WITHOUT A HEART…
Margaret Wilkinson returned home. Shed been to the hairdressers againdespite being 68 now, she made it a habit to treat herself to a cut and style from her favourite stylist. More often than not, shed tidy up her nails too. These small indulgences always lifted her spirits and left her feeling a little younger.
Margie, some relative of yours dropped by. I told her youd be back later. She said shed pop in again, her husband Bernard announced as she entered the lounge.
What relative? Im out of family these days. Must be some long-lost second cousin or other, probably wants something from me. You shouldve said Id gone off to the other end of the country, Margaret replied, unimpressed.
Why fib? She really did look like family. Tall, well-kept, reminded me of your late mother, bless her soul. Doubt she wants anythingseemed proper and well-dressed, Bernard tried to reassure her.
About forty minutes later, the relative rang the bell. Margaret answered herself. There was indeed a resemblance to her late mother, and the woman was dressed to the ninesa smart coat, boots, gloves, and little diamond studs glinting in her ears. Margaret knew expensive jewellery when she saw it.
Margaret offered her guest a seat at the already-laid table.
Well, since were apparently family, lets make introductions. Im Margaret, do call me that, were of a similar age Id say. This is my husband Bernard. So, how exactly are we related? she asked.
The woman hesitated, even blushing faintly. Im AliceAlice Victoria. Theres barely any gap between us in age. I turned 50 on June twelfth. Does that date mean anything to you?
Margaret went pale.
I see you recall something. Yes, Im your daughter. Please dont be alarmed, Im not here to ask for anything. I just wanted to see my real mother. I spent my whole life confused, never understanding why my mother didnt love me. She passed away eight years ago now. Why did only my father seem to care for me? He died just two months back. It was only at the end that he told me about you. He asked me to let you know, and to forgive him, if you could, Alice explained, her voice trembling.
I dont understanddo you have a daughter? Bernard blurted out, shocked.
So it appears. Ill explain later, Margaret replied stiffly.
So youre my daughter? Fine! Now youve seen me. If you think Ill wring my hands in regret and beg forgiveness, think again. I am not to blame here, she told Alice. I assume your father told you everything? And no, dont expect me to feel any sort of motherly affection. Not for a moment! Sorry.
Could I come again? I live just in the suburbs. We have a large house, two floorsmaybe you and Bernard could visit us. You might get used to the idea of me. I brought some photos of your grandson and great-granddaughter, if youd care to look? Alice asked shyly.
No. I dont want to. Dont come round again. Forget about me. Goodbye, Margaret cut in sharply.
Bernard ordered Alice a taxi and walked her to the gate. When he returned, Margaret was clearing the table, calmly watching the television.
Youve nerves of steel! You belong in the army commanding regiments. Is there really nothing inside you at all? I always suspected you could be cold, but not to this extent, Bernard said, exasperated.
We met when I was 28, yes? Well, dear Bernard, my heart was broken and trampled long before you, she began.
I grew up in a tiny village, always dreaming of escaping to the city. So I studied harder than anyone, managed to get into universitythe only one from my class to do so.
I was 17 when I met Robert. I adored him madly. He was nearly twelve years older, which didnt bother me. After years of poverty, the city was like a dream. My student grant didnt last long. I was always hungry, so I was delighted by every café or ice cream outing Robert suggested.
He never promised me anything, but I was surewith a love like that, hed marry me in the end.
Once, he asked me to spend the evening at his cottage. I said yes, not hesitating. I thought it meant hed be mine forever. After that, our evenings at the cottage became a habit. It soon became clear I was expecting his child.
I told Robert. He was over the moon. Soon, with my bump about to show, I asked him when wed get married. Id just turned eighteen. I could apply at the registrars office.
Did I ever promise to marry you? Robert responded.
No, and I wont either. Besides, Im already married He said it calmly.
But the baby? And me? I asked.
Youre young, healthy. Take a year out from uni. Stay put a bit longer; when the time comes, my wife and I will look after you. We cant have kidsmaybe because shes quite a bit older. Once the babys born, well raise it. You neednt worry about a thing. Ive got influence on the council, my wife runs a hospital ward. Well even pay you.
Back then, nobody had even heard of surrogacy. But what choice did I have? Go back to the village and shame my family?
Before the birth, I stayed at theirs. Roberts wife never came near; perhaps she was jealous. I had the girl at home, with a midwife. They took her away straightaway. I was never allowed to hold her, not even once. A week later, I was quietly shown out. Robert handed me some money.
I went back to university. Afterwards, I started at a factory, got a room in married quarters. I worked as a supervisor, was eventually promoted.
I had friends enough, but not a single proposal came my way until you arrived. By then I was 28, didnt especially want to marrybut felt I ought.
The rest you know. We had a comfortable life: three cars, a lovely house, the best of everything. We took holidays every summer. Our factory survived the 1990s because only we made the essential tractor partsno one else even knew how.
We both retired early, earned our pensions. We wanted for nothing. No children, and that suited me. Besides, have you seen young people these days? Margaret finished her confession.
We havent had a good time of it, then. I loved you. I tried all my days to thaw that cold heartno luck. Its not just that we never had kids. You couldnt even spare a moment for a stray cat or a neighbours pup. My sister asked if her daughter could stay a weekyou turned her out without a second thought.
And now your own daughter came to see you! Your own flesh and blood, and you… Truly, if I were younger, Id have divorced you. Now its too late. Its cold, being with you, Margaret. Just cold, Bernard retorted angrily.
Margaret was unsettled; hed never spoken so harshly to her before.
That single visit from her daughter shattered Margarets peace.
Bernard moved out to the cottage. Hes more or less lived there since, keeping three rescue dogs and goodness knows how many cats from the village.
Hes rarely home. Margaret knows he visits Alice and her family, and thinks the world of their little girl.
He was always a bit daft, always will be, she reflects. Let him be.
Margaret never felt the urge to meet her own daughter, nor her grandson or great-granddaughter.
She still goes alone to the seaside for a holiday, unworried, soaking up the sun and enjoying herself. She feels perfectly all right.
