Well, dont fret, love, I told the woman, patting her hand. Shes a preterm baby, but a sturdy one. Everythingll turn out fineboth for your daughter and for your granddaughter.
She whispered a thin God willing, as the doctor slipped away, then muttered under her breath, Here comes the sorrow.
The grief had struck the Whitaker family six months earlier when a chatty neighbour, Mrs. Hargreaves, popped round for a cuppa with jamladen scones. Between bites she blurted, When are you expecting the baby? Already stocking up on nappies?
What baby? Claudia, the mother, snapped, bewildered.
Dont play dumb, Mrs. Hargreaves replied, I saw your little one, Clara, on the farm two weeks ago, all covered in mud, sprinting out of the calf shed.
Claudia tried to keep her composure, Maybe she ate something odd.
Mrs. Hargreaves scoffed, Youve never been in a real bind, you dont know a thing. Im not a midwife, I know nothing about this.
That evening Aunt Margaret grilled Claudia with questions, then wept, cursing the fate that had left her with a frail, sunkissed infant shed never held, a baby boy whod already slipped away along with the rest of the mens labour.
When tiny, hoarsevoiced Zoe arrived, she brought not joy but endless chores, irritation and a burning shame. Claudia never showered the child with warm affection; she lifted her only when feeding or changing, nothing more. Aunt Margaret watched her granddaughter with indifference, offering no love either. It was already the fourth grandchild, hardly a cause for celebration, and her own daughters children were few and far between. So Zoe entered the world unloved, stumbling on unsteady legs through a life that seemed to push her aside.
A year later Claudia moved to the council estate in Middlesbrough, hunting for a piece of happiness of her own. Zoe stayed with Aunt Margaret, a trueblue granny, not a stranger. The little girl demanded little care, ate what was given, fell asleep on schedule and never fell ill. The doctors assessment was correct: Zoe was robust, yet still utterly unloved.
Grandma Margaret raised Zoe until she turned seven. In that time Claudia had trained as a painter, married, and gave birth to a son, Colin. Then she remembered Zoe, now a teenager, and thought the girl could be a help at home. She travelled back to the village to fetch her, but Zoe, who saw her mother only twice a year, showed no particular delight. Claudia gave her a reproachful look.
Goodness, Zoe, youre as cold as stone. Another would have leapt into my arms, but you stand there like a stranger.
Seeing Zoe off, Aunt Margaret let a tear slip, feeling a pang of longing for a few days. Yet the following Saturday two more granddaughters arrivedLily and Emma, beloved children of her eldest son. In the bustle of caring for them, Zoe was quickly forgotten. She felt little remorse for Aunt Margaret; it was the parting from the newlyhatched, goldeneyed chicks that brought tears.
In the estate Zoe didnt feel at home, but she had no choice. Over time she adjusted, made friends, and went to school. After school she did her homework, ran to the shop for bread and milk, and peeled potatoes for her mothers meals. As she grew older she escorted Colin to nursery and, mimicking her mother, warned a lanky lad, Watch your step, youll get a punishment from me. Im running on fumes, and you give me no help!
She never heard kind words from Colins sister, nor from anyone elseshe never expected them. Zoe heard other girls being called sweetheart or darling by their mums, and her own mother would dote on Colin, calling him sunshine or kitty. Zoe, formerly Zina, believed she would never be anyones sunshine; she was older, unlike Colin.
At home she wasnt pampered, but nobody was cruel either. She wasnt denied a slice of bread, though there were no fancy treats. She wasnt dressed in rags, nor left hungry; she was simply unloved.
When she turned fifteen she left the cold house, which for eight years had never felt like home. She enrolled in a culinary college in Manchester, aiming to become a pastry chef, dreaming of eating cakes until shed burst. In the dormitory she shared a room with three other girls, and after classes she kept the flat tidy herself.
Then she met Victor. Suddenly life seemed to bloom with colour, even though November was grim and damp. The other girls would step out for a quick TV program in the common rooms cosy corner. Victor wasnt shy; he whispered pretty words that made Zoes head spin and her breath catch.
Youre my favourite, he murmured, and Zoe, used to perpetual neglect, felt a flutter of happiness.
Soon, though, she began to feel queasy each morning. She should have rushed to a doctor, but time slipped away. At eighteen she still hadnt registered with a GP, so she had to produce medical notes to marry Victor at the registry office.
Thus began Zoes married life, and at the same moment her brief romance faded. The young couple moved into Victors family home. Victors mother and grandmother offered no special affection to Zoe, yet they allowed her a room of her own. She wasnt the first nor the last to endure such a situation; she would just keep on living. Perhaps it was for the bestsoon a baby would arrive, and Victor would settle down.
A fellow from the estate envied Zoe:
Youre lucky, youll live in the city, be a citygirl.
Zoe didnt argue. She didnt need to broadcast that city life was just a label. Her house was in a suburban culdesac, with amenities like a village, but the water still came from a communal tap at the end of the lane. She didnt complain; she was used to it. Shed fetch water in buckets, feeling the cool splash on her feet, and that same chill reminded her of the unborn child shed later carry. Her motherinlaw scolded her, but Zoe never meant any harm.
Victor seemed to pity her at first, but only for a day or two. Soon he ran off with his mates, leaving Zoe to stay at home, helping where she could. Perhaps something would work out, but it didnt. After a while Victor brought another woman home, declaring he never loved Zoe.
Zoe confided in her dorm mates, wept briefly, then accepted the familiar pattern of being unloved. She packed her few belongings, obeyed her motherinlaws orders to go anywhere, and closed the door behind her.
She moved into the factorys dormitory, where the canteen was on site, the entrance was close, and the workers club was just a short walk away. Live and be merry, they said, and Zoe found a small happiness there, sharing drinks, going to the cinema, and joining the crew after shifts.
She rarely visited her mother, stepfather or brother; they didnt expect her, and she didnt press. Grandma Margaret passed away when Zoe was twentyone. She attended the funeral, looking over the old homestead one last time.
Grandma Margaret left her modest cottage to her favoured grandchildren, Lily and Emma. Zoe held no spite; the girls were the apple of their grandmothers eye, while she was the forgotten slice.
If Zoe had claimed a share of the inheritance, the family would have torn over the modest £500. Instead, her mother Claudia, forever wailing, cursed the relatives for not leaving a bent spoon for her beloved Colin. Isnt he a grandson too? Isnt that any less than Lily or Emma? she wailed, forgetting even her older daughter. Zoe never got that spoon.
Zoe tried twice to set up a life with men, but both fell through. No suitor ever escorted her to the registry office, so she never rushed there. Shed been there once; that was enough.
Both relationships failed for similar reasons: one man drank and brought home a prostitute, the other drank and turned violent. Decide which is worse, she told herself. She was glad she never tangled with the registry office again; otherwise, more trouble would have followed. She tossed her belongings into a cheap suitcase and returned to the statefunded bunk in the dorm, reuniting with her loyal friends.
Evenings in the dorm were slow; shed spent over ten years hopping from one flat to another, growing weary of strangers beds. By then she was approaching thirty, and any woman in her thirties craved a little corner of her own, a pot on her own shelf. Single women got apartments last, families first.
Sometimes shed drop by Aunt Alices kitchen, the woman who cleaned the factory floors at night, for a hearttoheart chat. After a few months, Alice, eyes soft, said, Zin, a year ago my niece died giving birth. Her husband, Martin, is a decent bloke. Youre capable, hardworking. Hes quiet, only drinks on special occasions, and though he isnt a poet, hes gentle. He could use a steady hand, and you could have a little one of your own.
Zoe thought it over and moved in with Martin. She spruced up his cramped room for May Day, bought curtains, sewed little dresses from green and blue cloth for his daughter, little Sonya, who soon began to babble and call Zoe Mum.
Martin was a calm man, never harsh, paid his wages, and never said a cruel word. He never whispered love, but Zoe never expected it. She had learned to accept a life without such words from the moment she was born.
Three years into the marriage, Sonya burst into the garden, clutching a bunch of dandelions, ran to Zoe, planted a kiss on her cheek, and whispered, Mum, I love you. I love you more than Daddy, more than Aunt Alice, more than my doll Yuli. Zoe hugged her, laughing and crying at once, finally feeling the love shed never known.
A year later she gave birth to baby Ilya. Martin tended the night, changing nappies, hauling the pram up the stairs. Soon the factory gave them a spacious, bright flat. Live and be happy, the foreman announced, and Zoe finally had a reason to smile.
They raised their children, waited for grandchildren. In their garden, silverhaired Zoe boiled jam on a summer afternoon while the little ones chased each other.
Grandma, I love you, shouted Olivia.
I love you too, echoed Derek.
Grandma, I love you, babbled baby Molly.
Everyone loves Grandma, said Granddad Martin, twinkling his eyes.
Zoe brushed away a stray tear, amazed that a girl once deemed unloved could end up surrounded by such affection.
