“Mum, stop already!” Edward spun sharply from the window where he’d been watching passing cars. “How many times? I’ve explained a hundred times!”
“Explained?!” Margaret threw up her hands. “Explained what? That you’re leaving us for some strange woman with kids?”
“That’s not right! Eleanor isn’t a stranger! She’s my *wife*!” His voice shook with anger, fists clenched. “And the children are mine now! Understand? Mine!”
Kate sat quietly at the kitchen table, twisting a teaspoon. Tears dripped into her cold tea. She wasn’t crying; they just fell like the rain outside.
“Yours?!” His mother’s laugh was worse than a shout. “Have you gone mad? You’ve a sister crippled after that crash! A mother who’s given everything! And you… you’re leaving for strangers!”
Edward sank onto the sofa edge, rubbing his face. He was bone-tired of these rows.
“Mum, try to understand. I’m thirty-two. I deserve a life of my own.”
“Your own life?” Margaret sat opposite, grasping his hands. “Eddie, dear, what life is it with a divorced woman and two other people’s children? You’re young, handsome, a good job! Find a nice younger girl, have your own…”
“I don’t *want* other children!” He pulled his hands free. “William and Emily *are* mine. William called me Dad yesterday. Get it? For the first time in my life!”
Kate sniffed, rising painfully from the table. She limped towards him. “Edward, what about me?” Her voice was broken. “You know I’ll be lost without you. Since the accident, you’re my hope. Mum’s pension can barely manage food. Who helps me if not you?”
Brotherly arms embraced her. He stroked her hair.
“Kate dear, I’m not dying. Just living elsewhere. I’ll help. But I’ve my own family now.”
“Your own family was right here!” Margaret snapped. “Us! Your blood!”
“Eleanor’s pregnant,” Edward said softly.
Silence fell, broken only by the ticking clock and the rain.
“What did you say?” His mother paled, sinking into her armchair.
“She’s expecting. Our baby. See now why I can’t abandon her?”
Kate pulled back, eyes wide.
“How far along?” she asked.
“Five weeks. Doctors say it’s fine.”
“Oh Lord…” Margaret hid her face. “What have you done?”
She’d worked in a nursery for over thirty years, loving children dearly. But her grandchildren from Edward – she’d imagined them differently. Not from another divorced woman.
“Mum, what’s wrong? You’ll finally get a grandchild!”
“Get grandkids from a woman who’s rushed into marriage before? Who’s got two already? Who even is she?”
“Eleanor’s a paediatric nurse at our hospital. Kind. Her children are lovely.”
“Their father?” Margaret pressed.
“Killed in Afghanistan. She was twenty-two, left alone with two toddlers.”
“Ah,” his mother nodded. “So she found a fool to keep them. Found one.”
“Mum!” Edward exploded. “Enough! I’m not a fool! I chose her because I love her!”
“You? Love?” Margaret paced. “What do you know? Stuck here all these years, working, helping us. No experience with women. The first one twists you round her finger.”
Kate slumped back at the table, head in hands. The headaches after the crash were worsened by family rows.
“My head’s splitting,” she murmured. “Please be quieter?”
“Sorry, Kate dear,” Edward touched her forehead. “No fever. Taken pills?”
“Yes. Not helping.”
“We’ll see a doctor tomorrow,” he promised.
“Tomorrow?” Margaret scoffed. “Tomorrow you’ll be busy. New worries. Seeing *other* children off to school, helping with homework.”
“William’s eight, Emily’s five. They’re not ‘others’,” Edward said wearily. “And we’ll go tomorrow.”
“Day after? Next week? When your Eleanor starts showing? She’ll need constant care! There’ll be no time for Kate!”
“Will be. I’m not moving to the Moon. Just across town.”
“Across town! Before, you lived next door! Kate ill at night? She’d knock the wall, you’d run over. Now what? Treat her by phone?”
Edward slumped back on the sofa. The argument circled, as always lately. Mum wouldn’t understand, Kate cried, he felt guilty and furious about the guilt.
“Edward, can I meet your Eleanor?” Kate asked suddenly.
“Why?” Margaret peered at her suspiciously.
“Want to see her. Understand what’s special.”
“Of course!” Edward brightened. “Meet tomorrow. Café or come to ours?”
“Ours?” Margaret frowned. “Where’s that now?”
“Renting a two-bed flat. Planning a three-bed to be fairer on the kids.”
“With what money?”
“My savings. Plus Eleanor’s selling her one-bed.”
“Aha,” Margaret nodded. “So she needs your cash. Makes sense.”
“Mum, stop! If you carry on like this, I’ll stop visiting!”
“Stop visiting your sick sister and mother?” Tears entered her voice. “How can you?”
“I *can*! I won’t listen to nastiness about my wife!”
“Your wife…” Margaret shook her head. “You wedded?”
“Registry office next week. Proper church wedding after the baby comes.”
“Church wedding?” She sank onto the chair arm. “At St. Peter’s?”
“St. Peter’s. Eleanor’s devout.”
“The children baptized?”
“Of course baptized. We go to Sunday service.”
Margaret thought. She believed too, prayed at home mostly. But if Eleanor took them to church… perhaps not worthless after all.
“Edward, what’s she like?” Kate asked. “Tell us properly.”
He sat beside her, taking her hand.
“Gentle. Quiet. Respected at work. Children adore her, even difficult ones. William and Emily are polite, well-mannered. She raised them alone five years, managed it.”
“Pretty?” It felt important to Kate.
“Very, to me. Not a model, but… luminous. Kind eyes, warm smile. She greets me at the door, happy I’m home.”
“Weren’t we happy?” Margaret whispered.
“You were. But different. Happy I brought help, talk, money. She’s happy that I *exist*. See the difference?”
Kate nodded. She did. Since the crash, the permanent injuries, she felt a burden. Even to her brother. She thought he came only from duty, pity.
“How do the children treat you?”
“William was jealous at first. Now he shadows me, shows me things. Emily… she just hugs. Quiet. Serious for five.”
“Serious? Why?”
“Helps her mum. Calls William her ‘little brother’ though he’s older. Cares for him. Remembers her dad, keeps his photo in her room.”
“Not jealous he was their father?” Margaret watched him keenly.
“No. He died a hero serving. I respect that. Children should remember him. I don’t replace him; I aim to be an extra dad.”
“An extra dad,” Margaret repeated. “What will you be to us? An extra son?”
“Mum, I’m still your son. I just have more family now.”
“It won’t work,” she shook her head. “Can’t split yourself. You’ll choose. I know what.”
“Why think that?”
“Because they’ll need you daily. We… we’re used to waiting. Their children grow, needing constant care. We’re adults. We’ll cope.”
“Mum…”
“Don’t ‘Mum’ me!” She went to the window. “I understand. Young wife, children calling you Dad. It’s sweet, new for you. Us? We’re ill, old, tiresome.”
“You’re not tiresome.”
“We are. Else you wouldn
“Alright Mum, enough!” Ian spun sharply from the window, tired of watching the cars pass by. “How many times? I’ve explained a hundred times!”
“Explained?” Maureen flung her hands up. “What have you explained? That you’re ditching us leaving us for some strange woman with kids?”
“She’s not strange! Helen is my wife!” Ian clenched his fists, voice trembling with anger. “And those children are mine now! Get it? Mine!”
Emily sat silently at the kitchen table, twisting a teaspoon. Tears fell straight into her cold tea. She wasn’t sobbing; they just flowed, like the rain outside.
“Yours?!” Maureen let out a harsh laugh, more frightening than shouting. “You’re off your head! You have a sister who barely walks since the crash! A mother who gave her life to you! And you… you leave for strangers!”
Ian sank onto the sofa arm, rubbing his face. He was bone-weary of these rows, until his temples throbbed.
“Mum, try to understand. I’m thirty-two, a grown man. I deserve a life of my own.”
“Your own life?” Maureen sat opposite, taking his hands. “Ian, love, what sort of life with a divorced woman and two kids that aren’t yours? You’re young, handsome, good job. Find a nice girl your age, have your own children…”
“I don’t want other children!” He pulled his hands free. “Max and Daisy – they are mine. Max called me Dad yesterday. Understand? First time anyone ever called me Dad!”
Emily sniffled, standing up. Limping slowly, she went to her brother.
“Ian, what about me?” Her voice was small, broken. “You know I won’t cope without you. Since the crash, you’re all I have. Mum’s pension barely covers food. Who helps me if not you?”
Brotherly embrace. Ian held Emily close, smoothing her hair.
“Emily, I’m not dying. Just living separately. I’ll help, course I will. But I’ve my own family now.”
“You’ve always had your own family!” Maureen burst out. “Us! Your real family!”
“Helen’s pregnant,” Ian said softly.
Silence fell. Only the wall clock ticked and the rain drummed outside.
“What did you say?” Maureen went pale, sinking into her chair.
“Helen’s expecting. Our baby. Understand now why I can’t leave her?”
Emily pulled back, eyes wide.
“How far along?” she asked.
“Only six weeks. But the doc says all’s fine.”
“Good Lord…” Maureen hid her face. “What have you done, son? What have you done?”
Maureen had been a nursery teacher for over thirty years. Loved kids dearly, but she’d imagined grandchildren from Ian differently. Not from a strange divorced woman with two children, but from a nice girl from a respectable family.
“Mum, what’s so bad?” Ian sat beside her, trying for an embrace. “You’ll get a grandchild. Boy or girl. Isn’t that good?”
“Get one from who?” She edged away. “From a woman who rushed into marriage once? Who already has two? Who even is she? Where’d she spring from?”
“Helen works as a nurse in children’s services at the Paediatric Department at NHS. Good woman, kind. Her kids are lovely, well behaved.”
“Where’s their father?” Maureen pressed.
“Died. Served in Afghanistan. Helen was barely twenty-two, left with two little ones.”
“Ah,” Maureen nodded. “So she looked for a pushover to keep them. And found one.”
“Mum!” Ian exploded. “Enough! I’m not a pushover! I’m a man who chose a woman he loves!”
“Love?” Maureen stood, pacing. “What do you know of love? Sat home all these years, commuted to work, helped us. No experience with women. First one comes along and pulls the wool over your eyes.”
Emily sat back at the table, resting her head in her hands. Since the crash, headaches often flared, and family rows made them unbearable.
“My head’s splitting,” she murmured. “Can you talk quieter?”
“Emily, sorry,” Ian went over, touching her brow. “No fever. Taken your meds?”
“Taken them. No good.”
“We’ll see the GP tomorrow,” Ian promised.
“Tomorrow?” Maureen scoffed. “Tomorrow you’ll be busy. New concerns. Seeing those other kids through school, helping with homework.”
“Max is eight’s eight, Daisy’s five. They’re not ‘other’,” Ian repeated wearily. “Tomorrow, we’ll see the GP.”
“And the day after? Next week?” Maureen kept on. “When that woman of yours starts showing, she’ll need constant help. There’ll be no time for Emily.”
“There’ll be time. I’m not moving abroad. Just the neighbouring borough.”
“Neighbouring borough,” Maureen mocked. “Before, you lived through the wall. Emily ill in the night – she knocked, you dashed in. Now what? Treat her over the phone?”
Ian slumped onto the sofa, leaning back. The talk circled, as it always did lately. Mum wouldn’t understand, Emily cried, and Ian felt guilty while resenting the guilt.
“Ian, can I meet your Helen?” Emily asked suddenly.
“Why?” Maureen eyed her daughter suspiciously.
“Want to see her. Understand what makes her special.”
“Course you can,” Ian brightened. “Let’s all meet tomorrow all tomorrow somewhere. A café, or come round ours.”
“To yours?” Maureen frowned. “Where’s that now?”
“Renting a flat for now. Planning to buy a three-bed though, more room for the kids.”
“With what money?”
“I’ve savings. Helen will sell her one-bed.”
“Oh, I see,” Maureen nodded. “So she needs your money too. It all adds up.”
“Mum, stop!” He leapt up. “If you carry on like this, I just won’t come round!”
“Won’t visit your own mother and ill sister?” Tears sprang into Maureen’s voice. “How can you say that?”
“I can! Because I’m sick of listening to rubbish about my wife!”
“Wife…” Maureen shook her head. “You registered yet?”
“Registering next week at the registry office. Church blessing after the baby comes.”
“Church blessing…” She perched on the chair edge. “In church?”
“St Mary’s. Helen’s a believer.”
“Are her children christened?”
“Course. We go to church Sundays.”
Maureen thought. She believed herself, though rarely went, mostly prayed at home. But if this Helen took the kids to church, maybe she wasn’t a write-off.
“Ian, what’s she like?” Emily asked. “Tell us properly, without the anger.”
Ian sat beside his sister, taking her hand.
“Very gentle. Quiet, calm. Respected at work. Kids adore her, even difficult ones. Max and Daisy are well-mannered, obedient. Helen raised them alone five years, managed.”
“Is she pretty?” Emily needed to know.
“To me – very. Not a model, but… sort of radiant. Kind eyes, warm smile. When I get home, she’s always happy, meets me at the door.”
“Didn’t we meet you happily?” Maureen asked softly.
“You did. But differently. You were happy I came to help, talk, brought money. She’s happy I just *exist*. See the difference?”
Emily nodded. She understood. Since the crash, doctors saying she wouldn’t fully recover, Emily felt a burden. To everyone. Even her beloved brother. She thought he visited out of pity, duty.
“Ian, how do the kids
Edward sighed as the phone finally disconnected, the hospital discharge details for Kate now settled, but the weight of his keys in the palm felt like both a promise to Elena, Max, and Daisy waiting across town, and an anchor still firmly chained to the worn doorstep of the semi in Croydon where Vera stood watching him leave, yet again.
