Ruined Children
Youve spoiled him! Indulge him in everything, and just looknow hes running circles round us! Helen, you simply cant do this! Youve utterly spoiled the boy! Mind you, I probably did the same with you, didnt I? No ones to blame but myself! Oh, just look at us, a family of spoiled children! And dont give me that nonsense about being grown-up now! Youre still a child! Never learned to think properly or make a decent decision! Margaret slammed the fridge door in a huff, and jumped as a family photo magnet tumbled onto the kitchen tiles.
It was a photographthe one taken last summer at a seaside resort. Odd how they hadnt invited her along this time. For years, shed holidayed with the children: minding her grandchildren, relaxing on the pebble beach, making what she liked to call valuable acquaintances. But not this time.
The reasons they gave for leaving her out seemed peculiar to Margaret.
Mum, things are tight for us this year. Were just taking the children ourselves. Well buy you a ticket later on, so you can have a holiday too. Take some time to choose, see where you feel like going, alright?
But Helen! What about the children? Whos going to look after them?
Mum, Olivers grown up now. He can mind who he likes. And Alice stays with me. We cant afford the fancy hotel this year, not like before. So weve got to compromise. Alice needs sea airyou know she never so much as sneezes the next half a year after a beach trip. If we cant afford the one with all the entertainment, well just go what did they used to call it? Going rough? Yes, thats it. Well just rent a flat or cottage and handle the children ourselves.
And what about me? No room for me at all, I suppose.
Margaret was far from pleased with this prospect. Holidaying alone in some dismal care home, with nothing to do but endure a disco for the over-60s? And the people! Not a patch on a decent hotel, awash with polite British families and foreignerspeople with standards. She, with her languages and degree, deserved nothing less.
But not this time
Mum, you get it, dont you? Its not just the accommodationits the flights, the food, the everything.
As if I eat you out of house and home! bellowed Margaret, really riled now.
Oh God, Mum! Why do I need to point out the obvious every time? Were hard up, the four of us cant afford to go together, wont you see? Id gladly take you but its just not possible. The work on your flat, my health last year and Olivers tutoringall of it costs! Now we must be careful. What exactly do you want me to do? Call off the trip, or let the children have their holiday? Im exhausted, Mum. Youve seen what this years been like!
Oh, Ive seen! Ive seen what a terrible mother you are! Youve got no time for your childrenit all falls to me and Simons mother. Fetch Alice from nursery, collect Oliver from school, feed, water and ferry them about.
Mum! Dont exaggerate. Oliver goes to football on his own. You only take Alice to ballet and thats not even every day. We could manage without reallythere are classes at nursery for dancing, but you insisted it was vital for her development.
So now Im to blame for everything! Margarets voice soared to new octaves as she clutched her chest. Youre all so ungrateful. I try, I struggle, and nothings ever enough!
Mum, please Helen leant her head against the windowpane as the world dimmed. Im so grateful, truly But please, dont hold it over me, alright?
Margaret wouldnt listen. She stormed out, leaving her new swimsuit shopping bag in the centre of the lounge, well and truly offended.
She was good at being offended, was Margaret, and never let you misconstrue her feelings. No shouting, no dramajust silent withdrawal: not answering her mobile, ignoring olive branches. Then, at last, condescending to answer her daughter’s call, shed sigh heavily and say in a feeble voice:
Helen, what does it mean if your heart just stops and barely ticks at all?
And Helen would drop everything, dash out to Margarets cottage, where the older woman always absconded after a row to soothe her soul. After these visits, Helen would stagger back, dump her car keys on the side table and collapse, fully clothed, onto her bed to weep quietly, failing to grasp why her mother behaved this way.
Oliver would slip in, tuck a blanket around his mums shoulders, and touch her arm.
Mum, dont go there anymore. Gran will stew for a bit and then turn up herself.
Oh, Oliver If only I could be certain of that.
Helen knew what she was saying. Ever since her childhood, shed remembered her mother like thissensitive, bookish, a fine musician and speaker of several languages, but so… wounded. She could scold in English or French with the same biting nuance, and nothing frightened little Helen more than a quiet, frosty, Helen dear, I want you to think very carefully about your behaviour. Off to your roomnow!
Never, under any pleasant circumstance, did Helen dear pass Margarets lips.
Good moods were rare. Margaret was the sort who always saw her glass half-empty. In her outlook, one word loomed: inadequate. And this label, in a thousand nuances known only to Margaret herself, she applied to colleagues, friends, husbands, family, neighboursyou name it.
For a time, Helen was exempt. Young Helen was intellect and beauty incarnate! Why, at three she pointed eagerly at books, already spelling words out. At four shed tilt her golden curls over the piano, a gift from Mum, and announce, I can hear music!
Margarets heart swelled with pride. Her girl followed every instruction, assumed no one knew better than Mum.
The collision came when Helen was in Year 6. The star pupil, schools pride, suddenly got a poor markshock! Margaret couldnt fathom it, clutching her chest, not letting Helen open her mouth.
Helen dear, youve upset me beyond words! How could you? Unthinkable! Off to your room!
She left without a word, unable to admit what had happened. It was her grandmother who found Helen sobbing over her skirt in the bathroom, trying to wash out stains.
Helen, love! Whats wrong?
Helen explained about her stomach cramps in class and how terrified shed been afterwards, not understanding what was happening to her. No one had discussed the change with her, though her mother thought it quite unnecessary, and Helen had no clue such things even merited questions. She had almost no friends, and those the mother deemed suitable would never discuss such matters. Upbringing
Margarets row with Helens grandmother yielded nothing but a headache and a grumbled, Helen! Only a mother should handle these conversations!
But I didnt know
Next time, use that head of yours! Thats what its for!
Helen never understood what her mother blamed her for.
This was the first crack in Helens view of her mother. The faintest breath of doubt, that grew much later, but was enough for little Helen to grasp: her mother was not all-benevolent, and that perhaps a mother did not always put her child above herself.
Disappointments followed, and Margaret barely bothered to hide her irritation. Helen often saw her mother glide past in the corridor, binding her forehead with a silk scarf for her migraine, a sure sign of an impending drama.
Margaret never shouted. Shed sink into her armchair, pressing her temples, her voice cold as marble: Helen! Youre destroying me
How and why, left unspoken. It was for Helen to decipher how shed grieved her mother this time. The reasons could be anything.
For instance, wanting to be a doctor, when Margaret declared it a fools errand.
You havent a clue! I lived with your father for years but saw him so little, I could count the hours on my fingers. Surgery is no profession for a woman! Let it rest!
But Grandma said saving lives is noble! And Daddy dreamed of surgery too.
Whatever Grandma said, Helen! The result, thats what matters! Whats left? Im a widow, you grew up fatherless. Your father worked himself to deathhis heart gave out! Think, Helen, not just about your own wants, but those around you!
These rows went on until Helen finished school and went, all the same, to medical college. Margaret then spoke to her for months only in yes or no each breakfast.
Helens choice of husband came next. Margaret disapproved.
You amaze me, Helen. Couldnt you find someone with a bit more substance? I dont mean moneyyou and your husband are chalk and cheese! Hes never heard of Hardy, doesnt even know Verdi!
Simons a good man, Mum and most important, he loves me.
Love alone wont get you far, Helen. Youll find out, and too late!
At the wedding, Margaret dabbed at her expertly made-up eyes, whispering to the guests, Theyll find it difficult, theyre young, inexperienced. But thats what mothers are forIll be there!
Luckily, at that same wedding, Margaret met her own second husbanda distant cousin of Simons, retired Colonel Bertie Gregory. He won Margaret with his bearing, charm and fluent French.
Oh, heavens! What a delightful accent! Margaret was all a-flutter, her white handkerchief quite forgotten.
My mother was a diplomats daughter. Lived years in Marseille.
Marvellous!
Bertie quoted troubadour poetry, valued tidiness and owned a grand garden just outside town. Margaret threw herself into new pastimes there, easing off her criticism of Helen for a while.
In her second marriage, Margaret was genuinely happy. Bertie adored hershe blossomed, softened. She welcomed the birth of a grandson and then a granddaughter with joy.
Helen! What beautiful children! Olivers a clever ladjust like grandfather! And Alicewhat a darling! My nose and eyesshell be a beauty!
Helen was glad for her mothers happiness.
Despite Margarets dire forecasts, Helens marriage to Simon was solid. He worked long hours; Margaret had to admit Helen couldve done worse. She was dead against their mortgage, but Simon stood firm.
Its best for us. Your flats your homewe need our own.
But Helen will strugglechildren are hard work. Can you manage?
My firms doing well, I can manage. Helen wants her job back too, and I wont stand in her way. My mums offered to help.
Ours arent the only grandchildren! Ill look after them!
Finally, Helens dream of the operating theatre returned. The children grew, they moved house, all seemed well.
Then calamityBertie fell ill and, despite Helens best efforts and the top doctors, was lost to Margaret.
Oh, Bertie! Of all the times to take away happinesswhy now, when Id finally started to feel like a woman again?
Whom she now blamed for her widowhood remained a mystery.
Now, every week shed buy two bunches of white carnationsfor those who had brightened her daysand became quite insufferable to the living.
Helen tried to fill the lonelinessholidays, weekends, every celebrationMargaret always at her side.
And why not? Its only right! Margaret declared to friends.
Margaret, perhaps Helen would like to be with just her husband and children?
Nonsense! I never control my daughterI just help! How would Helen manage with both children otherwise?
Problems arose when Oliver hit his teens. Grandmas vigilant eye did not thrill him. He loved her, but her constant criticism wore thin.
Oliver! Again? For goodness sake, not that dreadful music! How can you listen to such racket?
Margaret barged in while the house throbbed with guitar or drums, silk scarf at the ready. But Oliver was not so easily cowed as Helen; he refused to drag his parents into their squabbles.
Alice! In here! Lets sing and dance!
To Margarets horror, the grandchildren would prance around singing some rock song.
Oliver, fine. But Aliceno! Im ringing your mother!
Ring Dad, Gran! Mum switches her phone off in surgeryyou know that.
Simon took each outburst in stride, and in the evenings, after dropping Margaret home, hed return and belt out the very same songs with his son.
Olivers musical bent needed an outlet and Helen decided to buy him a guitar.
Helen, dont you dare! Are you planning to cast me aside?
Mum, what are you talking about?
I cant take it! Hes meant to study, not waste time on all this!
But his grades are brilliant, you know that! And isnt it good for children to develop new talents? Isnt that what you always said?
Thats not what I meant, and you know it! Oh, Helen
Back and forth they argued, day after day. Simon sided with Helen. Margaret resorted to her favourite weapon: ignoring the lot, not answering calls, not opening her dooreven after reclaiming her keys on some flimsy pretext.
This time there was no capitulation. Helen snapped.
If she doesnt want to talk, fine! Enoughs enough! She jerkily turned at the sink, her hand slipped and her favourite muga birthday present from Olivershattered on the floor.
For some reason, those bright shards glinting at her feet were the last straw after years of battle. It wasnt that she didnt love her mother, but something had to change.
Oliver! her voice rang up the stairs, startling even herself.
Here I am!
Did you pick a guitar?
Can I? Really? His eyes shone so Helen squeezed her eyes shut a second.
You should! Which one do you want?
A bass! Are you sure, Mum?
With every bit of me! Isnt that what you say?
Yup! What will Grandma say?
That were ruined children. Dont give it a second thought. Go get ready!
Where to?
Where else? To the guitar shop! Or wherever you find these magical guitars.
WaitIll see if Alice wants to help me choose!
As he dashed off, Helen thought her son must be the kindest boy alive, wanting to take his six-year-old sister along for musical counsel.
The guitar bought, Olivers bedroom soon became a makeshift studio, his bands practice ground, kitted out with gear courtesy of Simon and other parents. Then, when a video featuring Alice singing with her brother went unexpectedly viral, it was clear their efforts mattered.
Helen quietly rejoicedthe kids occupied, Oliver cheered, his prickly outbursts melting away. After long days in surgery, shed come home, hug the children as they jostled to reveal new ideas, and know shed done right.
Margaret waited. She polished, baked, and waited, expecting Helen at the door to apologise, as always.
A week, then a second passed. Still no Helen.
Margaret fumed, swore Helen would not get away so easily this time, then gradually fell to pondering. For the first time, someone had pushed backshowing not everything revolved around her will. With anyone else, Margaret would simply have crossed them offbanished with no hope of reprieve. But with Helen, this was impossible. Despite everything, she loved her, in her way.
A month, then two.
Suddenly, the realisation sunk inno one was coming. Thered be no apology this time.
This was hard to bear. How could Helen be so cruel? Margaret had given her life to Helen and the childrenwhy did she deserve this? Could such a silly slip of the tongue break a family?
Unable to sit, Margaret packed up and left for the cottage again, hoping for solace, but found only restless wandering from kitchen to garden, unable to admit the situation was also her own doing.
Summer turned to autumn rain. One day, the empty waiting felt pointless.
That afternoon, as her heart finally gave way, she sat alone at the kitchen table, nursing her favourite tea, watching the neighbours children dash about in wellies and rainbow macs. Years ago, shed argued the fence should block everything out, but Bertie said the ironwork was more graceful. So Margaret was left to greet the neighbours politely, a captive audience to their happy hullabaloo.
Next doors teachers were successful peopletheir five grandchildren, clever and polite, testament to that. Watching the youngest leap puddles, Margaret realised she might sit here warming her hands on a cup and coddling her pride, until the day came when Helen would be buying white carnations for her. And who would that benefit?
She clanked her cup down and, within minutes, was reversing out the gates.
It was a Sunday; the roads were nearly empty. She reached Helens little estate quickly, but her hands shook. It was the first time shed ever taken the first step, putting grievances aside. The role was so unfamiliar, she sat for ages by the gate, rehearsing what she should say.
But all her rehearsals faded the moment she pushed open the garden gate and walked up the path. The front door was ajar; upstairs, thunderous drums and guitar riffed through the house. In the kitchen, Helen was spinning with a wooden spoon, singing a song about some lonely doll and a magician.
Brilliant! Mum, lets record a new video next time! Alice clapped, abandoning her stack of glasses on the table.
Helen poured juice into tumblers and handed two to Alice.
Here you go. Take two, Ill bring the others. The boys must be thirsty by now.
Helen started for the stairs, but stopped and stared, seeing Margaret in the doorway.
Time itself seemed to pause, baffled, lingering to see what words would be said between these two women.
Alice froze at the kitchen door, about to speak, but her mum beat her to it.
Mumhello! Will you keep an eye on the roast? Lunch is nearly readyjust waiting for the boys to finish rehearsal. Hungry?
Margaret nodded, removing her raincoat.
Yes.
Smashing! Helen winked at her daughter. Alice, dont just stand there! Or have you forgotten what Grandma looks like?
Alice grinned and shook her head.
Course not! Gran, I quit ballet! Mum signed me up for music lessons insteadIm going to learn to sing! Oliver says Im really good!
Margaret felt her eyes prick and swiftly bent to gather the juice glasses.
Come on, let me see that guitar of Olivers. Is it lovely?
Its gorgeous! Its redI helped pick it. Come upstairs, Ill show you!
Alice hopped up the stairs, and Helen nodded at her mother.
Well? What are you waiting for? The hardest steps done now
And Margaret would nod in turn, climb to the boys room, and Oliverserious and grown-upwould show her his bass.
And something would shift.
Not everything, of course. One cannot simply transform overnight.
There would still be arguments, misunderstandings loitering in the corners, and Helen would sigh again over her mothers opinions. And Margaret would forever wonder where she lost her child.
But one thing would finally settle in this familyif you wish to be heard, learn first how to listen. Then, at last, everything finds its place, and your loved ones stay close. And, truly, what more could be asked?
