A little later, fate decided to throw in a comeback!
When I was eighteen, I found out I was pregnant. My parents were horrified and basically said, Absolutely not, Fiona, youre far too young! My husband had just been called up for military service. The grandmothers from both sides sang in perfect harmony:
The baby is your problem.
I dont want to babysit your child, insisted my mother, as if Id suggested she foster a colony of ferrets.
My baby, my problem, became my new mantra.
Meanwhile, my mother-in-law morphed into a silent shadow, declining all conversation with me. So, I packed my bags and moved in with my fathers sister, Aunt Margaret.
She was thirty-eight, child-free, and had devoted herself to her job at the local library. Aunt Margaret, bless her, didnt judge my parents. She said, I understand themit wasnt easy when you were born. They worked themselves to the bone for you. Your dad unloaded lorries at night for extra money.
But now, she continued, theyre comfortable. Dads got a decent wage, they live in a two-bedroom flat, and Mum works too. And me? I was about to have a baby.
Do you reckon theyll ever come round? I asked Aunt Margaret.
They just want to enjoy their lives for a bit. Dont judge them; I expect theyll regain their senses eventually.
Not exactly the emotional support I had hoped forso I settled in at Aunt Margarets flat.
When my husband, Oliver, returned from the army, our son was already toddling about at eighteen months. During Olivers absence, his mother never once visited her grandson. My parents popped by twice, maybe just to ensure the baby didnt have horns.
Oliver became a car mechanic, intending to finish his studies, but it all got a bit much. We continued living with Aunt Margaret. Once our son started nursery and I landed a job at a local café, Aunt Margaret had to relocate. So, we rented a modest flat. Not long after, Olivers grandmother passed away.
His mum sold grannys flat, got creative with renovations, and bought herself all the furniture she fancied. Oliver begged her not to sell, offered to pay instalments and eventually repurchase it, but she wasnt having it.
Why should I give up my interests and comfort? Ive longed to redecorate, she scoffed. If youre so keen, come paint my kitchen.
Five years later, our daughter Alice was born. We realised we desperately needed a place of our own. Oliver began working overseas, but saving up for a flat proved Herculean. The kids and I stuck it out in rented accommodation.
Meanwhile, Mum lived solo in a spacious three-bedroom flat since Dad had left two years before, but apparently there was no room for her daughter and grandkids. Going to Olivers mum was pointless, tooshe was perpetually mid-renovation and never itching to help.
Oliver worked abroad for several years, and finally, we scraped together enough to buy a little flat. All off our own steam.
Now, our eldest, Harry, is finishing Year 8, and Alice is in Year 2. We genuinely understand the value of a pound. We saved every penny. Gone are the days of struggle. We each have our own car, and every year our family holidays at the seaside, just like proper English folk.
The only person were genuinely grateful to is Aunt Margaret. She could call us at three in the morning, and wed be there.
Our parents arent so lucky. Mum was let go from her job recently and rang up, asking for financial help. I politely declined.
My mother-in-law has ended up in a similar pickle; she retired but didnt fancy living frugally. She spent every last pound she got from selling the old flat ages ago. Oliver also refused to help, advising her to sell her now refurbished, big flat and buy a cozy bedsit instead.
Now, Oliver and I dont owe anyone anything. We treat our kids better than our parents treated us. Well always help them however we can. And I hope that, in our twilight years, we can count on them to return the favour.
