– Mabel! Oh, what on earth is going on out here? Mabel! Come here, now!
I shook my fist at the neighbours goat, but then quickly stepped back. Buttercup had horns that could give you a nasty bruise, thats for sure. A lunge from her would be the end of me. How many times have I asked Michael to mend that gap in the garden fence? Always too busy! And so, every evening, I end up squabbling with the neighbours.
Why evening? Well, because Mabel works at the village shop, and when shes not at home, its her daughter Beatrix who runs the house. But what can you expect from a six-year-old child?
Beas a brilliant little thing, really. Just six, but clever and sensible. She feeds the hens, sees to the piglets, does everything about the place. The only thing she cant do is handle Buttercup. Though, to be fair, Mabel herself cant manage the goat either. That wretched creature will stand for milking politely, then proceed to rampage as the mood takes her. Shes butted the kitchen door off its hinges, chased Bea up a tree poor thing had to stay there until Michael got in from work and helped her down. Buttercup wont let me closer than five paces.
Beatrix darted out onto the porch, grabbed the stick always left handy by the steps and tore across the yard.
Buttercup! Off you go! Shameless beast! Whatve you broken now?
Buttercup gave a surly bleat, watching Bea with one golden eye, obviously weighing up whether she ought to react. Bea was no toddler anymore. The little, grubby thing Buttercupd bossed around wasnt here; this was a determined Beatrix, stick clenched tight, and she wasnt frightened anymore.
With a toss of her head, Buttercup bashed against the last rotting plank, the one separating our gardens probably figured the grass was greener elsewhere and tail in the air, she bounded off through the veg patch. Maybe shed not be caught this time.
I watched Bea dart after her along the rows and sighed. Poor child, the lot shes got in life… What was Mabel even thinking, bringing her into this world? Why? Just so that people could call her the Mishap not even using her own name?
Mabel Harcourt, Beatrixs mother, was the acknowledged beauty of the three tiny villages clustered close together. You could visit a relative in the next village without even bothering to get on your bike better to stroll through the little copse or along the field, take a breather from life and its endless worries. And goodness, the worries never stopped: garden, stock, kids, everything needed doing at once. Sure, some folk lazed about, but most worked hard to give themselves and their children some kind of future. And heaven help the soul who dared complain things were hard here! Life was the same for all of us.
Mabels mother, Catherine, had the same attitude. Robust, hands like a farmhand, she ran her family with a firm touch. And how else could you manage, raising three boys alone after her feckless husband drowned fishing? Mabel, the only daughter, came along after all that. Her brothers, the eldest being sixteen when she was born, treated her like a china doll. Beautiful as a toy, only to be admired and protected. Mabel walked through the village with her nose in the air. Just you try and touch her.
Cathy doted on her daughter, but kept a watchful eye. Such a beauty where did she get it from, looking nothing like her mum or dad? Catherine puzzled over this until her mother-in-law fished an old album out of a dusty cupboard.
She looks just like my gran, Louise. Look, a proper spitting image. She was a real beauty, bless her. Only
What? Cathy looked up, concern written all over her face.
She never knew happiness. Husband left her, lost two sons, the third wanted nothing to do with her. She died completely alone; none of her children close by in the end, save my mum, but even she wasnt actually her daughter…
Why did it happen like that?
She was just too kind. A soft heart for everyone. Her husband was a brute, but shed recover from his thrashings and start singing again. First to raise a song, my father always said. He, though, took after the wrong side always harsh, never gentle. Maybe that was the trouble; you never can tell. He made us keep away from her, but Mother always found ways to send us round, to help and cheer her mother-in-law. When he found out, he beat Mum so badly she could barely walk, shut us up in the loft, and wouldnt let us down for two days. Until, of course, he cleared off for work in the city again.
But why was he so angry with his mum?
He always blamed her for having to quit school, for being forced to come back to the village, for his fathers death. Knew he wasnt right, and that made him angrier still. Wouldnt even say goodbye to his mum when she died, barred Mum from going around too. But Mum wouldnt stand for that, gave him what-for and saw her mother-in-law off herself, holding her hand right to the end. Told him if he ever raised a finger again, itd be the last time. Eventually, she kicked him out, and my brothers backed her up. After three years he was let back, finally contrite. Spent the rest of his days quietly, going to the restored church every Sunday, always asking forgiveness. Too late, though. Thats how life is.
Cathy listened to this old tale, but never retold it to her children. She kept her boys in line, never letting a hint of cruelty slip by, but let Mabel slide in other ways there was no malice in the girl, but a certain coldness and distance that would have filled all three villages, and then some.
Tall and graceful, Mabel took after her mum, but there wasnt a hard angle anywhere she glided along the street as if floating. Eyes deep lake-blue like her fathers, a flutter of lashes and another admirer would be up all night, tortured by the memory.
Mabel kept suitors at bay for so long people started whispering. Why hold out so, when every eligible lad in the area was half out of his mind for her? But Mabel kept mum, and when she finally chose well, everyone was astounded.
Victor had moved in from away, a new vet in the next village, wife and two kids in tow. What did Mabel see in him? Anyone you asked just shrugged. Not much to look at, knock-kneed and awkward, and married! What was the world coming to?
But Mabel didnt care what anyone said. She carried her shame with pride, knowing her brothers, though they scolded her fiercely, would never let harm come to her.
Cathy was at a loss. Talk her out of it? She wouldnt listen! Confront Victor? No effect! He just laughed in her face, bent a horseshoe in front of her and asked if she had any more questions.
Furious, Cathy straightened the horseshoe and banged him on the forehead with it, stormed out of the stable, and burst into tears. What a fate would the neighbours think she was a useless mother, that she hadnt kept her girl from this? As if anyone would listen anyway.
That evening, Mabel stormed up to her, red with temper, and bellowed from the threshold:
Youve ruined my life, Mum! Ill never forgive you! Dont come near me, you hear? I havent any family left!
She vanished into the old grandfathers cottage, empty for years, just as she was summer dress, grubby sandals. It was months before Cathy heard Mabel was expecting. Her eldest daughter-in-law, Grace, came over to help couldnt bring herself to say why at first.
Mum…
What, Gracie? Cathy nicked her finger with the knife, sucking it as she waited.
I cant keep it in. You ought to know! Here let me see that, youll need some antiseptic… Mabels expecting. Shell have the baby by spring…
Cathy, stunned, plopped down on a stool, her finger forgotten. What now?
Her confusion didnt last. With her finger bandaged, slippers and apron still on, she marched out and down the lane.
Neighbours slipped aside as she passed, silent.
The old cottage door creaked open, and Cathy pressed her bandaged finger to her chest. Her childs hurting, so she should too.
Mabel was lying on the bed, facing the wall. Cathy walked over, stood silently, then nudged her.
Move up.
She lay down, hugged her daughterwho seemed suddenly a little girl againand whispered in her ear:
What do you think itll be?
Mabel sobbed, relaxing in her mums arms, whispering, A mistake… just like her dad.
Cathy jerked her round.
Dont you dare! What happened, happeneddont you blame the child. You made your choices, now own them! Nobody forced you. You didnt mind loving him, but now what?
Mum, he left me… said he had kids elsewhere. Whats mine, then? Mabel pressed herself to her mother, as if she were little again.
Good riddance to him, the scoundrel! Now you stop this! He isnt worth your tears! If he was a good man, well, maybe, but hes just a weasel. Come on! Enough of this! Youve got a home, and my grandchild will grow up here, not as an orphan while her people live round the corner!
Mabel looked through her tears and then, suddenly, laughed shyly.
What now? Cathy brushed her daughters wet cheeks.
What kind of weasel is he, Mum? Hes barely taller than a broom, bless him. Short in every way! What if the baby takes after him?
Oh, nonsense! Shell take after us, youll see!
Cathys confidence was unshakable, but the prediction didnt come true. Beatrix was the image of her father. Only her eyes, deep sky-blue, were her mothers as endless as the river pool that circled the village.
Children were strictly forbidden to swim there. But now and then someone would sneak off and, when they were missed, an anxious wailing would roll from house to house disaster…
The way Cathy wound up at that cursed spot was only known a month after she drowned. Someone saw her, just back from the farm, veering suddenly off the footpath and dashing hazardously down to the water. The women following couldnt work out what was up, but quickly raised the alarm. Tommy Arnold, the boy Cathy shoved up onto the bank by his sun-bleached mop of hair, fled in terror not home, but to his granny in the next village. He stayed there till nightfall, and when he finally came home, his backside sore from his dads lesson, he lay awake for hours, reliving the look in Cathys terrified eyes as she grabbed him and gasped, Go to the bank… now…
Only a month later did Tommy tell his mum what happened, after nightmares left him sleepless night after night. She listened, sighed, looked at her daft boy, then put on a black headscarf, took him by the hand, and marched him to Mabels.
Here. Your mum saved him. God bless Catherine she gave her life for someone elses child.
Mabel was hollow-eyed, crushed with grief, gently rocking her daughter, whod cried inconsolably since her granny passed.
Tommy shuffled up, poked at Beatrixs clenched fist.
Whys she wailing? Shes turning blue, look.
For the first time that week, Beatrix quieted, opened her hand, and grabbed his finger.
Strong one… Tommy winced, sneaking a look at Mabel. I didnt mean…
From that day, Beatrix had a shadow. Tommy came round every morning during holidays, and after school in term time. Beatrix, convinced Tommy now belonged to her, always greeted him bossily: Wash your hands! Im hungry!
Under Tommys leadership, Beatrix learnt her first mischiefs, and Mabel would often sigh, grabbing her stick, Youre a right little Mishap, you are! What am I to do with you?
The neighbours, after Beatrix was born, whispered a bit but soon quieted, out of sympathy for Mabel and in memory of Cathy.
Mabel made peace with her brothers at Cathys funeral, and ever after tried to stay on good termsshe knew that if she cut those ties too, shed have no one left.
Beatrix grew practical and capable, refusing to live up to her nickname. Mabel couldnt help but wince, remembering the man who let her down.
By then, her vet had moved away, having realised no one here cared for him anymore. Twice he came home battered after accidentally bumping into trouble, and his wife, cursing him to hell and back, packed up the children and left him. In time, they reconciled, and he raised his kids, never asking after Beatrix, or wanting to know.
By sixteen, Bea had blossomed and told her mother she was offintending to study medicine in the city.
Youre a Mishap! To the city? Alone? Wholl look after you there?
But Beatrix stood her ground. The uncles met and backed her plan, and Mabel had to accept it.
Tommy, usually her staunchest ally, now hesitated.
Are you sure about this, Bee? Maybe think again?
Whats to think about? Bea said firmly. Im going to be a doctor! Dont you get it? Your mum, after her stroke, cant walk anymore. Old Mr Parker, losing his memory, soon wont know his grandkids names. Mrs Newton, who dreams of moving in with her daughter, but cant bear to be a burden. Vera, whos terrified her third wont go to term… Theres so many out here. We mean nothing, living out here on the edge. The hospitals almost thirty miles, and the ambulance never comes. Even the old clinic is shut. No, Tommy, dont you try to talk me out of it Im going.
Tommy, crushed by the thought shed never come back, didnt even see her off. He ran down to the river bank, to where Cathy had dragged him from the water, and sat there a long time, legs dangling from the bluff, cursing himself for never telling Bea how he felt.
Beatrix heard her nickname from her mother many times during uni. Shed flub exams she knew well, especially after sleepless nights working at the hospital to earn her keep. Once, she dozed off and dashed into lectures at the last minute, wearing her jumper inside out, to the amusement of her classmates and the old professor, who declared that such things actually revealed the souls subtle disposition…
But nothing stopped Beatrix. She finished her course, packed up, bid farewell to her friendswho thought her mad, after hearing what she wanted to doand came home.
Mabel, peeling potatoes at the kitchen table covered with a faded tablecloth, jumped at the creak of the door, nicked her finger, just like Cathy years ago, and burst into tears.
Bee…
Beatrix gave a very grown-up sigh, dropped her bag, wandered to the cupboard for iodine, and asked, Got any of your pickled cucumbers? I fancy fried potatoes and a really crunchy cucumber! And stop blubbing! Im back, Mum!
That same evening, it was Beatrix who proposed:
Have you changed your mind about marrying me yet, Thomas Edward? Well? If not, whens the wedding?
And five years later, Mabel, tucking in her youngest granddaughter on the veranda, would hush the older one, beckon me with a whisper, Come, lets have a nice cup of tea! I made strawberry jam yesterday best batch yet, I think. It wont last long, mind, especially with Bea home. She nearly finished half the lot herself after her shift yesterday.
Expecting again, is she? I teased.
What makes you say that?
Why not? With such an appetite? And just look at them beautiful children, all the spit of their mum.
All that matters is theyre happy like their mum. Oh, Irene, do you think perhaps were breaking the family curse at last?
What do you mean, perhaps? Mabel, honestly you lived so long and still havent twigged? You snapped that chain ages ago, the day you brought Beatrix into the world. Didnt you notice? That girls so full of light, she could brighten all three villages and more. Who calls her the Mishap now? They all call her Dr Beatrix Harcourt, and with respect, too! You ought to be proud of her, not dwell on the past. Theres nothing for you or her back there. Only memories. Remember the good, but what use is the bad? Especially for the children, who dont know yet what its like to live with pain and grudges? If we keep from looking back, maybe things will turn out differently for them. Pour me another cup, will you? Thats some delicious jam, Ive never tasted better. Ill have to send my lot out strawberry picking tomorrow. Mind if I borrow your biggest pan?
Mabel nodded, reached for the kettle, paused to listen, and smiled.
Louise is awake……again, she whispered, as the smallest granddaughters laughter came echoing from the hall.
I followed Mabel to the doorway, where the evening light fell golden on little Louisetangled curls and gap-toothed smilechasing her sister through a maze of wooden chairs. Outside, Buttercup the goat grazed quietly within the patched-up fence, flicking her ear as if listening to the voices inside. Beas eldest, sharp-eyed and sturdy as her mother, shrieked with delight and darted behind my skirts. There was no sign of mishap, only a new kind of harmonya dizzying, bustling order that made sense the way dappled sunlight fits every leaf on the old cherry tree.
Mabel poured the tea, her hands steady now, and we lingered on the steps, cups in our laps, content to measure our days not by what had gone wrong, but by these gentle, ordinary joys. In the kitchen, Beas laughter rose above the clatter, home at last from her shifther stethoscope slung by the back door, a garland of wildflowers in her hair, as if shed snatched time itself and bent it into something beautiful for supper.
Outside, the village clock rang the hour and, for a moment, all three generations paused together in the golden hush, feeling the world turn. Somewhere, a dog barked, a rooster crowed one last time, and the distant rivera place of so much sorrowmurmured quietly as always, an old tune, unchanged. But here, the burden of old stories slipped away. Here, the future stretched wide and bright, and the little ones ran free on grass softer than any past mistake.
I set my empty cup down, feeling the warmth of the hearth behind me. Tomorrow would arrive soon enough, tangled as everwith goats and gardens and, maybe, another jam jar to wash. But tonight was full of sweetness, and family, and the certain knowledge that sometimes, despite everything, happiness finds its way home after all.
