Spoiled Children
Youve spoiled him! You always give in, and now look, hes completely out of hand. Emma, you cant keep on like this! Youve absolutely ruined that boy! Just as I ruined you in my day! No use blaming anyone, Im no better. As I see it, youre both spoiled children! And dont tell me youre an adult now. Youre still every bit the child you were! Utterly incapable of making decent decisions and thinking properly for yourself! Margery slammed the fridge door in exasperation and flinched as the family photo magnet clattered to the tiled floor.
The photograph had been taken last summer at a seaside resort someplace she hadnt been invited to for the first time in years. For ages, shed gone on holiday with her children, helping with the grandkids, relaxing, even making useful connections. But not this time.
The reasons for excluding her sounded odd in Margerys ears.
Mum, its been a tough year for us. Were just going with the kids this time. Well buy you a ticket somewhere special later, and you can have a nice break as well. Take your time picking a place. Alright?
But, Emma! What about the children? Wholl watch them?
Mum, Bens old enough to fend for himself, and anyone else for that matter. And Grace will be with me. Besides, we cant afford the posh hotel weve stayed in before, so well have to make do. Grace needs the sea air, you know she barely gets a sniffle for six months after. Theres no budget for a fancy hotel with entertainers, so this time well have to go as, what did they call them? Oh yes, self-catering. Well hire a flat or a cottage, and look after the children ourselves.
And obviously, theres no space for me.
Margery was thoroughly displeased at the idea of going solo to a health retreat, where the only entertainment was the over-fifties discoas for the clientele, they left much to be desired. Nothing like a proper hotel, full of well-to-do folks and a smattering of foreigners! And someone as educated and well-travelled as she was ought to have better options. But not this time…
Mum, you know, holidays arent just about paying for a roof over your head. Theres travel, food, everything else.
Oh, as if I eat you out of house and home! Margerys temper flared.
Honestly, Mum! Why do I have to explain the obvious? We simply cant afford for the whole family to go this year. Id love to take you, but its not possible. Your flats renovation, my health troubles last year, Bens tutorsit all cost so much. Now, were stretched thin. What do you expect me to do? Cancel the trip? Or maybe just let the kids skip the seaside? Im shattered, you know what my schedules been like! Youve seen it all!
Oh yes, Ive seen plenty! Seen you being a dreadful mother, thats what! Youve got no time for your childrenall the works left to me and your mother-in-law, Janet. Picking Grace up from nursery, Ben from school, feeding them, ferrying them to practice and clubs.
Mum, dont exaggerate. Ben takes himself to training. The only one you properly drive is Grace, to dance, and not even every day. We couldve skipped those, the nursery does extra dance sessions, but you insisted. Said it was for her benefit.
Now its my fault, is it? Margerys voice rose dangerously, her hand instinctively flying to her chest. Youre all so ungrateful! I do my best for you, and its all for nothing!
Mum, please… Emma pressed her forehead against the window, seeing dark spots swirl in her vision. I really am thankful for all you do. But please, dont use it against me.
Margery refused to listen any further. She left, head held high, dropping a carrier bag with a new swimsuit in the middle of the lounge as she went, deeply offended.
She was skilled at holding grudgesit was almost a sport. No big rows, no dramatics or guilt-tripping, just a simple radio silence. Calls would go unanswered, olive branches were ignored. Later, should she deign to pick up Emmas call, shed sigh heavily and weakly murmur, Emma darling, if your heart skips and then only barely beats, what does that mean?
And Emma, ever the dutiful daughter, would drop everything and rush out to Margerys cottage outside Oxford after each falling-out, seeking peace for her mothers soul. Emma would return home exhausted, throw her car keys on the hallway table, collapse on her bed, and quietly cry, unable to understand why her mother treated her this way.
Ben would tiptoe in, draping a throw gently over Emmas shoulders and squeeze her arm.
Mum, let it go! Dont go next time. Gran will sulk a bit, but shell come around.
Oh, Ben! If only I was as sure as you
Emma remembered Margery this way since childhood. Poised, sensitive, a linguist and avid reader, a woman who knew too much about music. But extraordinarily touchy. She could scold her daughter in English or French with equal flair. For little Emma, nothing was worse than her mothers cold and pointed, Emma dear, I want you to think about your actions. Off you go, pet.
That pet was never uttered when Margery was in a good mood; but then, she was seldom cheerful. Margery was the sort to see the glass perpetually half-empty. She placed everything into one category: unfulfilled. Her colleagues, friends, family, neighboursnone were good enough.
For years, Emma herself was spared that judgement. As a child, she was clever and beautifulLittle darling, everyone cooed, amazed as three-year-old Emma pointed at letters and read, and then, at four, bowed over her piano, given by Margery, and declared, I hear music!
Margery had much to boast aboutuntil things shifted in Year Six. Top of her class, the pride of the school, Emma suddenly got held back by a poor spelling test. Margery, baffled, clutched at her heart, refusing to listen as Emma tried to explain.
Darling, Im so disappointed! How could you let this happen? Unthinkable! Go to your room!
Emma did as she was told, never telling her mother that shed stained her skirt and, not understanding what was happening, sobbed in the bathroom as she tried to wash it out. No one had bothered telling her about the bodily changes all girls faceMargery thought her too young for such talk, and Emma had no real friends she could have asked. The other girls approved by her mother wouldnt have discussed such thingsit wasnt proper.
Eventually, her grandmother happened upon her and learned the truth, but Margery only said, Those things are to be spoken of with ones mother! The unspoken message: next time, think for yourself! Thats what your head is for! Emma was left none the wiser.
That was the beginning of doubt for Emmathe faintest hint that her mother might not be perfect, that all those speeches about a mother always putting her child first were rather idealistic.
More disappointments followed, and Margery didnt bother hiding her dissatisfaction any longer. Emma often found her mother with a silk scarf tied tight around her brow, supposedly for migraines. Seeing Margery floating down the corridor, absentmindedly touching her headscarf, Emma knew a storm was brewing.
Margery rarely yelled. Seated regally in her favourite armchair, her thin fingers pressed to her temples, her chilly voice could douse any temper.
Emma! Youre breaking my heart…
By what or how didnt matterEmma was expected to know. The pretext could be anything. For example, Emmas wish to be a doctor like her father, whereas Margery found the profession wholly unsuitable:
You dont understandI hardly saw your father, he was always at the hospital. A surgeons not a job for a woman! Granny may say its noble, but in the end, what do we have? Im a widow, and you grew up without a fatherhe burned out at work! A heart can only take so much. Think, Emma, about those around you!
These arguments dragged on until Emma finished school and got into medical college. After that, Margery greeted her only with brief nods for half a year.
The next battleground was Emmas marriage: Margery didnt accept her son-in-law, Alex.
Emma, Im amazed. Could you not find someone of substance? Im not talking about money. You two are so different! He doesnt know Maupassant, never heard an operaimagine!
Alex is a good man, Mum. And he loves me, thats the main thing.
You cant live on love alone! Youll find out too late.
Even at Emmas wedding, Margery went around dabbing her professionally made-up eyes, telling all, Of course it will be hard for them. Theyre so young, so inexperienced. But Im a mother; Ill be there to help!
It was at that wedding that Margery met her second husband, Samuela distant relative from Alexs side, a retired colonel, with flawless manners and impressive French. Goodness! What a delightful accent! Margery flirted shamelessly.
Samuel could quote French troubadour poetry, valued order and cleanliness, and owned a neat country cottage, which quickly occupied Margery and spared Emma from pressure for a while.
In her second marriage, Margery was happy; Samuel adored her, she flourished and softened. When Ben and then Grace were born, she welcomed them with delight.
Emma! What splendid children! Ben is so clever, just like his grandfather! And Gracemy goodness, she even has my eyes.
Emma was overjoyed by these changes, and genuinely wished her mother happiness.
Contrary to Margerys bleak predictions, Emmas marriage to Alex was strong. Over time, Alex managed a cordial truce with his mother-in-law: each held firm to their opinions. He worked hard, and Margery grudgingly admitted that Emma had married reasonably well. She had vetoed their buying a house, but Alex held firm:
Its the best way, love. Your flat is yours, and we need our own place.
But Emma will struggle with work and the kids. You cant handle that alone!
My companys doing well. Emma wants to get back to work, and my mums promised to help with the kids.
Ours arent the only grandparents! Margery raised her chin. Ill help with the children!
Emmas wish to return to hospital work came true. The children grew, the family moved, life sorted itself out. Then tragedy struck: Samuel fell ill, and despite Emma and the best doctors, Margery was left heartbroken.
Oh, Sam! How could you go now? Just when I truly felt like a woman! Who she blamed for her widowhood remained a mystery.
She now bought two bouquets of white carnations to honour those who brightened her days, and increasingly took her grief out on the living.
Emma tried to fill Margerys lonelinessholidays, weekends, birthdays, all had Margery present.
Whats wrong with that? Im part of the family too! she told her friends.
But maybe Emma would like time alone with her husband and children?
Nonsense! I never controlled my child! I help! How would Emma cope without me?
Problems began when Ben became a teen. Grans watchful eye started to wear on him. He loved her but found her fussy and overbearing.
Ben! That hideous music again? I told you, not so loud! How can you put up with this? Margery barged in without knocking, face scrunched in pain. Its unbearable!
Out came the silk scarf again, but Ben was unmoved. He wouldnt run to mum and dad, preferring to handle Gran in his own way.
Grace! Come here! Time for a sing-along!
Seeing Ben and Grace dancing to pop-punk in his room horrified Margery.
Ben, really! But Grace! No, I cant stand this! Ill call your mother!
Best call Dad, Gran! Mums switched off when shes operatingyou know that!
Alex always took Margerys gripes in stride. Later, at home, hed belt out songs with Ben while Grace giggled. Bens musical talent soon showed; Emma decided to buy him a guitar.
Emma, dont! Are you lot trying to get rid of me now?
Mum, whatever are you on about?
I cant cope! He needs to study, not waste time on music!
But Ben is doing brilliantlyand you know it! And didnt you always say children need to develop in all directions?
I meant something quite different, and you know it! Oh, Emma, youre at it again…
On and on the argument went. Alex was firmly on Emmas side. Margery reverted to her old trickrefusing to answer her phone or open the door, having taken back her spare keys.
This time, Emmas patience cracked.
If she doesnt want to speak, thats her choice! Ive had enough! Washing up on her day off, she turned awkwardly and Bens homemade birthday mug smashed on the kitchen floor.
Seeing those bright fragments at her feet was the last strawa sign it was time she let love grow into something stronger, something that didnt hurt those close to her.
Ben! she shouted up the stairs. Ben tumbled down, surprised by her tone.
Yeah, Mum?
Have you picked out your guitar?
Can I? Really? Bens face lit up, forcing Emma to smile.
You must! Which one?
A bass! Youre sure, Mum?
A hundred percent! Thats how you say it, right?
Yep! But whatll Gran say?
That were all spoiled children. Forget it! Grab your coat, lets go!
To where?
Where else? The shop. Or wherever they sell those guitars.
Coming! Ill just tell Grace to get readyshell want to help pick!
Watching him, Emma thought no other teenage boy would choose to consult his six-year-old sister on his new guitar.
The guitar was bought. Soon, Bens room became a makeshift studio, with friends practicing and recording on kit Alex and the other parents had chipped in for. When a short video they madefeaturing Grace singingracked up views online, it was clear it had been worth it.
Emma was relievedthe kids were busy, Ben stopped being prickly. Each evening, she came home from the hospital and was surrounded by excited chatter and new ideas.
Margery waited, holding out for an apology. She cleaned, cooked something lovely, and waited for Emmas appearance as usual.
A week passed. Then another.
First Margery was confused, then angryno way would Emma get off with just a sorry this time. Then she started to think.
For the first time, someone was standing up to her, making it clear that not every life revolved around her wishes. Anyone else, shed have cut off without a second thought, but Emma was her daughtershe did love her, in her way.
A month. Another.
Finally, Margery got itnobody was going to show up seeking her forgiveness. It hit her hard. How, after everything shed done for Emma and the grandchildren, could her daughter be so cruel? Surely a hasty word couldnt ruin a family?
She soon grew tired of pacing. She packed up and went to her Oxfordshire cottage, hoping for peace. But she only grew more restless. She wandered the house and garden, grieving but unable to admit that she too had a hand in what was happening.
Summer slid into autumn, and still Margery waited.
On the day her heart could bear no more, she sat in her kitchen, clutching a mug of her favourite Earl Grey, gazing out at the neighbours garden, where children dashed around in rainbow wellies and macs. Once, shed asked Samuel to put up a tall privacy fence, but hed refused, liking the old ironwork instead. So Margery had always been forced into polite greetings and, now, watched life on their side of the fence unfolding.
Her neighbours, both university lecturers, were properly accomplished peoplewith five polite, bright grandchildren. As she watched their youngest splashing in puddles, Margery realised enough was enough. She could nurse her ego clutching a teacup, but that would only lead to her, one day, being the one with the white carnations. And what good would that do?
Her cup clinked on its saucer, and a few minutes later, she was driving out the gates.
It was a quiet Sunday, and Margery reached Emma and Alexs house quickly. Parked outside, for the first time she felt intensely nervous. The first step to making upand letting go of her grievanceswas hers to take. She sat, paralysed, wondering what to say.
All plans flew out the window the moment she opened the garden gate and walked to the front doorit stood ajar. Climbing the steps, she was ready to call out, when a drumbeat upstairs and a racket of guitars made her clap her hands over her ears.
The house was alive with music. In the kitchen, Emma was dancing with a wooden spoon, belting out a catchy tune about some doll and a magician, stirring something delicious on the hob.
Brilliant! Mum, lets film us too! Grace clapped, abandoning her cups on the table.
Emma filled glasses of juice. Here we go, two for you, two for me. Lets go upstairsthe boys will be thirsty.
She turned to the stairs, when she stopped, seeing Margery framed in the doorway.
For a heartbeat, time seemed suspended as each waited for the other to speak.
Grace stopped in her tracks and would have said something, but her mother beat her to it.
Mum, hello! Can you keep an eye on the roast, please? Well have lunch as soon as the boys finish rehearsing. Are you hungry?
Margery nodded slowly as she shrugged off her coat.
Yes.
Good! Emma grinned and winked at Grace. Snap out of it, Grace! Did you forget what Gran looks like?
Grace giggled, her smile wide. No! Gran, Ive left dance! Mums put me in music schoolIm learning to sing! Ben says Im good!
Margery felt tears well, so she quickly stooped to take the juice glasses. Let me take these! I need to see Bens guitar. Is it nice?
Really nice! Its red! I helped pick it! Come on, Ill show you!
Grace dashed off upstairs, Emma nodding quietly at her mother.
Well? What are you waiting for? The hardest part is already done, Mum
Margery nodded in reply and made her way up to Bens room. Ben, with a maturity beyond his years, nodded gravely, showing his gran the guitar.
Things changed in that moment.
Not everything, of course. Its impossible to change a lifetimes habits in a day. There would still be disagreements and misunderstandings, and Emma would sigh as her mother insisted on sharing her views. Margery would wonder where shed gone wrong.
But the family finally learnt a vital lesson: if you want someone to listen, you must first learn to really listen yourself. When you do, everything falls into place and your loved ones stay close by. And truly, what more could anyone ask for?
