Dont take it personally, Olivia. Im a straightforward chap. Youre not the right sort for my son. Youre a mutt, whereas we were pedigree. Our bloods been properly looked after for centuries. And here you are, barging in with your Essex face. Well, seeing as hes dragged you home, Ill put up with it. But remember: your job is to give us a healthy heir. If theres no bun in the oven in a year, youre out on your ear. I wont have a dead end in this house. Im not raising barren land.
Brian Ignatius, a hefty man with a stare that could curdle cream, sliced into his steak. The knife screeched across the china.
Olivia jumped. She sat at the humongous dining table, petrified to raise her eyes.
Her husband, Victor, was sitting beside her and kept absolutely mum.
He always went mute when Dad took the daughter-in-law to school. Victor depended entirely on his father. The job, the car, the flat all courtesy of Brian Ignatius.
Dad, do you have to be so? Victor mumbled limply.
Yes, I do! barked his father. I want a grandson! And this one well, she looks peaky. Hips like a breadstick. Look here, Olivia. Ill feed you well, but Ill expect results.
Olivia loved Victor. They met at university. Back then, he seemed like a prince.
She didnt know the prince came with an autocratic king who thought people were just cogs in the family machine.
Living at the in-laws turned into purgatory.
Brian Ignatius scrutinised her every move.
Whats that youre eating? A bap? Put it down! Youll balloon and birthing will be difficult. Eat some cottage cheese, for goodness sake!
Where are you off to? Friends? Stay home and stick to a routine.
He called her the incubator. Never by her name.
Oi, incubator, bring the tea!
But then, things got really dire after a year. Still no sign of a baby.
Brian Ignatius was fuming.
He hauled Olivia off to doctors all over town. Private clinics, embarrassing appointments.
Test her from head to toe! he bellowed at fancy professors. Shes faulty! Find out why!
Olivia sobbed herself to sleep night after night. She felt like a defective toaster someone was itching to return for a refund.
Then the test results came back.
Olivia scooped them up first.
Standing in the surgery corridor, she tore open the envelope.
Her stomach turned icy.
The problem wasnt her. She was as healthy as a horse.
The problem was Victor. A proper medical marvel: severe male infertility, chance of kids basically nil.
Victor was right beside her. He peered over her shoulder at the results, turning as white as a bedsheet.
Olivia he whispered, grabbing her hands. Olivia, please Dont tell Dad. Hell have my head. He struts about with his manly bloodline. Hell disown me, cut me off. Hes convinced Im the family stallion, just like him. Please, Olivia, cant we just say its you? Well think of something donor IVF, whatever just dont tell him!
Olivia looked at her husband at his trembling lips.
A wave of pity washed over her, and just like that, she signed her own sentence.
All right, Victor. I wont say a word.
That evening, there was a family conference.
Brian Ignatius chucked the medical folder onto the table (Olivia had swapped Victors real results for a doctored one stating unclear origin, but his father decided what he wanted).
Knew it! he roared. Worthless! Rotten seed! You, Olivia, you liar. You knew you were defective and snared my boy!
Dad Victor began, but shrunk to nothing under that frosty stare.
Olivia waited. Waited for her husband to stand up and shout: Dont you dare! Shes healthy! Its my fault!
But Victor stared into his soup, saving his own skin.
Pack your bags! Brian Ignatius thundered. Tomorrow divorce. Victor, Ive sorted you out a new fiancée already. Partners daughter. Strong bones, big hips. Shell give me a proper lad. As for you get out! Not a penny!
Olivia stood up.
She looked at Victor for a long, searching moment.
Her love died in her eyes.
Youre a coward, Victor, she said quietly. And theres no cure for that.
Out! her ex-father-in-law bellowed. And dont you dare answer back!
Olivia left. One suitcase, as shed arrived.
Five years ticked by.
Olivia moved to another city. It was tough at first. Working, renting a pokey room.
Then she met Andrew. A calm, down-to-earth engineer. No manors, but plenty of heart.
She was nervous. Afraid the old criticisms would return.
But Andrew just loved her.
A year later, they had twins a boy and a girl.
One day, Olivia returned to her hometown to visit her mum.
She was out walking in the park with the pram. The twins were having a nap.
Shuffling towards her was an old man with a cane, dragging his feet.
It was Brian Ignatius.
Hed shrunk. Gaunt, sunken his eyes lifeless.
He spotted Olivia. Stopped dead.
Recognition flickered.
He glanced at the pram. At the two rosy little faces.
His jaw dropped.
These whose are these? he wheezed.
Mine, Olivia replied serenely. And my husbands.
Yours? he paled. But youre youre barren! Youre defective!
Olivia smiled, with a touch of sadness.
No, Brian Ignatius. I was never unwell. I simply loved your son more than myself. I covered for him. Victor is completely infertile.
The old man wobbled. He clutched his chest.
Youre lying
Ask him yourself. If hes brave enough to admit it. Though I doubt it. So, how is Victor these days? Did he marry the one with the broad hips?
Brian Ignatius slumped onto a park bench.
He did, he whispered. Five years. No children. Ive been eating her alive. That daughter-in-law Shes healthy too, isnt she?
Most likely, Olivia nodded. You wanted pedigree, Mr Ignatius. But you wiped out your own line with your own hands. You bullied everyone, and the problem was in your noble blood all along.
Olivia took hold of the pram.
Goodbye. The twins need feeding.
She strolled off, pushing her double bundle of joy before her.
Brian Ignatius stayed put on the bench.
A lonely, bitter old king, with no heir to dote on.
He realised at last Victor hadnt been silent out of respect. Hed cowered out of fear. That very fear spelled the end of their dynasty.
Moral of the story:
Dont go looking for faults in others before checking the mirror. Tyranny and cruelty never make a family thrive. And a man who lets his father humiliate his wife well, thats the worst diagnosis of all, and theres no cure.
And you could you have taken the blame for your husband? Or would you have laid the cards on the table with the family tyrant?
