WE ALL JUDGED HER
Emily stood in the cold St. Johns Church, tears streaming down her cheeks. She had wept quietly for at least fifteen minutes now. I couldnt hide my surprise. Whats that posh tart doing here? I wondered. Of all people, Id never expected to run into her in a place like this.
Id never spoken to Emily, but I saw her all the time. We lived in the same terrace and strolled through the same park. I chased after my four children while she breezed along with her three dogs.
All of us looked down on her. By us, I mean myself, the other mums corralling their broods, the old ladies gossiping on the benches, the neighboursand, I imagine, even the odd passer-by.
Emily was strikingly pretty, always dressed in the latest styles. She seemed flighty, puffed-up, and utterly self-assured.
There she goes again, another new bloke! muttered old Mrs. Norton as she perched on the bench by the main gate.
Thats her third one now.
Well, she can afford it, moneys no object, is it? Mrs. Smith would reply with a touch of envy, watching Emily slip into her flashy Audi with her latest squeeze.
Mrs. Smiths son, forty-five and hopeless, hadnt even managed to buy a battered Ford Fiesta yet.
She ought to be thinking about kids, clocks ticking, Old Tom would grumble. For once, the old argument faded; reproaching Emily brought unity to the bench brigade.
Then, when Emilys newest man promptly disappeared, the benches buzzed.
Knew it! Tarts never prosper! Bet the house stinks of dog as well! declared Mrs. Smith with a sniff.
But truth be told, no one detested her more than usthe mums tethered to our children. While we ran ragged after our offspringup slides, under swings, through hedges and over discarded crisp packetsthere went Emily, gliding along in her designer coat behind her little dogs, not a care in the world, practically smirking at us. Look at you, she seemed to say, knee-deep in motherhood, lives are all baby grows and counting pennies for Katies new shoes, while I live for myself. You check if your purse stretches to next weeks school trip or if wellies will just have to wait.
Shes one of those childfree types, arent they all like that? my mate Charlotte said oncemother of three boisterous lads.
Only the well-off, nodded Laura, heavily pregnant with twins, as she shouted at her wild eldest clambering up a tree.
Shes just selfish, doesnt want the trouble. Meanwhile, I havent even glimpsed the seaside for seven years, sighed Sophie, mother of five.
Yes, exactly! Id agree, all the while racing to bandage Annas bleeding knee and comfort her as she howled through the park.
Shes turned the whole place into a kennelwould be better off having a baby, a bold grandma once suddenly declared, her grandson in tow.
None of your business! Emily shot back, spinning around. She seemed ready to say more, but held back, calling her little mongrels to heel and striding on.
Such rudeness! the old woman cried after her.
I still remember those tears on Emilys cheeks as she stood alone in the church before I stepped out into the grey afternoon.
Waitplease, I heard behind me. Wait up.
Emily hurried after me across the churchyard.
Youre the one I always see in the park with those four little girls, arent you?
Thats me and youre the one with three terriers.
Thats right. Could I talk to you for a minute? I always see you with your girls, with the other mums, and I justI admire you all so much, she stammered, flushing bright pink.
You?! I gasped, barely swallowing the: Arent you the selfish tart, childfree and haughty? Her old looks towards our crowd flashed in my mind
And so, on a faded green bench, we finally talked. Emily confessed. She wept and spoke and I just listened, realising she simply needed someone to hear her story.
Emily grew up in a warm, loving family, always dreaming of having childrenall the noise and chaos of a busy house. She had married young and for love. But after two heartbreaking, complicated pregnancies and the cold diagnosis of infertility, her beloved husband quickly left.
The second man vanished for the same reason, though only after she spent years in hospitals. One emergency nearly killed her.
The third? Gone at the mere mention of a possible child. Hed loved her car, her generous salarynot the idea of responsibilities. A child had no place in his perfect plans.
I would have given anything for a baby. Anything at all!
I thought you just really liked dogs, I mumbled, feeling foolish.
I do, Emily smiled softly, but it doesnt mean I dont love children.
Emily got Teacake to ease her loneliness. Then friends asked her to foster Max for a few weeks during renovations. He stayed. Fen, she found shivering alone in a bus shelter during a bitter January night. Her heart broke for him.
Proper kennel shes got therebe better off with a child, I remembered the neighbours mutters.
Clocks ticking Old Toms warning echoed.
Emily was forty-one, despite looking barely thirty. Shed started the process to adopt. Any child, big or littlejust to share her home and her heart. Shed taken a shine to a six-year-old, Charlie. Or rather, he had to her: Will you be my mum? he asked the day they met. I will! Emily had promised.
Selfish, doesnt want the commitment, Sophies bitter words replayed in my memory.
Yet, Charlie wasnt allowed to go home with Emily. His mother, though struggling with her own battles, hadnt lost her legal rights.
It broke me, Emily recalled. To see a child suffering, wanting a home, and not be able to help. I just I couldnt understand.
Then there was little Lucy, four years old, returned twice by adoptive families for being too much. Its rumoured when the second mum came to hand Lucy back, the little girl crawled after, clutching her skirt, sobbing, Mummy, please, dont send me away again! Ill be good!
When Emily first met Lucy, the child straight out asked, Are you going to give me back too? Never, Emily whispered through tears.
But things werent going smoothly; some unforeseen hurdle with the adoption. Emily didnt go into details. But shes my daughter. Ill fight for her.
That was why Emily had come to St. Johns for the very first time. I just didnt know where else to go, she said.
The vicar soon appeared, and they spoke together for ages. Emily scribbled down small notes, her hands shaking. Everything will work out. God bless you! I heard him say, and, for the first time all day, Emily smiled.
Walking home together, Emily spoke quietly, You probably think Im aloof, proud. But honestly, Ive just grown tired of explaining. Of hearing all the same things over and over
I stayed silent.
Emily invited me and the girls over whenever we liked, to play with the dogs. I said yesI will. Just not today.
For now, I only felt ashamed.
I kept thinking: Where does this meanness come frominside me, inside us all? Whys it so easy to assume the worst of someone?
All I want now is for Emily, this remarkable woman we’d all condemned, to find happiness at last. For Lucy to rush into her arms, hug her tight and whisper: Mummy, knowing shell never be sent away again. For Teacake, Max, and Fen to bark and prance about, their tails wagging.
And maybejust maybea good man will find Emily. Maybe Lucy will have a brother or sister one day. Such things happen sometimes, dont they?
And may no one ever dare utter another harsh word about them again.
