Sit with the baby, youll have to, youre the grandmother now, they used to say.
Evelyn, are you sure this is the right moment for a child?
Margaret set down her tea cup and looked across the table at her daughter, Lucy, who had taken a seat opposite her with a look that seemed to anticipate something unpleasant.
Mother, weve discussed this before.
Yes, exactly why were talking again. You and Peter have only been married a year. Hes just starting to climb the ladder at the firm, while youre still stuck below senior manager in your own company. Youre barely getting by, and now you want a baby
Lucy rolled her eyesa gesture Margaret recognised from Lucys teenage years. Back then it meant back off; now it seemed to say what do you know?
Were fine, Mum. Peter earns well. Well manage. Besides, theres that old saying about a bunny and a meadow, remember?
Indeed, Ive heard the meadow tale, but a baby isnt a plush bunny you can put on a shelf when you tire of it. And earning well only matters if you have a safety cushion. It matters when you dont have to wonder where the money for nappies and formula will come from if someone gets laid off.
Lucy shrugged and turned toward the window, her posture declaring the conversation over. Margaret knew this tactic; Lucy believed silence equated to victory. Margaret sighed. At twentyfive, a grown woman still took every piece of advice as a personal affront.
Lucy, Im not trying to forbid anythingyoure an adult. Im just asking you to think. A year or two wont decide everything, but a bit of stability would help.
I know when I want to have a child.
The certainty in those words was so absolute that Margaret merely shook her head. Pressing further would be pointless. She had lived long enough to understand that sometimes people must make their own bruises, especially when those people are your own children.
Exactly nine months later Lucy called from the maternity ward.
Mum, a girl! Twopointfive metres long! Shes beautiful, you cant imagine!
Lucys voice rang with joy, and Margaret didnt bring up the argument from a year ago. Why? The child was already born, healthy and wanted. The rest were details that time would smooth outif it ever did.
Or perhaps not.
Margaret visited them each week, bringing fruit and sometimes a readymade meal. In the first months Lucy barely found time to shower, let alone stand at the stove. Margaret helped within limits, never hovering with advice, never commenting when the baby was put to bed at seven or ten, never grimacing when Lucy chose pricey organic formula over the standard brand.
A family youre not a part of feels like a dark room, even if its your own daughters.
The little Emily grew, babbling, learning to grasp her rattles with chubby fingers. Margaret watched her and felt a strange sensation: loving someone so fiercely while knowing you are merely a guest. Welcome, cherished, yet still a guest.
Lucy blossomed in motherhood. She lost weight, though a great deal, from sleepless nights and constant running about. Dark circles settled under her eyes, but she smiled in a way she hadnt since school days. Margaret felt genuine joy for her.
Six months after Emilys birth, Lucy arrived at Margarets house with a face that announced an unwelcome conversation.
Mum, weve got problems.
Margaret settled Lucy at the kitchen table, set the kettle on. Lucy sat with her fingers intertwined, staring at the floor.
Were short of money. Completely.
On what exactly?
Everythingbills, nappies, formula, food. You know how costly everything is now!
Margaret remembered calculating this a year earlier, when shed tried in vain to teach Lucy basic arithmetic.
Has Peter got his promotion?
Yes, but its still not enough. I need to go back to work, Mum. We cant stretch this.
Makes sense.
Theres nowhere to put Emily. The nursery wont take a child under eighteen months; I called every crèche in the area. And a nanny a nanny costs so much itd be easier not to work at all.
Margaret stayed silent, already seeing where the talk was heading, a realization tightening around her chest.
Mum, could you look after Emily while Im at work?
Lucy, I have a job.
But you could quit or take leave. You have some unused days, dont you?
Margaret slowly shook her head. Lucys hopeful eyes made Margaret feel a pang of pity for disappointing her, almost.
No, Lucy. I wont quit my job just to watch your child.
But why? Shes my granddaughter, Mum!
Lucys voice cracked with the demanding, almost childlike tone that surfaces when a fiveyearold wants a doll and the parent says payday is still a week away.
Because I have my own life, my own work, my own plans.
What plans, Mum? Youre fiftyfive!
Margaret felt no sting from the bluntness. Shed long accepted that, to Lucy, she existed in a separate categoryMumwho, by definition, should have no personal ambitions.
Thats why I wont spend my remaining years changing nappies.
Lucy thrust her cup forward, spilling tea onto the tablecloth.
Youre selfish.
Perhaps.
Youre a terrible mother!
And thats possible too.
Margaret saw tears welling in Lucys eyeswhether from anger, hurt, or a mixture of both. Lucy had never been good at losing; even as a child shed smashed checkers against the wall when the game went against her.
The weeks that followed became a relentless replay of the same argument. Lucy called, wrote, visited, always with the same refrain: youre a bad mother, youre a bad grandmother, how could you? Im your daughter. Emily is your granddaughter.
One day Margaret could take no more.
Tell me exactly what Ive done wrong. Why am I suddenly a bad person?
Lucy halted midsentence, clearly not expecting such a turn.
You refuse to help!
Its not a fault, its my choice. And when you were growing up, how was I a bad mother?
You you Lucy choked. You were always at work!
I was at work because I fed you, clothed you. Remember your childhood? Remember the best nursery in the town? Remember the dresses from Childrens World while other girls wore handmedowns?
Lucy fell silent.
Remember university? The private one, I funded for five years so you could get a decent degree.
Mum
Remember the twobed flat I gave you for your wedding, in a decent neighbourhood? Remember the car?
Lucys cheeks flushed, unsure whether it was shame or anger.
Thats different.
No, it isnt. As a mother I did everything I could, perhaps even more than required.
And now, when I truly need help, you turn me away!
Margaret inhaled deeply.
Lucy, I warned you a year ago. I saidwait until you could stand on your own. You said you knew when to have a child. That was your choice.
So now you punish me for it?
No. I just wont sacrifice my life for it.
Lucy shot up, tears brimming, lips trembling.
Ill never forget how you behaved!
Maybe someday youll understand, when you yourself become a grandmother.
Lucy left without a goodbye.
Two months of silence followed. Margarets calls went unanswered, messages unread. She saw Emily only in photos on social media; Lucy never blocked her, but the distance remained.
Margaret scrolled through those pictures each eveningEmily learning to sit, then to crawl, smiling at the camera, reaching for toys. She grew without her.
Was it painful? Yes. Yet Margaret did not regret her decision.
She thought of how easily people grow accustomed to comfort, how quickly requests turn into demands. Lucy had always been that waytaking, receiving, demanding. As long as Margaret gave, everything was fine. The moment she said no, the mother became a monster.
Perhaps, in time, Lucy will understand, will learn to own her choices, will finally maturemaybe by her thirties.
Meanwhile Margaret kept on with her lifeworking, meeting friends, planning a summer holiday, waiting. She waited patiently, without resentment, without a desire for vengeance.
She simply waited for her daughter to outgrow that childish selfishness. She had always been patient.
