She claimed to be an orphan to marry into a wealthy family and hired me as a nanny for my own grandson.
Is there any pain greater than your own daughter giving you a wage just so you can cradle your grandson?
I accepted a servants role in her grand house, wore a crisp uniform, and kept my eyes lowered whenever she passedjust to be near her child. She told her husband I was the lady from the agency. But yesterday, when the child mistakenly called me Granny, she dismissed me as if I were no more than an unwanted trinket, desperate to shield her secret.
The tale
Inside that vast home, with ceilings as high as a cathedral and marble stretching as far as the eye could see, my name was Mary. Just Mary. The nanny. The one who scrubbed bottles, changed soiled nappies, and slept in a tiny windowless space off the scullery.
But my true name is Mum. Or it was, before my daughter decided to blot me from her life as if I were already gone.
My daughter was called Eleanor. She was always strikingand she always despised our poverty. She detested our weather-beaten cottage with its leaky slate roof. She loathed that I sold homemade pies in the village just to afford her schooling.
At twenty, she left.
Im going to find a life that doesnt stink of yeast and drudgery, she told me.
She disappeared for three years. Remade herself completely. Took a new surname, dyed her chestnut hair a glossy shade of blond, took lessons in decorum and poise. She met Charlesa wealthy businessman, decent man, but oh, so very proper. To fit into his world, Eleanor spun a sorrowful tale: she was an orphan, only child of respected academics, lost in some dreadful accident abroad. Lonely, well-bred, a woman without a past.
When she found herself with child, panic set in. She knew nothing of babies and trusted no strangers. She needed someone who would love her child unconditionallyand yet guard her secret.
Thats when she came for me.
Mum, I need you, she wept on my doorstep, dressed in garments worth more than my entire cottage. But you must understandCharles knows nothing of your existence. If he finds out what family I come from, hell leave me. His people are frightfully particular.
What do you want me to do, love?
Come and live with us. Ill hire you as the live-in nanny. Ill pay you. Youll get to be close to your grandson. But you must promise menever, under any circumstance, let anyone know youre my mother. You must be Mary from the agency. Nothing more.
I agreed.
Because I am a mother. And because the thought of never seeing my grandson again burned deeper than my pride ever could.
I lived this lie for two years.
Charles is a good man.
Good morning, Mary, he says each day. Thank you for taking such splendid care of little George. Ive no idea what we would do without you.
Eleanor, though, is my judge and executioner.
When Charles is out, her coldness chills me to the bone.
Mary, please dont kiss the child, its not hygienic.
Mary, dont sing those old tunesI prefer him to hear proper classics.
Mary, go to your room when we have guests. I dont wish to have you seen about.
I keep silent and hold George close. He is my beacon. He sees no class, no shame. All he knows is my arms are his safest place.
Yesterday was his second birthday.
A garden party. Bunting and balloons. Refined laughter and glasses of champagne.
I stood dutifully in my grey uniform by the little ones side.
Eleanor beamed, parading her perfect life.
How I wish my parents could have lived to see their grandson, she confided to one elegant lady.
Then George took a tumble, scraped his knee, and howled.
Eleanor rushed to him, but he pushed her away.
He reached out for me, calling plainly,
Granny! I want Granny!
The garden fell silent.
Charless brow furrowed. Eleanor went white as a sheet.
What did the child say? someone asked.
Nothing, Eleanor answered quickly. Thats just what he calls the nannyhes ever so fond of her.
But George ran straight to me.
Granny, kiss it better.
I scooped him up. I couldnt help myself.
Im here, love.
Eleanor gave me a look of pure loathing. She tore George from my arms.
Inside! And pack your things! Youre finished here!
Charles stepped in.
Why are you dismissing her? The child adores her.
Shes become altogether far too familiar! Eleanor cried.
He looked me dead in the eye.
Mary why does George call you Granny?
I gazed at my daughter, her silent plea plain in her eyes.
Then I looked at George.
Mr Charles, I said softly, because children always speak the truth.
And I told him everything.
I showed him the family photographs. The truth could no longer be hidden.
The disappointment in his eyes was worse than anger.
I dont care about your poverty, he told Eleanor. I care that you denied your mother.
He turned to me.
This is your home, too.
No, I said. My place is where my name is not a mark of shame.
I kissed George.
And I left.
Now I am home. The air is full of the scent of baking bread and warmth.
The ache is still there. I miss my grandson dearly.
But I have got my name back.
And that, nobody can take from me.
What do you thinkcan such a lie ever be justified in the name of love, or does the truth always find a way?
