13th May
Mum, Im marrying Emily. And were expecting in three months. My son, Ben, decided to break the news flat out; I was left absorbing it in silence.
Truthfully, I wasnt that thrown. Ben had already introduced me to Emily, though I must confess, her age troubled me. She was still only seventeen, and Ben hadnt even done his National Service yet. Just children themselves, and here they were, planning a wedding, a new baby on the way.
Choosing a wedding dress for Emily was an impossible feat, what with her being seven months pregnant. But we managed, in the end, after much fussing and adjusting.
The wedding was as lively as could be. Afterward, Ben and Emily moved in with her parents in Bath. Ben still insisted on coming round to mine in Oxford every week, locking himself in his old bedroom and asking not to be disturbed. Naturally, as his mum, it worried me.
One evening, I rang Emily.
Everything all right with Ben? I asked.
Of course, why wouldnt it be? she replied, calm as anything.
I just wondered, do you know where he is now? I pressed, desperate to get to the bottom of it.
Gillian, do mind your own business. We can manage without you, thank you very much, Emily snapped. It was the first, but certainly not the last, time she spoke to me like that.
Sorry for bothering you, I mumbled and quickly hung up.
Im a peaceful sort, preferring to stay out of other peoples dramas. So, I told myself not to meddle. Let them get on with it.
A few months later, Emily gave birth to a little girlBarbara. I wasnt keen on the name, so in my own heart, I called her Daisy.
Ben was soon drafted into the army and stationed far from home. For the full two years of his service, I visited Daisy every week. Every time I saw Emily, I noticed how striking she lookedshe was beautiful, theres no denying it, almost too much so. That unsettled me. Emily started university, surrounded by temptation. Secretly, I doubted the pretty young student would stay faithful to my Ben.
I felt unwelcome visiting their home. Emily would sigh and briskly hand me the pram with Daisy, practically shooing me out for a walk. Her cold glances stung. The dislike was unvarnished, and she certainly knew her worth. I never wanted to feud. All I really wanted was to be gone from that frosty household.
When Ben returned home, it seemed all was well. They got on, Daisy was thriving, and Emily proved a capable, charming wife. My heart felt settled. For fifteen years, I imagined them blessed.
But then, Emily changed beyond recognition. The affairs startedmore than oneand she didnt even try to hide it. They say you cant keep a wild bird cooped up. Ben endured it for three years out of love, suffering all the while.
Emily stung her husband cruelly and mocked him to his face. I was appalled, but I never dared lecture her on morals. The truth is, I was frightened of Emilyher cold stare could reduce even the holiest to tears.
Once, I tried asking Ben directly, Ben, whats going on with you two?
Dont fret, Mum, well sort it, he murmured, though I sensed it was guilt that kept him tolerant.
I finally braved a heart-to-heart with Emily.
Emily, may I ask you something? I tried, quietly.
Gillian, perhaps ask your son whator whohes been doing at work. My aunt works at his office and filled me in on all the details. He started cheating first, she snapped, voice raised.
Whatever possessed me to get involved? I never told Ben what shed said. Sometimes you have to let things run their course.
Not long after, Emily and Ben divorced. Daisy stayed with her mum. Ben went a bit wilddating one woman after the next, blondes, brunettes, redheads he was never alone for long.
Emily remarried almost instantly. Ben told me, even cried over it. She apparently played the doting wife.
Soon after, Ben met his next loveJoanne. Petite, magnetic, and assertivea real force. Ben, then thirty-five, was smitten; Joanne, forty. She made quick work of him, laying out her terms: a wedding, a flat for her daughter, complete financial support.
Ben melted under her every demand.
Joanne, unlike Emily, tried to be chummycalled me Gilly and insisted on first names. I found it a little brash, but I hate confrontation, so I put up with it. All her gifts, bought with my sons money, hang untouched in my wardrobeI just cant warm to them.
Her smile is forced, her words insincere. I dont believe she loves Ben. She sees him as a money tree and isnt shy about her demands. For all her noisy friendship, shes sly with a hard centre. Emily, for all her shouting, was genuine and always addressed me properly. She loved Ben once, in her own way.
Joanne never cooks; always buys ready meals from M&S. One time I suggested perhaps she could make a little soup for Benshe snapped, Oh, dont teach your grandma to suck eggs!
Her girlfriends come firstout drinking, spa days, shopping. If shes unhappy? All hell breaks loose. Her tantrums are legendary.
How can Ben stand it? Ill never know. I consider their whole relationship a pointless mistake.
More and more, I find myself reminiscing about practical, spirited Emily. Her roast dinners, her trifles, her yorkshire puddingsshe was masterful. Why did Ben ruin things with her? He let her slip away.
I am grateful that Daisy still visits, spoiling me with little gifts. To me, Emily will always be my true daughter-in-law, no matter what happened. You only realise the real worth of someone when theyre gone. As for Joanneshes just a stand-in. I pity my son. I suspect, deep down, his heart still belongs to Emily. But that ship has sailedLife has smoothed me out like sea glasschip by chip, the sharp edges worn away by time and heartbreak. I can see now that every wife, every home-cooked dinner and slammed door, every childish quarrel and grown-up betrayal, gathered together to shape Ben into who he is. And meI am left on the shore, watching the tides come and go.
Daisysweet Daisysits in my armchair, her laughter chiming through the house, pouring tea for us both. Her hair is pulled back exactly as Emilys used to be when she was making Yorkshire pudding, and for a moment, it almost feels like the circle has closed. Daisy tells me stories of her own now: of work, her cat, a man she might just love. She doesnt mention her parents unless I ask, but there are no resentments in her voiceonly a matter-of-factness I admire.
Tonight, after she leaves, I tidy up the living room, running my fingers over the silver frame with Ben and Emily arm-in-arm, young and certain, the world not yet pressing down on their shoulders. I think about all the things I might have done differentlyspoken up, kept quiet, pleaded, forgiven. But regrets, like old wedding lace, yellow and disintegrate when taken out too often.
A message flashes on my phone. Its Ben: Thinking of you, Mum. Coming by Sunday with Joanne, if thats all right. Daisy said she might drop in too.
I smile, bittersweet but real. I will make a trifle, just in case. Maybe even my Sunday roast; a nod to the old days, to Emily and the love that started it all.
Because families fracture, mend, and shift like weather. In the end, all we can do is open the door, set the table, and hope those we love find their way backif only for a warm meal and a bit of laughter in the kitchen, and the comfort, at last, of being home.
