Without a Soul
Cynthia Mayfield returned to her semi-detached house in Oxford after an afternoon at the local hairdresser, ignoring her age having turned sixty-eight just last week.
Despite that, she reliably treated herself to a bit of pampering; getting her hair tidied, nails shaped, and those simple rituals lifted her spirits and her energy.
Cynth, someone from your family swung by.
I said youd be home later.
She promised to pop in again, her husband Edward mentioned, glancing up from his crossword puzzle.
Family?
Whatever for?
Ive no kin left.
Its probably some distant relative, seventh cousin twice removed, coming to ask for something.
You shouldve told her Ive moved to the end of the earth, Cynthia grumbled.
No, really.
I didnt see the harm.
She seemed like she was from your side; tall, graceful, a bit like your late mother, God rest her soul.
And shes clearly well-mannereddressed smartly, too, Edward tried to calm his wife.
After about forty minutes, the relative rang the bell.
Cynthia opened the door herself.
The resemblance to Cynthias mother was uncanny.
Her visitor was decked out: expensive coat, boots, gloves, diamond studs in her ears.
Cynthias expert eye took it all in.
She invited the woman to join her at the tea table already set.
Lets introduce ourselves, since were apparently family.
Im Cynthiano need for formalities.
You look about my age.
This is my husband, Edward.
Which side are you from? Cynthia asked.
The woman hesitated, blush rising.
Im Helen…
Helen Wilkinson.
Theres not much difference between us in years.
I turned fifty this past June, on the twelfth.
Is that date familiar?
Cynthia went pale.
I can tell youve remembered, Helen said.
Yes, Im your daughter.
You neednt worryIm not here for anything.
I just wanted to see my mother, at least once.
Growing up, I never understood why Mum didnt love mewhy Dad did, and Mum didnt.
Mum passed eight years ago, but Dad only recently, two months ago.
He told me about you at the very end, and said to tell you he sought forgiveness if you could ever grant it. Helen spoke nervously.
Cynthias husband Edward, stunned, asked, You have a daughter?
Apparently so.
Ill explain later, replied Cynthia.
So youre my daughter? Cynthia said blandly.
Fine.
Had your look?
If you expect apologies or repentance, you wont get any.
Its not my fault.
I trust Dad told you the whole story?
And if you think youll awaken any motherly feelings in menot a chance.
Sorry.
Helen quietly asked, Could I visit again?
I live out in Abingdon, not far.
We have a spacious two-storey house.
You and Edward could come over.
Maybe youll get used to the idea of me.
I brought photos of your grandson and great granddaughter, if you care to see?
No.
I dont want to see you.
Dont visit.
Forget me.
Goodbye, Cynthia said sharply.
Edward called Helen a taxi and escorted her out.
When he returned, Cynthia had cleared the table and was watching telly serenely.
Well, youve got nerves of steel!
You should have commanded regiments.
Is there nothing inside you?
I always suspected you were heartless, but never to this extent, Edward told her, troubled.
We met when I was twenty-eight, didnt we?
Well, dear, my soul was torn out long before that, Cynthia began.
I grew up in a tiny village outside Cambridge, always dreaming of city life, which made me work harder, top my class, and the only one to get into university.
I met Robert when I was seventeen.
I loved him madly, nearly twelve years older.
It never bothered me.
After a poverty-stricken childhood, everything in the city seemed magical.
My grant barely paid anything, so I was always hungry and eagerly accepted Roberts invitations to cafés or for ice cream.
He made no promises, but I assumed, since we were so in love, hed make me his wife.
One night he invited me to his cottage outside town, and I went without thought.
I was sure, that now, all was settled, and he was mine.
Those cottage visits became routine.
Soon, it became clear I was going to be a mother.
I told Robert.
His delight was boundless.
Since my condition would soon show, I asked him when wed marry?
Id just turned eighteen; we could file at the registry office.
Did I promise marriage? Robert replied, answering with questions.
No, I didnt.
And I wont.
Im already married, he said, calm as ever.
But what about the child?
What about me?
Youre young, healthythe perfect model for those Thames statues.
Take academic leave from your university.
Keep studying until its obvious; then come live with me and my wife.
Weve struggled to have a child.
Perhaps because shes much older.
When you give birth, well take the child.
How its arranged isnt your concern.
Im young, but not insignificant at City Hall.
My wifes department head at the city hospital.
So dont worry about the child.
After birth, youll recover and return to university.
Well even pay you.
No one spoke of surrogacy then.
I must have been one of the very first surrogate mothers in England.
What else could I do?
Go back to the village and shame my family?
Before the birth, I stayed at their manor.
Roberts wife never came near meperhaps she resented it.
I delivered my daughter at home, midwife brought in, everything proper.
I never nursed her; the girl was taken away instantly.
Never saw her again.
A week later, they quietly sent me off, Robert handed me some money.
I returned to university.
Afterwards, got a job at the factory.
They gave me a room in the married staff hostel.
Started as a forewoman, later became chief inspector.
I had many friends, but no one proposed, until you, Edward.
I was already twenty-eightdidnt want marriage, but felt pressured.
The rest you know.
We had a good lifethree cars, house bursting with comfort, tidy garden, annual holidays.
The factory survived the 90s, because our tractor gauges were made exclusively in one workshop, though nobody knew what happened elsewhere.
The place is still rings of barbed wire and watchtowers.
Retired on special terms.
Weve got everything.
No children, and we dont need any.
When I see todays children, Cynthia finished.
Edward responded bitterly, We didnt live well, Cynthia.
I loved you.
Spent my life trying to thaw your heart, but never succeeded.
No children, but you never cared for a kitten or a puppy.
My sister asked you to house her niece for a week and you refused.
Today, your daughter visited.
Your own blood, and you Honestly, if we were younger Id have filed for divorce, but now its too late.
Its cold beside you, cold, Edward said, upset.
Cynthia was a little frightenedEdward had never spoken to her so plainly.
Her whole quiet existence had been disturbed by this daughter.
Edward moved to their garden cottage.
Hes lived there for years now.
There, he keeps three dogsrescued from the streetsand an untold number of cats.
At home, he is rarely seen.
Cynthia knows he visits Helen, befriending her family and adoring his great granddaughter.
He was always a weaklingremains so.
Let him live how he chooses, Cynthia thinks.
Shes never felt any urge to know her daughter, grandson, or great granddaughter better.
She travels alone to Brighton, rests, takes in the sea and feels splendid.
