels? James snapped, Bring her back, shes sleeping; shell stay here for a while. You think Im going to ship her off?
Give me the ring back! I bought it! James demanded. Agnes tossed the ring onto the grass; it rolled into a patch of grass. James knelt, searched, and finally held it up, his eyes narrowing.
Fine, he muttered, good riddance. He closed the gate, pulled the curtains, and stood there, feeling the curious glances of the neighbours, tempted to let loose a vulgar tirade, but held his tongue, remembering his pending dissertation.
Now, looking back over these tangled years, I see the pattern: ambition without compassion, frugality without warmth, a household ruled by fear rather than love. Emily endured, the child thrived, and even the old Agnes, with all her sharpness, found a small peace in watching her greatgrandsons smile.
The lesson I take from this, written with a humbled heart, is that a life built on rigid calculations and control collapses under the weight of simple human need. True security lies not in hoarding pennies or maintaining appearances, but in nurturing the people we hold dear, even when it means loosening our grip on the ledger.
