Are you sure about this, love?
Helen reached over, gave her mums hand a squeeze, and smiled.
Mum, I love him. And he loves me. Were going to get married, and itll all be fine, youll see. Well be a family. Dont you understand?
Her dad pushed away his half-eaten shepherds pie and stared out the window, his brow furrowed. He was quiet for a whilejust a few seconds really, but it felt like forever to Helen.
Youre only nineteen, he finally said. You should be thinking about your studies, worrying about a future, not planning a wedding.
Ill manage, Dad. Helen was calm, though on the inside she was desperate to make them see what she saw make them believe. James is working, Im still at university. Were not asking you to support us. We just want to be together. We want to start our own family.
Her dad just shook his head but said nothing else.
They clearly didnt approveHelen could tell, from her fathers pursed lips and the way her mum nervously fiddled with the napkin. But they didnt exactly put their foot down, either. Maybe they remembered when they were her age. Maybe they knew that forbidding it would only push her to do it out of spite.
The wedding was in May, nothing extravagant, but so warm and genuine that even now Helen remembers it as being wrapped up in happiness. No country manor with two hundred guests, no limos or white doves. Just friends, family, and laughter.
For their honeymoon, they went to Brighton. Only a weekthey couldnt afford more, and James couldnt take any extra time off work. Still, that week felt almost magical to Helen, like theyd stepped out of the normal world for a bit. Theyd sleep late, have breakfast on the balcony of their tiny B&B overlooking the sea, stroll hand in hand on the pier till dark, eat fish and chips from paper wrappings, and kiss as though the world might end tomorrow.
But then real life began as it does. The romance faded into routine. A poky little flat they rented in a tired terrace where the draft whistled through old windows in winter and the people upstairs made the ceiling chandeliers rattle with every heavy step. James would leave for work at seven, Helen would hurry off to uni. Evenings, they saw each other exhausted, reheated something simple for tea, and crashed into bed after a few minutes conversation.
Yet even in that weariness, something felt right. Genuine.
Six months in, her parents called and asked them to come round that weekend. Helen wondered if something was wrong. She spun all sorts of possibilities in her head. But they just sat Helen and James down in the kitchen, poured tea, and slid an envelope across the table.
This is for you, her dad said, still not meeting her eye. For a place of your own. Even if its just a small flat. Better that than throwing your money away on rent.
Helen stared at the envelope, unable to make herself pick it up. Her throat tightened and her eyes stung.
Dad she started, but he waved a hand dismissively.
Go on, take it. Think of it as a belated wedding present.
They found a flat within a month. Third floor, one-bed, twenty-eight square metres in a red-brick block, windows looking over a scruffy little green. The kitchen was barely big enough for two, and the bathroom was just a shower cubicle with barely enough room to turn around. Still, to Helen, it was a universe. She picked out the wallpaper herself, arranged for tradesmen to come, hung curtains, and filled the sills with potted plants from the market.
A year later, with Helen in her third year at uni, she started feeling odd. Figured shed eaten something off, then blamed her exhaustion on the stress of exams. She bought a pregnancy test just to rule it out, not really thinking much of it.
But two lines appeared, instantly and unmistakably.
Helen sat on the edge of the bath, staring at that bit of plastic, knowing already that her whole life had just spun in a completely new direction. Third year, two more years till graduation. Theyd only just landed on their feet. Why now?
James got in from work and instantly knew something was up. Helen just handed him the test. She couldnt find the words.
He stared at it for ages, then looked at her with an expression that made it suddenly hard for her to breathe.
Well keep it, he said quietly, but more sure than shed ever heard him.
James, Im in the middle of my degree. How could I
Well keep it, he repeated, taking her hands in his. Take a gap year. Ill work extra. Well manage. Helen, its our baby.
She cried, quietly, head in his shoulder from fear, uncertainty, hormones probably and happiness too, breaking through like grass pushing up through concrete.
Getting the deferment was easy.
Little Michael arrived in March, when the grey remains of winter snow still lingered grimly outside, but the air was hanging with the smell of spring. Three-point-two kilos, fifty-one centimetres.
Helen looked down at that tiny bundle, that little crumpled face, hardly believing this was real. That this was her son. Hers and Jamess.
Her happiness felt so fierce she thought her chest might burst.
But things changed, quietly, the way you dont notice autumn has arrived until your breath steams in the air. James started coming home later and later. First half an hour, then an hour, until Helen lost track. Hed walk in, toss his coat on a hook, and pass right by the cot without even glancing in. Once, he used to lift Michael, kiss his head, make silly noises into his tummy. Now it was as if Michael didnt exist.
You could at least say hello to your son, Helen blurted out one evening.
James grimaced, as if shed said something out of turn.
Hes asleep. Why would I wake him?
He wasnt asleep. Michael lay in the cot, staring up at his dad with huge dark eyesJamess eyes. But James didnt notice. Or didnt want to.
Then came the comments. At first, she tried to tell herself she was imagining it. But it kept happening.
Youre going out in that? he said one morning, eyeing her up and down.
Helen glanced at herself just jeans and a jumper. Nothing odd.
Whats wrong with it?
Nothing. Just he trailed off, but his sneer said enough.
It only got worse. Eventually, he stopped hinting.
Do you ever look in the mirror? he snapped one night, as she changed for bed. Youve let yourself go. Like youre fifty, not twenty-two.
The words hit her like a punch, leaving her breathless. Helen stood there in her old nightie, not knowing what to say. Yes, shed put on a bit of weight since Michaelthe gym was a luxury she couldnt affordbutwell. How could he say that?
James, Ive just had a baby, her whisper sounded pathetic, even to her.
A year ago you had a baby. A year! Other women snap back in three months. But look at you
He turned away and left the room. Michael was woken by their raised voices and burst into tears.
Sort him out! James shouted from the kitchen. All he does is scream, I cant get any sleep!
Helen picked up her son, holding him close, pressing her nose into his soft hair. Her tears slid down her face onto his head. Gradually, Michael calmed, reassured by the warmth of her arms. But Helen just stood there in the dark, rocking him and herself, too.
There was nobody she could tell. Or rather, she could talk to her parents, but every time she picked up her phone, she pictured her dads face Youre only nineteen. You ought to be studying. Theyd warned her. Shed ignored them, convinced she knew better, convinced love could solve anything.
How could she go back to them now tail between her legs and admit they were right all along? She imagined that conversation, her mum crying, her dad stony and silent, and every time she put the phone back down. Shed made this mess, she had to see it through.
One afternoon, Helen took Michael out for his usual walk. Circled the little green, wandered to the park where benches sat under the shedding maples. It was only there, rummaging through her bag for baby snacks, that she realised shed left Michaels food at home.
Back she trudged.
She opened the front door with her key, meaning to nip in, grab the yoghurt, and get out again. But in the hallway was a pair of shoes she definitely didnt recognise. Womens heels, shiny, fire-engine red.
Helen found herself drifting deeper into the flat, even as her mind screamed, Dont. Turn around, go, dont look.
The bedroom door was ajar.
She saw more than enough. Another woman, in her bed, on her sheets. And James, who didnt even flinch or bother to cover up or lie.
He looked at Helen as if she was an annoying fly interrupting his evening.
What did you expect? he shrugged. Youve let yourself go. Im only twenty-five, still in my prime, and I come home to a wife I can barely look at.
Helen held onto the doorframe to steady herself. The woman yanked the sheet up to her chin and turned away, like none of it had anything to do with her.
Get out. Helen barely recognised her own voice, low and hoarse. Out of my flat. Now.
The woman fumbled with her clothes, hurrying past. James watched, that smug little smirk on his face.
Dont go over the top, he said once the door shut behind his visitor. Its not the end of the world. Happens all the time. Women just accept it. Especially with a kid where else would you go? He pulled on his jeans. Whod want you, Helen? With an extra in tow? So enough drama, love. Shout if you have to, but get over it.
Helen couldnt remember how she ended up in the hall, nor how she zipped Michael into his pram, or called a cab, or told the driver her parents address. She stared out the window the whole way, absently patting Michaels back, numb and hollow inside.
Her mum opened the door, took one look at Helens face, and knew it all instantly. She just stepped forward and hugged her, so tightly, the way shed done when Helen scraped her knees as a child.
Mum, I Helen managed, but her mum just shook her head.
Later. Youre home. Come on in.
Her dad came out to see what the commotion was. He looked at Helen, looked at his grandson. His face went hard.
What happened?
Helen told them, between sobs and stumbling wordsthe comments, the distance, the red shoes in the hallway. The way James had scoffed, who would want you with baggage? Her dad listened in silence, then stood up and grabbed his coat.
Were going.
Going where? Helen blinked.
To see him.
Dad, please, let me handle it
Leave Michael here with your mother. You and me, lets go.
James opened the door as if nothing unusual had happened. Helens dad strode inside, took a good long look around, then turned to his son-in-law and spoke in a voice so calm it frightened Helen.
Heres how its going to be. Youre going to pack up and leave. This is my daughters flat. Bought with our money. Youre not welcome here any longer.
James tried to protest talk about his rights, what theyd bought together. But Helens dad stopped him before he could get going.
Rights? You want to discuss rights? Lets talk about you humiliating my daughter. Bringing strangers to her home. If youre still here in half an hour, Ill call the police. And believe me, I can afford a good solicitor to make your life miserable. Nowout.
James left. Packed a bag and left, didnt even look back. Helen leaned against the wall, watching the door close behind him.
Why didnt you come to us straight away? her dad asked once they were alone.
I thoughtyou always warned me. I thought youd say it was all my fault.
Her dad turned to face her, and in his eyes Helen saw something that made her want to cry all over again.
Youll always be our daughter. My little girl. You can always come home, no matter whats happened.
Helen stepped forward and buried her face in his shoulder, like when she was small. She wept and wept, letting it all pour out at last.
Two years later, Helen sat on the living room floor of the same little flat, watching Michael build a wobbly tower with bright blocks. Her university degree completed by distance learning, with honours lay close by. Ping her phone announced the arrival of that months child support.
Michael glanced up, grinning a grin so like his dadsbut it didnt upset Helen anymore.
Mummy, look!
I see, love. Thats a brilliant tower.
The sun was going down outside, pouring golden light into the room. Helen looked at her son and smiled. It had worked out. Not how shed once dreamed, but stillit worked out.
