Resentment towards parents
You ruined my life, Mum! Emily shouted at the top of her lungs. If you hadnt barged in with your lectures, if you hadnt forbidden me to see him, I wouldnt be scraping by in this dingy little bedsit, counting pennies until payday!
Oh, stop this dramatics, replied Hannah, Emilys older sister, lazily pushing away her plate with a half-eaten slice of Victoria sponge. At least you never got the belt or got told off for refusing to do your maths homework.
Big deal, what a tragedywerent allowed to hold hands with a boy! No one stood over you with a slipper, and you didnt get clipped round the ear when you moaned about schoolwork.
Girls, what on earth are you saying? Margaret gripped the edge of the table.
The anniversary dinner celebrating thirty years of marriage with Richard was going downhill fast.
Their daughters had come to congratulate them, only to start a blazing argument.
We did everything for you… Margaret began.
Oh, please, dont martyr yourself, Hannah scoffed. What exactly is everything?
We pulled ourselves through uni, got into state-funded courses. And the fact that we now work, earn, and manage to stay afloatthats our own achievement.
Purely ours. Despite you, not thanks to you.
Look at Rosies parentsthey gave her the keys to a flat when she finished uni.
Ellie got a car so she wouldnt freeze waiting for the bus.
And what did you do for me when I started out?
A set of saucepans and a lecture about being a good girl?
Emily and Hannahs dad, sitting at the head of the table, sighed and dropped his gaze, absently rolling a crumb on the tablecloth.
Mark, Emilys husband, tried to make himself invisiblehe hunched his shoulders and stared at his empty plate, clearly wishing he could disappear.
Margaret looked at her daughters, hardly recognising them.
Two smart, grown, well-groomed women sat in her lounge, systematically tearing apart everything shed spent so long building.
You got there yourself? Margaret asked quietly. Hannah, who paid for your English and Physics tutors for two years straight?
Your dad and I didnt go on holiday for five years so you could get into your fancy university!
Tutors? Hannah leaned forward sharply. Do you remember what those lessons cost me?
Do you remember me coming home exhausted, and youd make me rewrite essays because my handwriting wasnt neat enough?
I wanted you to be the best! Margarets voice trembled. So things would be easier for you!
And remember the map homework? Year Eight. I coloured in the borders the wrong shade.
You came up behind me and smacked my head so hard I banged my nose on the table.
And you said, Useless, just like your gran.
Do you remember?
Margaret swallowed.
Dont make things up, Hannah. I never properly hit you. Maybe a smack or two, when you were really taking the mick.
Youd sit there for hours, whining and rolling your eyes, waiting for me to do your homework for you.
I wasnt messing about, I just didnt understand! And instead of explaining, youd just yell! Hannah shot back.
Margaret closed her eyes. A flash from the nineties ran through her mind.
Shed just got home after two shifts at the factory; her legs ached so much she could have cried. The sink was stacked high with dirty dishesHannah had forgotten to wash up.
Filthy shoes in the hallway. And her daughter was in front of the telly, notebook empty, with a test the next day.
Margaret begged, pleaded, then demanded that Hannah tackle her homework.
All she got was whingeing and crocodile tears. Honestly, who would blame a mother, worn out to the bone, whose nerves finally snapped?
Who among the parents struggling through those years wouldnt understand the desperation when your child simply refuses to accept they have to do something?
But Hannah had no interest in that. Shed nurtured her grudge all these years.
Honestly, Hannah, its always about you! Emily interrupted, nervously tucking her hair behind her ear. At least your life wasnt ruined. But what about me?
Emily, for heavens sake, Margaret pleaded, looking at her youngest daughter. Dont start that old record again. Not in front of your husband.
Mark shrank even further at the table.
Whats the problem with my husband? Emily glared at Mark, then back at her mum. Mark knows perfectly well we barely make ends meet.
He works as a logistics coordinator for peanuts, hes got no chance of a promotion, and were renting a strangers flat!
And why? Because you, Mum, decided to play judge and jury with my life!
Margarets hands trembledagain!
You were fifteen! she snapped, patience slipping. Fifteen!
He was a troublemaker from a rough family, skipped school and nicked cigarettes from corner shops.
What was I supposed to do?
Say, Of course darling, hang around with him all night, drop out of school?
He was normal! Emily protested, tears of anger in her eyes. He was just lost. And he loved me!
If you hadnt marched into school and caused a scene with the headteacher, transferred me to a different class
Wed still be together.
Emily, get real, Margaret slammed her palm on the table, making the crockery shake. Your prince charmings a drunk!
Hes under thirty ands been to rehab twice already. His wife left him, took the kid because he cleared out their house!
What love? What family?
He wouldnt have ended up like that, if wed stayed together! Emily declared stubbornly. With me, hed have been different.
I wouldve believed in him, you know? And what now?
Now Im married to a bloke who cant even hang a shelf, let alone think about a mortgage.
Mark got up awkwardly.
Ill just pop outside for a smoke, he muttered, not meeting anyones eyes, and walked quickly into the hall.
Well, youve done it, upset your husband, Hannah said sarcastically. Youre not much better, Emily. You nag him morning to night, then wonder why he wont do anything.
Shut up, Hannah! Emily snapped. You only ever care about yourself!
Girls! Enough! Richard finally barked. Did you come to celebrate our anniversary, or just to throw mud at us?
We came to tell the truth, Dad, Hannah retorted. You always expect us to be grateful.
You want us to bow at your feet just because you did the basics of parenting.
Feeding and educating your kids isnt a heroic act. Its what youre supposed to do!
And the fact you didnt give us a single pound towards a deposit, while other parents went to extremes for their childrenthats just reality.
We gave you all we could, Margaret said quietly. We gave you a start. Smarts, education.
We didnt abandon you. Both of you have good jobs
Yeah, Mum, Emily cut in. We work. But it doesnt bring happiness.
Well, thats enough sitting around. Ive got an early shift tomorrow. Hannah, you get ready too. Looks like the partys over.
They left after ten minutes. Mumbled goodbye in the hallway; not a hug for their mum.
Emily bolted onto the landing, where Mark was leaning against the wall, waiting.
Hannah buttoned up her expensive cashmere coat at leisure, glanced in the mirror, and nodded curtly at her parents before stepping out.
Margaret slowly returned to the lounge. On the table sat the leftover cake marked 30 Years Together, candle ends flickering, crumpled napkins everywhere.
She sank into a chair and covered her face with her hands. Richard came up behind her, laying his warm, rough hands gently on her shoulders.
Marg Maggie, dont cry. Sod em. Spoilt, the lot of them.
Rich, she sobbed, hands still over her face. Where did we go wrong? Why do they hate us so much? We did everything for them all our lives
I checked their homework, half asleep. I stopped Emily from wrecking her life as a teenager. And now
Theyre just looking for someone to blame, Marg, her husband said quietly. Easier to say the parents didnt hand over a house and a car than admit theyve made mistakes.
Easier to blame Mum for broken hearts than look at their exes and thank you for saving them.
Its just the way things are now. Everyones traumatised, everyone thinks their parents failed them.
Come on, lets clear up. No point crying over it.
***
Three weeks later. Margaret stood at the kitchen window, looking out at rain-soaked rooftops, phone pressed to her ear.
Long, dragging dial tone. Her youngest had moved to another county with her mother-in-law recently, and getting there took ages; Emily never liked phone calls.
If Margaret didnt ring herself, Emily would never bother.
Yes, Mum, Emilys irritated voice finally came through.
Hello, Em. Hows everything? Hows Mark?
Marks fine. Marks at work, obviously, Emily snapped back. What do you want?
Just checking on your health. You had a nasty cough last week.
Mum, Im on the run. Need to go to Tesco, then cook, then laundry. Get to the point.
I just wanted to hear your voice
Youve heard it. Right, Mum, sorry, Im busy. Im at the till. Will call you later.
Her daughter hung up. Margaret knew she wouldnt be calling backtoday, tomorrow, probably ever.
Emily would keep holding onto her old resentment, imagining some rose-tinted past with her school-boy crush and blaming everything on her mum.
And if Mark got another warning at workitd be Margarets fault again, for denying her daughter a shot at happiness.
With Hannah, things were no easier.
Every Sunday at noon, shed phone, with a clipped, detached tone, talking about the weather or the supermarket sales, never asking if her mothers back ached or how her dad was coping with his blood pressure.
Any chat would soon turn to her achievementsand how life was a slog without the safety net that good parents were apparently meant to provide.
Margaret put her phone on the table. On the screen flashed an old photo: two little girls, with ribbons and big smiles, hugging her neck in front of blooming lilacs.
Back then they didnt know theyd have bills to pay as adults. Back then, they hadnt figured out what exactly theyd hold against their parents in years to come.
Feeling Hurt by Your Parents
