Youre irresponsible, Mum. Go and start your family somewhere else.
Jenny was only seventeen when she married David. Fresh out of school, and within a month, she had a band on her finger and a belly that grew so fast the neighbours gossipedsaying, Oh, must be a shotgun wedding, of course it is! She had a daughter, named Alice, and the two of them moved into her mother-in-laws place. Mind you, her mother-in-law, Margaret, lived in another flat just a short bus ride away, but she still made it her mission to oversee every move the young family made. The flat was big by todays standardsthree bedrooms, creaky floorboards and high ceilings, with all the old furniture Margaret had bought back in her day. Jenny always felt like a guest in that flat; someone whod planned to pop by briefly but somehow stuck around for years.
Jenny doted on Alice. She was completely wrapped up in nappies, little vests, sleepless nights, the first tooth, the first wobbly step, the first Mummyall that clutched Jennys heart with tenderness she never thought possible. But Alice grew up not only with her mum, but with Granny Margaret, who appeared nearly every day, and with her aunt SusanDavids sisterwho lived in the same flat, holed up in the box room by the kitchen. Susan was five years older than David, always thin, hair scraped in a bun, face pinched like she was smelling something awful most of the time. Both Margaret and Susan were the types who have very clear views on everythingon childrearing, on what makes a good stew, on how to get grass stains out of school jumpers, or how you ought to treat your man.
Jenny, why do you let David go off to the pub with his mates? Margaret would ask, lips pursed. My John, God rest his soul, always came straight home after work. I laid down the law: family comes first.
Jenny never arguedthere was no point. Margaret could end any debate with just a look. And Susan would chime in with her bit:
Make sure Alice develops properly, Jenny. I got her some books, age appropriate. Kids today are wild, but thats down to their mothers.
So Jenny did what was expected. Alice read every book her aunt brought, went to museums with her gran, took French lessons with the tutor Margaret had found. She was a proper, well-read, thoughtful girlneighbours would say she was the spitting image of her grandmother at that age.
David, Jennys other half, was quiet and unassuming, worked as an engineer at the factory, loved a pint and a football match after work on TV. Jenny loved him with that familiar sort of affection that grows after ten years togetherwhen every row has been rowed and every grudge aired, so there’s no need to pretend. David loved Jenny too but he was bumbling with itbringing her a cup of tea in bed, or frying up eggs early while she slept in.
Margaret was always coldly maternal with David, as though hed never really grown up. In front of Jenny shed say, David, cant you show a bit of backbone? Youre like a shadow. Your wife looks at you and she cant tell if shes married to a man or a boy.
David would just shrug, his shoulders drooping. Jenny would lie next to him in the dark, stroking his hair and whispering, Dont listen to them. Youre good. The best. He never replied, just sighed and drifted off. And Jenny would lie there, staring at the ceiling, thinking how strange it wasyou can love someone, but still not be able to stand up for them, just because youre scared, because its not your flat, because you know youll always be a guest here.
When Alice turned thirteen, Margaret fell seriously ill. Pancreatic cancer. She took it with her usual stiff upper lipnever shed a tear, just pressed her lips together harder and went to the solicitor to write her will. She split her things as she felt fair: her own flat in the city centre went to Susan, and the three-bedroom where Jennys family lived went to David. She saw that as faireveryone gets a roof, nobodys upset.
But then everything changed in a way no one could have seen coming. Three weeks after Margaret signed the will, David left the factory, walked to his bus stopand was hit by a car. Young woman at the wheel, foreign car, distractedthats what they wrote in the report later. Jenny found out from Susan. She rang, voice breaking:
Jenny, Davids gone. It was an accident, car crash, the ambulance came but it was too late. You have to go to the morguefor identification.
Jenny didnt remember much after thathow she got there, seeing Davids face, signing things, riding home, staring blankly out the window. That night Alice stayed with her nan. Jenny came back to an empty flat, sat down on the sofa and stayed there till morning.
Margaret died two months after David. The doctors said the illness advanced too quickly, the chemo didnt help, her body was too frail. Jenny thought she just gave up without her son. For all her nagging and bossiness, he was still her boy. Something in Margaret broke the moment he was gone. She shrank into a faded slip of a woman, just lying in hospital, staring at the wall. Before she died, she summoned her solicitor to the ward and changed her will: the three-bedroom flat that was meant for David now went to Alice, her granddaughter.
The flats for Alice, the dying woman told Susan, perched by the bed. Youll get your own, just as agreed. Watch over Alice. Make sure she doesnt go astray like her mother. Jenny means well but shes weak. Alice needs a firm hand.
Susan just nodded, not a flicker in her face. She was every inch her mothers daughter, rigid and driven.
Jenny and Alice were suddenly alone in a flat that, on paper, belonged to Alicewho was only fourteen, so Jenny became legal guardian, really running the place anyway. For years Jenny didnt dwell on it; there was no time. She worked, raised Alice, shouldered everything she and David had once carried together.
Five years sped byjust working, caring, always scrambling for enough money. Jenny wanted Alice to have everything other kids hadsmart clothes, a decent phone, a tutor. She never complained, just got on with it. When Alice earned a scholarship to a top university, Jenny was choked with joy and pride. It was all worth it. Alice had become clever, educated, with a glowing future ahead. Shed even started earning on the side in second yeardoing translations; her English was great, thanks to Margaret and Susan and those early French lessons.
Then, just as life seemed to settle, and Jenny felt she could finally think about herself for a bit, she met Glenn. They bumped into each other on the bushe helped her with her heavy shopping bag, they struck up a chat. Turned out he worked next door, was thirteen years her senior, had two grown-up kids, and his wife had been paralysed after a stroke for five years. Glenn took care of her full-time.
Im no saint, he said to Jenny on their third meet, while they held hands on a park bench. I cant leave her, you know? Weve been together so long, we had two kids. But Ive stopped expecting anything for myself. With you, Ive remembered what its like to want something. To hope. To feel happy.
Jenny understood. She was thirty-eightshe wasnt dreaming of Prince Charming anymore. You take what life offers at this point.
She didnt tell Alice straight awaymade excuses, said she had to work late or visit a friend. But Alice was sharp, noticed everythinghow her mum had a sparkle in her eye and started buying herself little things, like a new dress. One day Alice just asked outright when Jenny was fussing over that new dress in her wardrobe:
Mum, is there someone in your life? Youre spending on yourself, got new perfume, new clothes. Just tell me.
Jenny blushed and, feeling like a teenager herself, spilled everything. Glenn, his wife, his situationand that she loved him.
Alice grew stiff and cold, voice frighteningly adultJenny heard Margarets icy tone in it:
Mum, do you know what youre saying? About a married man? The same mother who always taught me right from wrong is now sneaking round with someone elses husband. You realise that?
Ali, you dont understand Jenny started, but Alice cut her off.
I understand. Youre lonely, you want comfort, Im not stupid. But there are boundaries, Mum. A married man is off limits. Youre not eighteen anymore to go chasing after these sort of messes.
Jenny was hurt and cried, but shrugged it off as youthful black-and-white thinking. Alice saw the world starklyright versus wrong, absolutely no shades of grey.
Jenny and Glenn carried on seeing each other in secretat his mates cottage when he was away, or in a flat Glenn would rent for the night through a friends letting agent. Jenny knew it wasnt the romance shed dreamt of as a girl, but she treasured every moment.
Sometimes I think, Glenn would murmur beside her in a cramped, unfamiliar room, that Ive no right to this. To you, or any happiness, really. I sit by my wifes bedside, look at her, and think about being here, out with you, while shes alive. Its wrong, isnt it?
Its wrong, Jenny admitted, not wanting to lie to him. But I wait for you. I dont judge. Who am I to judge?
Youre good, hed say, kissing her shoulder. The best woman I know. I wont leave you, I promise. No matter what, Ill be here.
And Jenny believed him because she wanted to. After five years alone, worn out by work and feeling like she was pulling a heavy cart up a hill, she needed to believe someone could say, Youre good. I want to be with you.
Jennys world spun when she realised she was pregnant. At first, she wouldnt believe itshe bought three tests. Went to the GP, did the bloodwork. The nurse said, matter-of-fact, Its early dayssix weeks, heartbeats strong, looks fine. Jenny tottered outside, slumped onto a bench and burst into tearsfear, hope, despair all jumbled up together.
She had no idea how to break it to Glenn. She rehearsed it in her mindwould he be shocked, happy, desperate? Would he panic, make excuses, say it was too late, his kids were grown, he couldnt handle more, his wife was ill, he wasnt ready, it was all a mistake? Jenny knew he wouldnt abandon herhe wasnt that sort. But she sensed hed be terrified. Not because he was a bad man, but because his life was a tangle alreadygrown kids, a seriously ill wife, and now another earthquake.
But more than anything, Jenny dreaded telling Alice. She put it off for ages, but that perfect moment never came. In the end she blurted it out one evening, when Alice came home from visiting Aunt Susan. Jenny sat across from her at the kitchen table and said, quietly: Alice, Ive got something to tell you. Im pregnant.
Alice froze, mug in hand.
Is it the married bloke? she whispered.
Yes, its Glenn. Hes the dad.
I thought so. Alice smirked, but there was nothing merry in her smile. Mum, have you lost your mind? Youre thirty-eight, working yourself to death, Ive just started university, we finally got our heads above water, and nowyou decide to have another baby? By a man who cant leave his disabled wife and cant offer you anything?
Alice, please dont Jennys voice shook.
This is my flat, Mum, Alice stood, face pale and voice hard. Gran left it to me, not you. I wont have you carrying on and having more kids here. Do you hear me? If you want a family, go and ask the babys father for a place to live.
Jenny went cold. She stared at her daughterthe little girl shed raised, who shed taken to nursery, to school, to after-school clubs, for whom shed worked every hour, gone without, and just didnt recognise her. Standing there was a stranger with Margarets voice and Susans facealways making Jenny feel like the hanger-on in their rule-following family.
Alice, what are you saying? Jennys hands trembled as she gripped the table. This is our home. Weve lived here together for years, I brought you up here
You only lived here because Dad was alive, Alice interrupted. When he died, Gran couldve kicked you out, but she let you stay for my sake. But the flat was always mine, Mum. Always. I wont chuck you out, Im not heartless. But having more kids here, bringing your married bloke round, raising more childrenno. Not under my roof. You want a family? Glenn can provide for you.
Ali, how can you Jenny broke down, tears streaming. I was so young when you were born
You had me at eighteen because you didnt think about the consequences, Alice flatly replied. And youre repeating the same mistake now. But with a bloke whos got a wife in a wheelchair! What if he panics and leaves? What then? Youll be on your own, and youre nearly forty. I wont helpthis is my life now.
You wont help me? Jennys eyes were thick with pain and disbelief, and for a split second, even Alice looked away. Youre my daughter, my only one. I thought we were a family. I thought youd be happy to have a little brother or sister
Happy? Alice laughed harshly. Mum, get real. Wholl bring up your baby you, working all hours, chucking them in nursery before they can talk, leaving me to pick up the slack? No thanks. Im not enabling your irresponsibility. Its your body, your decisionbut dont talk to me about family. This is about a man. Why should I pay for your choices?
You sound just like your aunt. And your gran. So, what am I to you? A lodger you put up with while it suited you? Jenny whispered.
Alice winced, as if struck. Dont make me out to be the villain, Mum. I love you. Ill never kick you out. But only you. No men, no kids. This is my place, and I get to decide who stays here. You want the baby? Fine. But not in my home. I choose to live without someone elses children here.
Someone elses? Jenny clutched at her chest, feeling her heart would shatter. How can you say that? Its my baby, your siblingyour own blood! Alice, please!
No. Alice shook her head, and for the first time tears filled her eyes, though Jenny couldnt tell if they were genuine or performative anymore. No, Mum. Its your baby, not my problem. I dont want to look after it, or have my life turned upside down. Im just getting started and I dont want a child in the flat. I want to study and work.
Jenny slumped on the chair, her legs gone. Through blurry tears, she watched Alice cross her arms tightlylips set, just like Margaret and Susan, just like all the strong-willed women whod always made Jenny feel like she didnt truly belong.
Half the flat wouldve been mine, Jenny muttered bitterly. If your dad had outlived your gran by even a couple of months, half would legally be mine. I was his wife; I had rights. If only Gran hadnt changed her mind at the last minute
But she did, Alice cut in, cold as ice. And she made her choice. She left it to me. Dont you dare bring up Granshe knew you couldnt manage your life or money. You got knocked up at eighteen, and now again at thirty-eight. If this flat was yours, youd have wasted it, like you do everything else. Gran trusted me, and I wont let her down.
Youre not letting her down, Jenny echoed, and something inside her just snapped. The invisible thread linking her to her daughterlove, that she thought was unbreakablejustbroke. Youve become her, Alice. Youre Margaret now. Youre rightIm nobody in your flat. Just here because you allow it.
Mum, dont make a scene, Alice said, sighing like a worn-down grown woman. I wont throw you out. But this is my future. Im not responsible for what you choose to do. If you want a family, go to Glenn. Hes the dadlet him help.
He cant, Jenny muttered, regretting it instantly.
There, see? Alices smirk was pure Margaret, and Jenny had to close her eyes. You know the man cant offer you anything. Not a home, not stability, not a relationship. And you want me to share my flat and play nanny while you go off on dates with him? No, Mum. Absolutely not.
Im not asking you to look after the baby, Jenny whispered. I just want you to understand, to support me, to not throw me out onto the street with a child in my arms.
Im not chucking you out, Alice repeated. You can always live here. But only you. If you have the baby, you need to find somewhere else. Ill give you timetill the birth. Sort yourself out by then. But once the baby arrives, it cant live here. I wont watch all my plans unravel because of your mistakes.
Jenny slowly got up, shuffled to her room, closed the door, and curled up on her bed like a child.
Something inside her had quietly snappedthe invisible umbilical cord you think will never, ever break, even when your child grows up. Now in its place was a black hole, sucking in all the years: the memory of Alices first step, her first giggle, the sound of her saying Mummy, the two of them snuggled up watching cartoons, the times little Alice hugged her and whispered, Mummy, I love you more than anything in the world.
Im not a mistake, Jenny whispered into her pillow, so quietly she could barely hear herself. Im not a mistake. Im your mum.
But through the wall, music was blaringAlice had turned up the telly to full volume. Jenny realised that was it. Her daughter had said everything she needed, and was now getting on with whatever came nextwithout guilt, without remorse.
Jenny lay there for ages, then reached for her phone and dialled Glenns number. He answered quickly, clearly not sleeping, probably in the bedroom with his wife.
Glenn, Jenny said, her voice level and flat. Im pregnant. I need somewhere to live. Can you help us? A flat, some cash so I can stay off work the first year, at least. Please dont sugar-coat it.
Jenny heard him gasp. He stammered, like a schoolboy caught out:
Jen, come on Im not set up for this, you know my situation. The wife, the carers, Ive just enough for billsthe kids help out, but you know how things are. I want to help, but I cant just leave her, you understand? I cant. And renting a flatGod, thats a fortune, with upkeep You wont be able to work I just cant manage it all, Jenny, I swear. Ill support you as much as I canjust, yknow, bit by bit
Bit by bit? Jenny echoed. Got it.
Jenny, dont hang uplets meet, lets talk, well figure something out, there must be a way
She hung up, no goodbye. Left the phone on the bedside table, closed her eyes, and lay motionless till dawn, listening to the fridge hum, a dog barking somewhere far off outside. When the sky finally brightened a little, she got up, dressed quietly, grabbed her ID and her NHS card, and slipped out.
She sat for hours at the clinic, waiting, staring at the wall, not crying. When the nursesame one as last weekasked, Right then, signing you on as pregnant? Jenny replied, voice steady as stone: No. I want a termination.
The nurse just sighed, nodded, and gave her the earliest slot. Jenny stepped out into the cold, fresh air, and for a moment the sharpness took her breath away. Standing on those steps, Jenny began to cry into her handswhile all around her, other women walked past with swelling bellies and prams, busy with their lives, not even glancing her way.
