Family
Dont cry!
I cant Mary was almost howling, face buried in a threadbare baby blanket.
Stop it, I said! What else did she say? Ellen, muttering under her breath, rummaged fiercely in the medicine cupboard for some valerian.
She told me I ought to leave Oliver, Mary sobbed, snatching a glass of water from her mother-in-law. She shook droplets from her dressing gown and knocked her teeth against the rim. I should take Laura and live with her. That hell leave me anyway, and then Ill have nowhere to go Shell never accept me.
Is that really why youre making such a fuss? Mary, I thought you were cleverer.
I did too. But Im not crying just because of that. How could she? Shes my own mother! I havent seen her in years, and now this! Such cruelty!
What does it matter why she acts so? The real question is something else.
What then?
Why But never mind that now. Calm down! No point making yourself ill. Well figure this out.
How?
Mary! Why are you such a worrier, hm? Ellen came over to the sofa, perched beside her daughter-in-law and cupped her cheek. Youre not alone! Theres Oliver, theres me, theres Granddad. Youve people wholl stand by you!
She told me Im not family to you. Not blood
And is that all kinship is? Child, calm yourself! Youve been with us long enough. Dont you see by now what were like?
Mary sniffed and squeezed her eyes shut. Who could she trust?
Ellen cocked her head, listening.
Lauras awake. Sit tight! Ill fetch her. Drink your water and gather yourself. Shell sense youre upset. Do you want your little one howling as loudly as you are?
No!
Then compose yourself. This is not the end of the world.
Truth be told, Ellen was bluffing. The situation was deadly serious, and for the life of her she didnt know how to handle it. Her son was away on a job, and besides Granddad, there was no one to confide in. Shed yet to make any close friends in this village, and she wouldnt dream of telling the chattering women at the office. Theyd pass it round the village until there were versions enough to last all year.
Ellen knew all too well how her colleagues loved to gossip. What else was there to do in the council accounts office? Shuffling paper, drinking tea all day, especially in slow months. Natter away, picking over the bones of anyone who came to mind.
Ellen avoided such conversations when she could, which had quickly earned her a nickname. The Ice Queen, they called her behind her back. What of it? As long as they left her family alone. Someone had already spilled the tale that Mary had grown up in care; soon every bored or nosy soul was eager to know why Ellen had taken in a girl like that.
And what exactly did they mean? A girl like what? Just a child, same as any other.
If she was honest, thered been a grain of truth to the gossip. Ellen hadnt warmed to her daughter-in-law right away. The very first time her son had come home with news of the girl he wanted to marry, Ellen had put her foot down.
Are you sure, Oliver? You hardly know her! How long have you been courting? A month?
Four. I was afraid to tell you.
Why?
I didnt want you to react like this. And shes good, Mum. Honestly. You just dont know her yet.
Ellen hadnt replied. What was she supposed to saythat she didnt care to know anything about the girl staring back at her from the photo? Dark hair, a blunt fringe, eyes kohl-lined till you couldnt make out their colour at all, and a sullen look that made her seem as if all the life had gone out of her. Maybe it was just a poor picture or maybe that really was her.
But Oliver was happyhappier than Ellen had seen him since his father had died the previous year.
It had been a difficult time. Oliver had only truly known his father, Ian, these last two years. Before that Ellen preferred not to remember. The wasted years, the strainall because of one person: Ians mother, Ellens own former mother-in-law.
Ellen had been impossibly naive when shed married. How could she have been otherwise? Pampered and cherished, an only child, just seventeen when shed met Ian. Theyd courted a year, then, unable to bear the waiting any longer, announced to their families they intended to wed.
Ellens mother was already ill then, and couldnt object, and her father was none the wiser.
Within two years, both Ellens parents had gone. In that time, shed become a wife and discovered she was expecting. Her father had lived to see his grandson; her mother never learned if Ellens child was a boy or a girl.
Oliver was born frail, and for good reason. Ellen was anxious all through her parents illnesses, refusing outside help, tending to them herself for as long as she could. When her fathers strength faltered, Ian stepped in, brushing aside his mothers protests.
Its not your worry, Ian! Theyre strangerstheyve a daughter to see to them, and they can well afford help. Why should you be slaving away after work? Youre not made of iron!
Mum, neithers Ellen.
My concerns younot Ellen. I must put you first.
Ellen heard those conversations, sometimes directly, sometimes reported by her husband, who always regretted it after.
Oh, words they slide down into the heart like scalding oil, leaving a crooked scar which never quite fades. If youre lucky, a salvelike a childs smile or a lovers tender morning kissmight smooth the ache. If not, it lingers, never letting you forget, never allowing you to forgive, nor to move towards the light.
So much too much.
Ellen initially excused her mother-in-laws animosity, thinking it natural, given theyd hardly known one another before the wedding. Ians mother was sharp as they came: an education, a good job, and enough pride for half the village gave her cause to think the world should spin to her tune.
Ill not give you an easy life, so you know. My son deserves better.
What do you dislike about me?
And who are you, exactly? No education, no job. Hiding away like a church mouse. My boy needs better.
How so?
Someone who can give his career a leg up. Intelligent, able to get on with the right sort.
Which people?
As I saya clever sort!
We’ve a child together.
So what? Children and wives? Easily replaced, love. But mothertheres only one. Youll get maintenance, dont bank on anything else.
Weve no plans to divorce.
Well see. Dont get above yourself, girl, and dont vex me. Itll cost you dear.
Ellen would wonder, where had she slipped up? Was it even her fault at all?
They divorced when Oliver was just three.
It was the oldest tale: a birthday celebration for her mother-in-law, a certain old schoolmate of Ians, some hidden kitchen assignation at precisely the moment Ellen was asked to fetch something trivial. She saw nothingonly a sobbing woman, comforted by Ian but the look the woman shot her was so peculiar, Ellen couldnt help but imagine the worst. Her youth, inexperience, the lack of anyone wise to advise herall played their part.
That evening she returned to her childhood flat, haunted by memories, set her bags down, pulled little Oliver from his snowsuit, and sat, watching her boy run laps in the cavernous hallway, before breaking down herself. She scrubbed and washed till morning, trying to reclaim the home from its ghosts, then, having managed a couple hours sleep, went to the post office to send a telegram to her grandfatherthe only relative she had left.
He could not come at once. There was much to settlehis smallholding had to be sold off in haste.
By the time Grandfather Michael arrived, Ellen had divorced, found some kind of job, and placed her son in nursery. She scrubbed the stairwell in neighbouring flats and wondered how to carry on.
Granddad sorted it all out.
Youll study.
But whatll we live on?
My pension, for one. Ill get work, two. And theres a bit of a nest egg. Well manage.
Wholl have you for work now?
Lads for the yard, watchmen, groundskeepersalways jobs for those who’ll do them. Im not afraid of work, Ellen. Well get by. Now, what will you make of yourself?
Ill train as a bookkeeper. I always liked maths, and its a sound trade.
Quite right. Still, think on university too. Itd serve you well.
Ellen did get a degree in the endnot at once, but part-time. She placed her diploma before her grandfather, hugging him so tightly he had to wheeze out a laugh.
Throwing me aside, are you? Not needed any more? Youll crush the life out of me, girl!
Oh, Granddad! What would I do without you?
Im your fifth wheel, as folk say. But youre the same! Ellen, if only I had a few more years, Id like to see you and Oliver settled. Then I could go in peace.
Old goat! Stop it or Oliver will hear. Granddad?
Aye?
Am I still a nobody?
He took off his glasses, rubbed his nose, settled them back on, and grumbled,
Dont listen to daft talk, Ellen. I know exactly where it comes from. Its nonsense! A person isnt nothing. From birth, we all matter in our ways. Your boywould you let anyone call him nothing? Youd give me a piece of your mind if I said so! And youso what if you didnt get a degree straight away? You became a mother, and a splendid one. The boy takes after you; you were a terror yourself as a child, but with a heart of gold. And what place does he have in our lives? Answer that for yourself. And dont listen to any whod push you aside. Judgemental folkjudge by themselves. Ink a code of wrong, then marvel when ill befalls them. We have a saying here: No sense is as good as a limp. Treat them like the sick and move on. Youve your own path. Live it. Listen to me, if you must, only a tiny bit, but to no one else. Understand?
Understood, Granddad! Truly, what would I have done without you?
Oliver moved on to the sixth form, and then Granddad decided to return to the country.
I’m off! The old cottage stands empty too long. You’ll cope here. Youre not children anymore. But, Ellen
What?
If you mean to marry again, think twice, you hear? Olivers at an age where he might take it badly. Bring him to me, we’ll talk.
I dont intend to change a thing, Granddad.
For now, perhaps. But life can surprise you. Never say never.
After seeing him off, Ellen reflected. Ian took little interest in raising his sonbirthdays and Christmas cards, a punctual maintenance payment, for which Ellens former mother-in-law would always snipe,
Hes a family now, two children
Three.
Ellen! You’ve never been a clever woman!
Certainly not. All finished? Then, good day!
She hadnt learned to answer back immediately, not at firstit had always come hard to her. Shed genuinely never understood why people quarrel, or the point of spite, when one could just get on and be content.
Ellen, youre a marvel! Granddad would laugh. Some folk, give them bread or bragging, and theyll choose a fight every time. People are different, love. Youre too kind for this lot, thats why you suffer.
I wish I werent!
Dont change! Each walks their own path. Some take a stick for defence; some, a loaf to share. That’s the whole of life, learned while I’ve breath left.
Ellen learnedfrom her mistakes, from the goodness and meanness she saw in others. Not always, but often, she managed to build her life, just as Granddad had saidwith sense.
Then the biggest lesson of all came. One evening, a small, plump woman appeared at Ellens door, gripping the hands of two girls so uncannily like Ian.
Good evening, Ellen. Im Irene, Ians wife. May we speak?
It was a long, difficult conversation. But after that, Oliver had a father again, and, whats more, two sisters.
Theres no need to squabble, Ellen. We both have children. I was foolish, listening to my own mother-in-law denigrate you and your son. But it dawned on meshed say the same about my daughters, should we displease her. Whats the use? The boy ought to know his father. Ians a good man, but hopelessly tied to his mother. I dont want my girls growing up with no one to lean on. At least now, theyll have a brother. That is, if you dont object. Theyre good girls, not just because I say so, but in truth. Like their father. What do you say?
What could Ellen say? She talked it through with Oliver and decided to accept what came.
A year later, Ians mother died, and there was peace at last. Irene nursed her to the end, but when she was gone, breathed easier.
Oh, Ellen, I wouldnt wish for anyone to sigh with relief at my passing. Not to be wept for, nor fondly remembered, just relief How does one live to avoid that?
You do already, Irene! I’ll certainly weep for you!
Chatterbox! Irene fished for a clean tissue. Still, I pity her. I keep trying to recall something good. She loved my girls, in her own way, she did. So she wasnt wholly lost.
Ellen remembered that conversation well.
When, years later, her son, speaking of his Mary, leaned back in his chair and smiled, so radiantly that the old kitchen lights seemed suddenly multiplied, Ellen understoodall she had learned of life would be tested now. How she welcomed this girl, still a stranger, would decide so much. It would show what sort of person she herself had become, and what kind of man her son was.
Everything became simpler once Ellen got to know Mary.
A slight thing, not unlike a startled sparrow, clinging to Olivers arm as she entered. Ellen couldnt help but soften.
Come in, Mary, dont be afraid. I wont bite.
Im not frightened!
Her voice trembled, and Ellen smiled inwardly. Oh, who are you kidding? Just look at those shaking hands, that jumbled scarf.
Did you knit this yourself?
Yes. Aunt Nancy taught meMrs. Nancy Archer. She worked at the childrens home when I was small, taught whoever wanted how to knit. She was lovely. She cared about us.
So you grew up in care?
Yes. Is is that a problem?
Mary fluffed her feathers, bristling. Ellen reassured her gently,
Not at all. We all have our own story. Dont mind my questions, I simply want to know more about you.
Why?
Surely I ought to get to know my future daughter? Oliver told me a little, but Id rather hear in your own words. Whatever you wish to share, when you wish.
All right
Marys guarded look, peering out from her fringe, made Ellen almost sigh aloudso much hope, and how easily dashed.
That evening Ellen learned little more. The girl answered only when asked, in as few words as possible, shy of even taking a slice of bread from the table. Ellen was astonishedcould a child raised away from any family be so well-mannered?
It was much later that Ellen learned what Marys childhood had truly been. By then, the children were married, and Ellen was used to a new person in her home. Granddad had approved Mary on sight, warning Ellen not to pick at little things.
Shell come into her own, just you see! Give her time. Shell tell you all you need to know when shes ready.
That day came sooner than Ellen expected.
Returning home from work, she slipped on the bus step and broke her leg. The fracture was nasty; Ellen was gutted, cursing her clumsiness, refusing to accept help.
No need to trouble yourselves! The hospital meals are good, and the nurses are excellent.
I know what hospital cares like.
How so?
I spent a lot of time in them, as a child. Let me feed you, then I must dash; Ive only two lectures today, Ill come again soon. Bear with me?
It was then their relationship deepened. Bit by bit, day by day, Ellen glimpsed how much kindness and heart remained in a girl who had undergone so much.
My mother was sentenced when I was a year and a half.
What for?
Theft, and something else. Im not sure. She got six years.
Your father?
I never knew him. I had a grandmother, but she refused to take me. Said she couldnt cope.
Was she old? Unwell?
Neither. She and my mum were at loggerheads. Perhaps thats why. I dont know. I was taken away. At first, I didnt understand. Didnt know where Mum had gone, why everyone was a stranger. Aunt Nancy said I cried constantly. Refused to eat, wouldnt play. For ages. Then, after a while, I settled when I got used to it all.
And your mother? Did she stay in touch?
Yes. She wrote me letters. I couldnt read then, they had to be read to me. I waited for her. She promised in every letter shed come and get me. Id plant myself on the wide window ledge and stare at the gate, waiting, until someone found me and sent me off to the heads office.
To scold you?
No, to cheer me up. Wed watch cartoons there if anyone was upset.
Did your mother ever come?
No. I turned seven. Eight. Sixteen She never came. Just letters, saying she missed me, wanted to see me
I dont understand. Why didnt she fetch you?
She had another family. Mary sliced up an apple, eyes down. Ive a sister.
Oh, Mary I don’t know what to say
No need. I was angry for years. Couldnt forgive her for leaving me. Its as though that girl is truly her daughter, and I what am I?
At that, Ellen shivered, as if she were back in that old kitchen, hearing her former mother-in-laws mocking voice.
Dont say such a thing! Ellens tone was so sharp that Mary dropped the knife in shock. Forgive me, I didnt mean to startle you. Its just Ive had the very same words directed at me. I know how they sting.
From whom?
Ill tell you another time. Go onwhat happened next?
She did eventually visit. By then, I was at college, living in the halls. I was delighted, thought everything would finally change. But nothing of the sort. She said I couldnt live with them, it wouldnt be convenient. I agonised over what she meant, but was too shy to ask. I barely remembered her, and felt ashamed. How can a child not remember her mother?
You were a baby, Mary! Who could recall at that age?
She said I should remember. That I must never forget how shed once shoplifted food to feed me.
And was that why she did it? Ellen was now firmly cross. Was it really?
I dont know. Does it matter? Shes my mother. Ive no one else.
The sorrow in Marys words cut to Ellens heart. Poor child! To have endured so much, and yet not become bitter or lost to resentmentsuch strength there must be in that soul!
Ellen at last understood its measure the year after Mary and Oliver married, when Marys mother, Gladys, reappeared and made their lives a misery.
Her first visit was brief; Ellen never did quite grasp why Gladys had really come.
We must get acquaintedwere family now, after all! Cheers, old girl, to new ties!
Ellen sipped her sherry and set the glass aside. Something was unsettling her, but she couldn’t yet name it.
Funny, how life goes. I had a girlnow shes grown, married, and here’s another on the way! All the better! Shell see what its like, bearin a child, the hardship, the thanklessness! Kids never appreciate what we mothers do for them! Think giving them life is nothing!
Ellen let her prattle on; Mary rushed back and forth between rooms, growing grimmer by the minute.
Luckily, Gladys had little time, leaving the next day after a whispered chat with Mary and a black look at Oliver.
Mary did not come out of her room all afternoon. When she finally appeared in the kitchen, Ellen could tell shed wept badly.
Mary, whatevers the matter?
Nothing. All fine, Mrs. Henshaw. Pay me no mind.
Oh, its plain as daylight how fine it all is! Here, eat something; youll faint in your exam tomorrow, thats all youll gain from starving.
I can I just dont fancy anything.
You must. Youre so slight already! Dont argue. Will you have some tea?
I will
Days passed.
As Lauras birth approached, Ellen made a suggestion after much thought: they should sell their flat and move to the country where Granddad Michael lived.
The old house there is sound. Ill live with him, and youll have another nearby. Hes getting on, but refuses to give up the bees or the chickens. Hell need help. The school is good, the nurserys close. Therell be work for you too, Mary. What do you say?
After talking it through, Oliver and Mary agreed.
There now! Families do better together.
But events took their own turn. Granddad persuaded them all to stay in his house, moving himself into the annexe hed recently finished.
I spend most of my time in the sheds anyway. The extensions big enough for me and Ellen. You lot take the houseyou dont need to buy anything for now. If you want, theres a plot next door, also mine. Build your own nestwhy pay someone else?
So it was decided.
Gladys second visit lasted longer, and arguments boiled over. Mary and Oliver squabbled, Oliver argued with his mother-in-law, and Ellen nearly threw Gladys out when she caught her feeding their six-week-old Laura a lump of pork pie.
Gladys! What do you think youre doing?
Whats wrong with that? Mine had the same, and came to no harm.
Swooping up Laura, Ellen brought her to Marys room, then returned to the kitchen.
This won’t do. Before you feed anything to a child, you ought to ask its mother first!
Oh, lets not pretend you consult her! Gladys laughed.
But of course.
Oh, Ellen, stop your lies! I cant believe for a moment youd ask that little chits opinion! Shes living under your roof, getting everything done for her! Why should she think she gets to have her way?
But she’s never tried it.
Perhaps she should. Have you registered the child? Otherwise, you might throw them both out and leave me to pick up the pieces!
Gladys, I dont know what youre getting at. Why are you really here?
Ive come to arrange for support payments.
What payments? Ellen blinked in shock.
The ones daughters owe their mothers by law, of course. I bore Marynow its her turn to look after me. My husbands on a disability pension. Im not well. My other daughters about to come of age. Theres much to pay for.
And you expect Mary to support you?
And why shouldnt she? The law says she must. Ive not been struck off, so she owes me!
And you to her? Ellen, barely restraining herself, glared. Thats enough. Gladys, youd best gather your things. Mary owes you nothing!
That remains to be seen! Gladys narrowed her eyes, resting her chin on well-manicured fingers. Playing at being mum? You think you can take my place? Shell never call you mother! Got it? Shes got one motherme. You’re just the in-law. Thats how it is, and so it shall remain.
We shall see, Gladys. Ellen banged the crockery, clearing the table. Off to bed. Ive laid out the sheets for you.
Well done! Gladys brushed crumbs to the floor and lumbered away.
Ellen washed the dishes, downed two glasses of water, and decided at that moment: shed do whatever it took to spare Mary from her mother again.
In the morning, Gladys called Mary out for a long, whispered discussion. By the time Ellen awoke, Gladys was goneleaving tears and confusion behind.
After a quiet word with Mary, Ellen stepped out with her phone.
Granddad! Hows life?
Still ticking, thanks.
Dont tempt fate!
Tending the bees. You sound flustered.
I want to talk.
Whats happened?
Granddad! How much is in the old savings pot?
A week later, Ellen vanished for two days, then came home and sat Mary at the table.
Ive paid off your mother.
Excuse me? Marys eyes grew wide as saucers.
She wont be troubling you here again.
II dont understand! Truly?
Something in Marys voice made Ellen forget propriety and gather her in, hugging as shed always done Oliver, for the very first time.
Its true, my dear. Its over. She has all she wants now, enough to last her. While we get the documents together and speak to a solicitor. I visited your old childrens home. Discovered something, too.
What? Mary leant in, clinging, in awe of the unfamiliar but not unwelcome feeling.
That she never sent any support payments through all those years you were there. So theres every chance we can free you from any legal obligation to this woman.
Why give her money, then? Mary pulled back, studying Ellen.
Because I wont have my family bullied and upset under my roof. And shed never have let upshed have written, called, made everyones life miserable. Enough is enough! Were done with it!
Mary heard only two words from Ellens speech, and sat frozen, the question barely more than a whisper.
Your family?
Well, Mary, you silly girlof course youre one of mine. As much my child as Oliver. Havent I warmed you enough for you to feel that yet? Heaven help me if Ive failed as a mother
Not true! Youre a wonderful mother! Mary shook her head so eagerly that Ellen laughed, tears in her eyes.
The very best
Then call me Mum if you canenough of this Mrs. Henshaw! As if I were some clerk in the office!
Thank you Mary squeezed her eyes shut, colours bursting behind the lids, heart pounding. Then, quietly but surely, called her at last, as shed long wished to: MumA delicate silence hung in the kitchena silence thick with hope and relief. The last pink edge of evening faded through the windows, painting familiar forms in gentler light. For the first time in years, Marys hands werent shaking.
Mum, she tried, voice trembling with the weight and wonder of it. It felt awkward, too big and too soft all at once, as if she were a child againif shed ever had such words to speak to someone. Ellens arms closed around her and that was the answer, as simple and absolute as sunrise after a long, storm-tossed night.
Above them, a sleepy wail rosethe baby. Ellen drew back, smoothing Marys hair, her own eyes shining.
Go on. Little Laura needs you.
Mary smiled. She crossed the hallway to the nursery, the ache inside her lessening with every step. At the door, she paused, listening: Lauras fretful cries, the gentle creak of the house around her, the distant clatter of Granddad in the shed. All the small, steadfast sounds of home.
Mary closed her eyes and breathed inwarm milk, lavender soap, a sweetness shed only ever dreamed of. And as she lifted her daughter, holding her close, she whispered, Its all right, little one. Youre safe. Were both home.
Downstairs, Ellen set another place at the table, pouring tea for herself and, smiling, for Mary too. She glanced at Olivers photograph on the dresser, then at the blossoms Laura had pickedclumsy, wild, but offered with all a childs honest love.
Ellen let her thoughts roam over the years, the broken beginnings and healed endings. She touched the rim of her teacupscarred and repaired, but whole and holding warmth.
Family, she thought, is not always born. Sometimes its made, day by daya word at a time, a kindness sown, roots growing deeper with every shared sorrow and every small, stubborn joy.
Upstairs, Mary rocked her daughter and sang a lullaby Aunt Nancy had taught her long ago. Ellen heard the strains drifting downfragile but sure. The old house exhaled, settling. Through the open window came the hush of evening bees returning to their hives.
In the quiet, Mary let herself believe in belonging, at last. And a new story began, stitched gently into everything around herbright and certain as the morning to come.
