Emily Whitmore could not simply vanish. Still, she and James Turner wed, even though her mother, Eleanor Whitmore, frowned upon it.
Darling, you dont need a bloke like that. What will you get from that James? Eleanor huffed. He grew up with his gran; his parents died when he was a baby. He works in a garage, a proper greasemonkey a real handyman.
Mother, James isnt to blame for his parents fate, Emily retorted, her voice edged with defiance. He finished college, his hands are capable, he can do anything.
Eleanor snorted. All he does is tinker with bolts. How will you survive on his wages? Youre only in your fourth year of university; you must finish your studies. We cant support you without your fathers help.
Emily often endured Eleanors tirades, though James was away at work and never heard them. Eleanor laboured on, hoping to split the young couple. She despised James outright.
James, a steady fellow whod served in the army, adored Emily. She could not picture life without him. Before the ceremony he had whispered:
Lets stay with my gran. Its only a twobed flat, not the fourbed house your folks own. He knew Eleanor could not stand him, though he got on well with Emilys father. In the Whitmore household, Eleanor ruled with iron will and caprice.
When Eleanor decided on something, she would see it through by any means. Emily understood this, so she stood firm, ignored her mother, and relied largely on herself. Eleanors irritation at Emilys independence and disobedience grew, yet she recognised those traits as her own, passed down like a stubborn heirloom.
Emily knew Jamess mother irritated Eleanor, yet she coaxed her husband to stay a while with her parents.
James, Im still studying, youre the sole earner. Itll be tight on one salary, but Mum will always help.
Fine, well see, James replied.
When James finally received his pay, he drifted into the local supermarket for a few groceries. Emily had not yet returned from lectures. Eleanor, spotting his basket, erupted:
Who asked you to buy that?
I chose it myself, James replied calmly. Emily loves that cheese, and this Eleanor cut him off.
Youre a stranger here, you have no right. I tolerate you only for my daughter, who has found someone like you. Her words struck James like a cold splash; he stood stunned.
Mrs Whitmore, why insult me? Im speaking to you respectfully.
She sneered, Look at him, hell even try to teach me. Listen: every penny you earn from now on goes to me, always. Ill decide how to spend it, even the groceries. Understand?
Why should I hand over my wages? We are a family.
There is no family here, there is, she hissed, Give me the money.
No, I earned it and will give it to my wife.
Then leave my flat at once. I dont want to see you.
James departed. For three days he vanished, no word. Emily waited, uneasy, knowing a baby grew inside her.
He hasnt even called, she thought, He must be at his grans, Aunt Agnes.
Eleanor gave Emily a clipped version of the story, painting James as the offender, omitting her own demand for his salary and her eviction of him.
Mother, youre being honest, arent you? Emily asked, suspicion tinting her tone. James couldnt just abandon me.
Child, why would I lie to you? Eleanor replied.
On the fourth day, Emily set out for Jamess grandmothers house, his phone still silent.
Im going to Jamess, she told her mother.
Where to? Eleanor asked.
His home, surely hes with his gran now.
If he hasnt shown up, perhaps youre not needed, Eleanor retorted.
Thats nonsense, James wouldnt just walk away I dont know what you and Mum discussed, but youre hiding something.
Your dear James is your priority, not your mothers. I spend my money and strength on you both, and youre both ungrateful, Eleanor snapped.
Mother, Im not blaming you. Thanks for the support, but I know you cant stand James. Youre constantly picking on him, as if he were a bone stuck in your throat.
Emily snatched her handbag and coat, fled the flat, and rehearsed what she would say to her husband.
One must not act like a wounded child. No matter what mother says, you cannot react like that. Hes an adult, she thought, and I must keep my composure. Mums nagging is a storm, but Im caught between two fires. Im tired from studies, she mused, as I approach his house.
She convinced herself James had stormed out over some freshcut remark from her mother and now waited for her return. Emily resolved to pour everything out to James, then forgive him generously.
The sight that met her at the doorway was startling. Aunt Agnes opened the front with a sorrowful, guilty expression, ushered Emily inside, and spread her arms wide. James sat at the kitchen table, a halfempty bottle of gin perched beside him. Emilys breath caught. James never drank, never smoked; yet here he was, a faint tipple already taken, nodding toward a chair opposite.
She sat, fixed his gaze, and all the rehearsed words dissolved, her heart compressing with pity.
What could my mother have said that made James uncork the gin? she wondered, then whispered,
James, lets go home.
No, he answered loudly.
Why?
I cant live with your mother. I cant do anything without her directions. She controls every breath I take, already dictating how I should eat, speak, dress soon shell tell me how to breathe. And I will not hand over every penny I earn; we are our own family.
Emilys voice softened, So thats why she told you to leave.
She realised her mother had concealed that very detail when she spoke of the quarrel.
What shall we do now?
I dont know, James admitted. We could stay with my gran.
But we need money. Our son is on the way, and a child needs so much
I work long hours, tenplus, and theyll pay more. Yet with my studies and your job, we wont raise the child properly. Well need food, well need to cook, I cant drop my degreejust a little left. Perhaps we return to my parents until the babys born, until he starts nursery, and I find a job.
No, Emily, I wont go back to my motherinlaw, James declared firmly.
Maybe we should divorce then, Emily blurted, surprised by her own heat.
If you cant live with me, if you cant give up the comfort and help of your parents, perhaps separation is the only answer, James replied sharply.
Emily leapt toward the hallway, but Aunt Agnes called her back.
Sit, dear Emily, calm down Forgive me, I overheard your words because I sensed the ending. Ill help you. You need not abandon your studies; I still have strength. My pension is modest, not like your parents, but Ill share what I have. I dont need much. I can cook and watch my greatgrandson, I promise. Just, please, forget the divorce. Move in with us.
Emily accepted. She had often contemplated it; the comfort and aid of family tugged at her, yet love for James made her choose a new path. Her own family, husband, and unborn son suddenly felt more precious.
James watched his wife, tension wavering in his muscles, sensing she would accept the grans offer. At last, Emily smiled.
Alright, Ill stay. Where else would I be, James? she said. He sprang up, embracing her, kissing her. Aunt Agnes beamed, whispered a prayer, and the kitchen seemed to glow.
Emily endured her mothers barrage as she packed her things to join James. He lingered on the landing, refusing to step inside, hearing Eleanors curses:
Youll starve with your James, live in poverty, I dont want that grandchild. Hell turn out as obstinate as his father. Eleanor ranted, her words sharp enough to make Emilys hair stand on end.
Emily fled with a suitcase, set a large bag on the landing. James gathered her belongings, descending the stairs as a torrent of swearing followed.
Lord, even my own mother, Emily muttered in horror. Im glad I left home; now I understand my husband, I can see what she built for him.
Life settled for James and Emily at Aunt Agness house. The gran took charge of the household. Emily endured the pregnancy smoothly and gave birth to a healthy boy, Arthur. Aunt Agnes and the young parents floated on cloud nine. Eleanor never spoke to them again; the grandson was unwanted. Yet Grandfather George called in secret, asking about Arthur, and Emily sent photos, cheering him.
When Arthur turned three, he started nursery, despite Aunt Agness pleas that she could watch him. Emily went to work.
Gran, Arthur will mingle with other children, and at nursery hell grow faster. Youll pick him up, its close, Emily said. Then you can rest. We still hope for a daughter, she laughed.
