Life must go on. Run, and keep running. He might have been a decent man, but nohe turned out a rogue. Well raise the child ourselves, dont worry!
My mother and my grandfather brought me up. I have only a vague memory of my grandmother; she died when I was five, leaving behind the scent of her apple pies. I never saw my father. He vanished before I was born, fleeing with my mother, Eleanor, to the little village of Ashford.
Eleanors parents met him there, set a wedding date, and then the groom fled on the day. No one searched for him. Eleanor wept bitterly; she was already pregnant.
Your tears wont bring him back, said my grandmother. Life must go on. Run, and keep running. He could have been a good man, but hes nothing but a scoundrel. Well raise the child ourselves, dont fret!
I wanted for nothing in my childhood, yet I grew up sensible, not spoiled. I did well at school. My grandfather was a strict mentor; he taught me to honour my elders and cherish what I have. I learned to take on any task and see it through.
By the time I turned thirty, I was the envy of many: handsome, a respectable career, a salary of £45,000, a threebedroom terraced house in Brighton. Women swarmed, but I was not in haste; I was occupied. Every weekend I visited my mother in Ashford. My grandfather had passed, and Eleanors health was waning. She still managed the household, though lately it grew harder.
I urged her to move in with me, but she refused.
Why should I come? she would say. You wont see me any more. Ill stay here, quietly, on my own.
Live the summer here. Then a stay at the sanatorium, and after that come home with me. You need rest, youll recover, and then you can return to yours. Perhaps Ill even go with you!
Your work! Eleanor gasped. What business have you in a village?
In the village people also work, I waved my hand.
At that stage I was courting two young women and could not decide between them. The first was a modest country girl, Lily Hartleypractical and sweet. The second, Catherine Cat Whitmore, was striking and vivacious, the sort of beautiful flirt who seemed to know little of household chores.
I never invited either to live with me; our meetings were always in neutral places. Yet the time for a choice had come, and I could not bring myself to break one heart. I decided to introduce them both to my mother, who had just returned from a spa retreat and seemed revitalised.
Lily arrived first. She needed little coaxing; she smiled, delighted that her dream was materialising. What a spacious place, Paul, she said, looking around the flat.
Yes, spacious. Mother likes it too, though shes a bit frail.
And why does she live with you? Lily asked. I thought she was just visiting.
Just visiting, I replied.
Ill tell you straightI wont be looking after her.
Nor do I expect you to! I said, surprised. Ill manage.
But
Nothing, I cut her off. Its better if she stays where she is. Her house is in the village, its better for her, and its better for us too.
My mother will always be with me. Thats not up for debate.
Good heavens! I thought you were serious, not just a mothers boy! Change your mindcall me!
Lily slipped away without even finishing her tea.
I thought, She fled so quickly; Catherine will vanish even faster, leaving me without a bride.
So I told Catherine at once about my mother.
Mother will always be with me, I declared.
I dont understand, Catherine replied, puzzled. Why tell me that? I get that your mother will be here, but
If we lived together, how would you feel about her being there?
Fine! And youre proposing to me?
I smiled.
Perhaps. Lets go meet my mother.
Oh, will she like me? Right away?
Yes, shell like you. What are you afraid of?
Im not sure. Im just nervous.
Catherine and Eleanor got on famously at once. They walked together by the house, waiting for me from work, and soon the three of us drove back to Ashford. Strangely, cityborn Catherine loved the countryside, and Eleanor decided to stay there.
Summers ending, Im feeling better, Eleanor said.
Six months later we wed.
Now Ill finally see my grandchildren! Eleanor exclaimed.
And she didfirst a granddaughter, then a grandson.
Catherine and I raised our children in Brighton while our parents lived with us in the city. The children grew and prepared for university. In recent years Eleanor also moved in with them, and we all took holidays together in the village. She could never part with her little cottage.
Catherine, perhaps its time. Id like to return to the village. Shall we go? she asked one evening.
Of course! Paul will be back from work soon.
Good. Lets leave as soon as he arrives. Tell him, its urgent.
Life in the village was as quiet as ever; each year fewer people remained.
Finally, Im home for good, Eleanor declared one afternoon. Sell my house. It wont fetch much, but it would be a shame to let it fall into ruin.
What are you saying, Mother? Were leaving right now! I protested.
Yes, yes, Catherine murmured, trying to understand.
Fine, Eleanor waved, put the kettle on, please. Id like some tea.
After tea she retired to her room for a short rest. Catherine and I lingered at the kitchen table.
Mother, we should be going, our son, James, called out finally.
No answer came.
I entered Eleanors room and frozeshe was gone.
We buried Eleanor in the village graveyard.
She felt it in her bones, that she had come back one last time, Catherine sobbed. I loved your mother as my own.
I noticed that long ago. What shall we do with the cottage?
Selling feels wasteful
It is a fragment of the past. Let it stand for now.
We agreed to keep the old family house. Children would still visit, and perhaps one day, grandchildren would gather there as well.
