Hold on to Mum a little longer
When will Dad be home? Im fed up! Wheres Dad! Daddy! the boy kept shouting.
The childs shrill voice pierced the air, each syllable thudding like a drumbeat against the nerves. James stood in the middle of the sittingroom, his cheeks flushed from the yelling, tiny fists clenched.
Dads at work; he should be back in about an hour. Calm down, love. Lets talk, Margaret tried to keep her tone as steady as possible, though inside her chest felt like a knot tightening.
I dont want to talk to you! Youre terrible! I only want Dad! James stamped his foot, his voice cracking into a whine.
Tears rose to Margarets throat. She stared at her tenyearold son and could not understand how it had come to this. She had given him every year of her life, spent months working from home, every minute beside him. When James started school she went to the office, yet they still shared weekends at the zoo, museum trips, bedtime stories everything for him, everything because of him.
I dont love you! Im tired of you! James shouted, the words slashing through Margaret like a cold wind.
She turned away, hand over mouth, tears threatening to spill. She could not break down in front of him. How could a mother who loved him more than life become, in his eyes, an empty space? Why did he keep demanding his fathers presence?
James, please stop shouting. Dad will be here soon, she tried again, her voice trembling.
I dont want to wait! I want him now! Youre a bad mum!
A sudden ring cut through the chaos. James lunged for the handset, snatching it from Margarets grasp.
Dad! Dad! he barked into the receiver, not even glancing at the screen.
Margaret stepped back. It was indeed Andrew, his baritone familiar even through the speaker.
Hello, son! Hows it going? his voice was bright, caring.
Daddy, I miss you! Mums annoying, when will you come? James pressed the phone to his ear, his face lighting up instantly.
A pause. Margaret held her breath.
Oh, love, Im stuck at the office a few more hours. Hold on to Mum; Ill be back soon.
Hold on to Mum echoed in Margarets mind as if it were a strange trial she had to endure, as if her very presence were a heavy load.
Alright, Daddy, Ill wait! James beamed with joy.
Margaret turned, her legs trembling, throat dry, and slipped into the bedroom. She shut the door softly and collapsed onto the bed, a relentless river of tears flooding her.
Why? Why did neither son nor husband value her? Why had she become a burden that needed to be tolerated? She pressed her face into the pillow, trying to weep quietly. Everything felt wildly unfair. She had dreamed of this child, planned every moment of love, and now he rejected her. The teenage years loomed, promising even more turmoil.
Minutes stretched. From the next room, the sound of a game drifted in James had calmed down without her. Margaret stared at the ceiling, wondering how to live with this ache, how to keep being a mother to someone who shunned her.
Near nine oclock she sent James to bed. He grumbled, still demanding Dad, but fatigue finally won. He fell asleep.
Around midnight a key turned in the front door. Andrew entered the hall. Margaret met him in the corridor, arms crossed over her chest.
You know he waits for you every day. How can you be late again? her voice trembled with suppressed anger.
Andrew shrugged off his coat, hanging it without looking at her.
There was a teambuilding night; I couldnt leave early. Work, you know.
Is the teambuilding more important than our child? More important than his feelings? Margaret whispered, careful not to wake James.
Stop making a scene. I earn the money for this family.
And what do I do? Just keep going to the office?
Andrew retreated to the bedroom, indifferent to the familys troubles. Margaret stood alone in the hall, later sleeping on the sofa. The night dragged on, thoughts looping: was this really her life? Would it always be like this?
In the morning, laughter drifted from the kitchen. James and Andrew sat at the table, chatting brightly about school.
Good morning, Margaret entered, forcing a smile.
James didnt look up. Andrew nodded at him, still engrossed. Margaret poured a cup of tea and took a seat.
Yesterday we had a tough maths problem, James said to his dad. I solved it myself!
Well done! Did Mum help you? Andrew asked.
Why would I need Mum? I did it alone.
Margaret tried to intervene.
James, could you show me the problem? Im curious.
James continued his conversation with his father, as if she were invisible furniture. Andrew gave no answer. Margaret felt herself fade into the background, a piece of décor in her own home.
Weeks passed in the same pattern. James yelled at her, demanded his dad, ignored her attempts to connect. Andrew came home late, spent mornings only with the boy. Margaret sensed herself becoming unnecessary.
One afternoon James shouted over a trivial matter. She asked him to tidy his toys; he threw them on the floor, screaming that he wouldnt listen, that he only wanted Dad. Something inside Margaret finally cracked.
That evening, when Andrew returned, she said,
Im filing for divorce.
He looked up from his phone, startled.
What?
You heard me. Im filing.
Andrew set the phone down, squinting.
And where will you go? You have no place of your own. Your parents are in Manchester. The flat is mine after a divorce you wont have a room here!
Margaret met his stare.
I know the flat is yours. Thats why Ill tell the court the child should stay with you.
His face went pale.
How can that be? I cant manage alone! I have work!
I have work too.
But hes still a child; he needs his mother!
He needs his father. He says it every day. James will get what he wants.
Andrew opened his mouth, but Margaret was already out of the room. The decision was sealed.
A month later the hearing began. Margaret stayed with her friend Irene, scouring adverts for a tiny studio. James hadnt called or texted; each word spoken in court cut deeper into her chest.
James wishes to live with his father. He feels uncomfortable with his mother and prefers Dad, the social worker read.
The judge declared,
Considering the childs wishes and the fathers higher income and own dwelling, custody is awarded to the father.
The familys fate was sealed.
Later Andrew caught up with Margaret in the hallway.
Listen, take the child! I cant watch him; work, trips what will I do?
Margaret turned.
I have work too, and now I must find somewhere to live. The child stays with you by the courts order. Ill pay maintenance and visit every few weeks.
But youre his mother!
And youre his father, the one he loves. Enjoy it.
She walked away without looking back.
She moved into a modest studio, twenty square metres, a tiny kitchen and combined bathroom her own space where no one shouted, no one ignored. The first night she wept for hours, mourning the loss of husband, child, family, yet relieved that no one belittled her any longer.
Visits from James became infrequent, a few weeks apart. He would come, still hurling accusations.
Because of you the family fell apart! Dads rarely home now! A nanny looks after me! I hate you!
Each meeting left Margaret in tears, but she kept moving forward. She found a new job with a decent salary, furnished her flat, enrolled in evening classes.
Her former motherinlaw, Valerie, called almost weekly.
How could you leave and abandon the child to Andrew? What kind of mother are you?
Hes his fathers son too, Margaret replied calmly. James chose to stay with his dad. Why should I force him?
Children dont understand!
Hes ten, not five. He got what he wanted.
Years slipped by. Margaret built a new life: a job she liked, a cosy flat, hobbies, friends. No longer did stress loom over every moment.
Five years later James, now a teenager, approached her.
Mum, I was wrong. I see now how I hurt you and that I helped cause the divorce.
Margaret ran her fingers through his hair, a familiar gesture from long ago.
Its all right. I hope your own children will treat you better
The warmth she once felt for him lingered faintly, neither wholly good nor wholly bad. She realised she had not let herself be destroyed. Perhaps society would label her a bad mother, but she had kept herself intact and that was the most important thing.
