Mother Hens
“You are intolerable, Grace! One can’t talk sense to you! Such simple things, and yet you can’t seem to grasp them! You’ve the mind of a mother hen! What good is that?”
“And you Well, you!”
Grace Evans gripped her coin purse all the tighter and scowled at her companion. That was all her resolve could muster, though. Unbidden and wholly unnecessary tears burned her eyes, and she hastily turned away from Sylvia Bernard. But it was too lateher future in-law had spotted the weakness and pounced with glee.
“There now! I was right! Else why would you be crying? Oh, Gracie, what’s the use in arguing? Our children are about to grant us such happiness!”
The pram, snowy white with lines as elegant as a royal carriage, in which Sylvias bony hands were clamped tight, was, by all accounts, beautiful. At first, Grace herself had found the little wonder on wheels enchanting. But her daughter had asked her to consider practicality, and with how wet and mild English winters had becomemud and drizzle for half the yeara pristine white pram, as fancied by Sylvia, was as impractical as it was lovely. That delicate gleaming dream had not been made for English weather, nor for romps through puddles on the high street.
Sylvia spoke sharply. “Why are you blubbering over a pram? When the time comes to choose between dance class and art school for our granddaughter, you can challenge mebut not over this! And really, Gracie, must you always tear up? Your daughter, too! My poor Paulhe barely stood a chance, marrying all that weeping! That’s probably why there were problems! I didnt sob my way through my pregnancy!”
Sylvia faltered as Grace wiped away her tears and whirled on her.
“Enough!” she hissed, right in Sylvias face. “Thats quite enough! Youve worn out the nerves of both me and my daughter! Now, out of my way!” She pushed aside the pram, which blocked her path. “Anna will choose what she wants, and Ill pay. No one shall ask you! If Im a mother hen, so be it! But youyoure no woman at all. Youre a tyrant!”
Grace strode to the shop door. There, she paused, shook her head, and called back over her shoulder.
“Dont you ever get tired of hearing your own certainty, Sylvia? Youre like a bulldozernever minding what you churn up as you go. Don’t phone me againmy nerves aren’t what they once were. I can’t bear you!”
She shoved the shop door open and nearly took a tumble down the slippery stone steps.
“Curse this,” she muttered under her breath, unsure if she meant the unseasonable frost or her insufferable in-law.
The gnawing doubt that shed overstepped was all too familiar to Grace. Standing on the pavement outside, she nearly turned back to apologise and attempt to mend their hopelessly tangled relationship. But she checked herself.
How long could she go on? Three years of near-daily needling since they’d met, and always, Grace had been made to feel at faulther words, her looks, manners at table, in company, among family, her parenting of Annaeven the way she poured tea! Shed endured, silently, knowing that to change someones nature was a tall order; and only possible if the person wished it. Sylvia had no wish to change. She was content to live as she deemed rightand, Grace had to admit, sometimes she envied her. Grace herself couldnt act with such bold disregard for others’ judgements, so convinced the world revolved around her.
Grace had raised Anna on her own. Her late husband, John, had been a good man, and Grace would not permit herself to imagine how life might have gone, had he lived.
Shed known Johns heart had been weakeven before their courtship began at university. Quiet, modest Grace, who, to everyones surprise, became the heart and conscience of their class, caught Johns eye from the start. Yet, for a long time, he hadnt dared approach; too often he’d seen her escorted by a tall, handsome chap. Unbeknownst to John, this was just Annas cousin, tasked with looking out for her. The day John saw the “admirer” with another girl, it roused him to action. He accosted the young man after his farewell to Grace.
“Whats this, then? How could you treat Anna so? Is that fair?”
Cousin George was momentarily baffled, then roared with laughter.
“Ah, you poor Romeo! Youd have done better just to ask. Annies a sweetheart, but shed have told you straight awayI’m her cousin. Her mum sent her to stay with us when she got into college. Do you like her?”
“Very much,” John confessed.
“Well, what are you waiting for? Tell her!”
“Just like that?”
“Lifes shortno need to complicate things.”
That may’ve been meant as a joke, but Georges words proved prophetic. John and Grace had only six years happiness together.
In that time, they married, welcomed Anna, and became inseparable. When fate cut Johns life short, Grace knew part of her soul had gone with him, and there would never be another. Instead, her focus became raising Anna. Her daughter was her guiding light, the one reason she kept going. She looked after her in-laws, who withered after losing their only son, and made certain that little Annaso like her fatherfelt cherished and happy.
“My daddys an angel, but I have two grannies, two grandpas, and my mumthat makes me lucky!” Anna would boast at nursery school.
She stopped calling her father an angel as she grew, but never doubted he watched over her.
“Of course he does,” Grace always assured her. “He loved you so much.”
Anna grew up believing that love made the world turn, and she was sure of itit made breathing easier, coloured the world bright. If someone glanced at her crossly or spoke unkindly, it was as if the colour faded, the air grew heavy. Like her mother, she avoided confrontation, not from weakness but from a conviction that everyone had something good inside. If only you showed you saw it, people responded differently. Many a cross neighbour would soften and beam at Anna, chattering happily about her dog, her sole joy. The grim street sweeper who grunted at everyone always replied to Annas “Morning!”, and soon, oddly enough, began greeting others too, as though shed worked some magic. Not even her peers, so absorbed in their telephones, could ignore her gentle greetings.
So, it was hardly a question when Anna chose to study psychology. She took calls at a local helpline while still at university, then later became a rescue volunteerrewarding, if demanding, work.
She met her husbandPaulon one such callout. He was walking past the ambulance where Anna waited for her team, and, seeing her shiver in the late spring wind, he draped his jacket around her shoulders.
“Oh no, really, youll catch your death,” Anna tried to object.
“My mother raised me to stand the cold,” Paul quipped. “But your nose is blue! Wait just a tick!”
He dashed off. By the time Anna realised she didnt even know his name, he was back, warm coffee in hand, and took back his jacket.
“Can I have your number?” he asked, plain as day.
It was so natural that Anna barely hesitated before scrawling her number on Pauls palm.
“Until next time!”
They dated for half a year and realised they were meant for each other. Paul soon introduced Anna to his mother.
Sylvia Bernard made quite the impression. Shed spent nearly a month preparing for the day, going through all stages from denial to bargaining, still unable to accept her beloved son had become his own man and chosen a bride. The night before, Sylvia visited the hairdresser, regaling the staff with her woes.
“But must you interfere?” asked Rita from behind her nail file, glancing up.
“Oh, do be quiet, Rita! Your own sons married three times, and all your daughters-in-law are frightful! Am I meant to welcome this girl with open arms? I know nothing about her!”
“Youll get to know her,” Rita muttered, half-offended.
Sylvia didnt believe it for a moment. She was certain she wouldn’t like her son’s choice.
She dismissed Paul’s suggestion to meet in a restaurant.
“No, Paul. Only at home. This girl should see the family shes joining.”
Sylvia had plenty to be proud ofa grandfather, an Oxbridge scholar; a grandmother, director of one of Londons finest museums; and her husband, director of a well-regarded West End theatre.
The table was beautifully set; Sylvia was renowned for her cookery, and her table always looked as if for royalty.
Her confusion grew ever keener as Anna managed knives, forks and goblets with aplomb, complimented every dish, and made easy conversation.
“Marvellous! Such taste! You cook wonderfully,” Anna beamed, and Sylvia was left nonplussed by her guests calm and poise, perfectly at home and not once using the wrong cutlery.
“So, Anna, who raised you?”
“My mother.”
“She must have dedicated her life to it?”
“Yes, she worked hard but gave me all her spare time.”
“And what does your mother do?”
“Shes a dentist.”
“Ah. I see. Well, thats a respectable profession,” Sylvia replied stiffly. She had little time for doctors.
For the rest of the evening, Sylvia tried everything to unnerve Anna, but the young womans composure never cracked.
Afterwards, Sylvia complained to her husband.
“A statue! That girl is not one of us. Wherever did Paul find her?”
“I dont see what youre fussing aboutall that happened was you learnt the facts. And what are you going to doorder Paul not to marry? He decided, and you yourself taught him to take responsibility. Think of when he brought home that stray puppy in Year 2; you let him keep it but never cleaned up after or walked itthat was his duty. This is rather more important. And really, why so worked up? Shes a lovely girlsmart and well-mannered. What more do you need?”
Sylvia didnt know the answer, even as she fretted, heart aching at the prospect of Paul soon leaving to chart his own course.
At the wedding, Sylvias face was a picturenot that makeup, hair, new dress, or shoes could hide the turmoil within. She even shed a few tears in the corner, doing her best not to ruin the makeup, until her husband found her, consoled her, and reminded her how his own family had received her.
Those words soothed Sylvia somewhat. Shed certainly struggled when she joined her husbands household, ill at ease with a mother-in-law who never missed a chance for a dig. The aunts took sides and prolonged the gamein short, shed not been welcomed either. Things only improved when tragedy struckSylvia lost her first baby when she slipped on the icy doormat one snowy February. First to rally around were, in fact, her in-laws. They arranged for the best doctors, cared for her recovery, and said not a word of blame. Only much later did she forgive herself for not asking for help home.
With Pauls birth, the family came together at last. Sylvia grew to trust her mother-in-law entirely with her son.
Perhaps the memory of those old wounds helped Sylvia change a little. She treated her new daughter-in-law with more tolerance, but her pent-up energy found a new targetGrace. Graces steady calm, her efforts to avoid any quarrel, drove Sylvia up the wall. It became a silent war: Sylvia proved her superiority; Grace never let on that she minded. All Grace wanted was her daughters happiness.
And Anna truly was happy in her marriage. Grace shielded Anna from Sylvias meddling, sure she could handle her in-law better herself.
Things might have carried on that way, had Anna and Paul, faces alight with joy, not announced the news that turned everything topsy-turvy.
“A grandmother? Paul, really?” Sylvia gasped, then glared as Grace hugged Anna, weeping openly with joy.
“Mum, you don’t joke about this. Anna and I are having a baby.”
After that, Grace and Sylvia fell into a sort of madcap competition to help the expectant couplebuying baby clothes, practically racing each other to it.
“I found the cosiest baby grows! In my day, I stitched everything by hand for Annasuch lovely patterns,” Grace said as she packed another box.
“And isnt buying things ahead of time bad luck?” Sylvia protested primly.
“Not worried. Im not superstitious, nor is Anna. Why wait? Pauls so busywhen else will they sort all this?”
“Perhaps youre right,” Sylvia conceded, and so the little wardrobe grew, until Anna begged them both to stop.
“Its enough! Soon well be sleeping amongst the baby grows myself!” she laughed.
Everything escalated until they jointly decided to buy the pram. Anna looked through catalogues but couldnt settle on the right one. By the end of her term, she felt poorly, and the family agreed she shouldnt worry.
“Youve both done this before, havent you? I trust you to pick a good pramjust so long as its light and easy to use. Pauls often travelling for work.”
The pram became the last straw that finally caused mother-in-law and mother to erupt.
Grace, sitting in her car while the heater strained to banish the cold, mumbled abusively about Sylvia under her breath. Not that she was one for strong language, but Sylvia had truly driven her to the limit.
As she sat, her irritation fell more towards herself. What sort of doctor couldn’t keep her emotions in check? She knew what sort of woman Sylvia wasshe should have stayed detached. As her husband used to say, You cannot fit your head on someone elses shoulders. Grace had simply forgotten.
Tapping came at her frosty windowSylvias frantic face peered in.
“What now?” Grace snapped, not hiding her annoyance.
“Gracie! Annas gone into labour Pauls been trying to phone youhave you switched your mobile off?”
With a curse, Grace scrabbled in her bag, suddenly seized with understanding at Sylvias news.
“Well, dont just stand there! Get in!”
Surprisingly, Sylvia obeyed without a word, collapsing into the seat. “Drive! What are you waiting for?!”
Grace tore out of the car park so quickly that Sylvia closed her eyes, clutching her handbag. Eventually she burst out, “Are we mad? Charging about for a first baby!”
“I am so nervous, Sylvie!” Grace admitted, trying to keep calm at the wheel. “I just want everything to be all right!”
“Dont jinx it! Shell be fine,” Sylvia retorted, her tension easing just a fraction. “Heavens, Grace, just thinkwere about to become grandmothers!”
The little girl who arrived a day later would soon learn to wind these two round her little finger, and neither of them would mind a bit. Shed inherit her granny Graces gentleness and her grandmother Sylvias flairand so much love, shed bathe in it, surrounded by doting arms.
Anna alone would smother her smile, watching her daughter toddle through the park, each hand clasped by a grandmother. She, better than anyone, would know that love is the only force strong enough to reconcile sparring hearts and fill the future with hope.
From a little distance, Anna would feel her belly and wonder if now was the time to share her small secret, or wait just a while longer. Shed toss her hair and, laughing at the cackling trio ahead, call out:
“Grannies! Dont spoil the little one. No ice cream before tea, you hear? I know what youre like! My mother hens”
