I once advised you to stop after your third child. I even purchased some peculiar pills, thinking it might make you reconsider your choices. But it appears my efforts have sunk without a trace.
How many more children are you planning on having? my mother-in-law, Margaret, asked, her voice thick with sarcasm.
Lets not get snippy. Are you really this upset just because Peter told you Im pregnant? replied Caroline, her tone serene and steady.
Of course Im upset! I told you, stop at three! I even bought you those special pillsyoud think youd pause for a moment and reconsider. But no, my efforts are wasted, Margaret moaned, her words swirling in the room like a November fog.
We know how you feel, Margaret, but going against nature isnt something were keen to do, Caroline answered quietly, her words floating somewhere above the teapot and the half-eaten scones.
Is this some kind of joke? Then you can forget about any help from me! Margaret shrieked, her voice sounding distant and faded, as if slipping behind velvet curtains.
Caroline was poised to reply, her hands lightly brushing the edges of her chair, but suddenly the telephone began to ringa sound that felt more like distant bells ringing at midnight than anything real.
Margaret never supported her children much. She never took the grandchildren to the park, rarely spent any time with them, and brought sweets and trinkets only for their birthdays, and often the sweets tasted faintly of dust and old dreams. Financially, Caroline and Peter were self-sufficient. Peter had a decent job; Caroline worked part-time from their cottage. When she began her small business, she even hired an assistant to help with the children.
All would have been blissful, if it werent for Margarets dreary attitude, which hung about the house like a damp mist. From the beginning, she took a dislike to Caroline and even hoped Peter might divorce her. Such wishes melted away, like memories after waking. Then the children came, tumbling one after another, full of wild laughter and muddy boots.
Caroline always suspected that Margarets opposition to a fourth grandchild had more to do with losing Peters financial support than concern over the children. She was used to comfortable living: Peter paid for her dentist, for spa days, sometimes even a new conservatory. To Margaret, the arrival of another grandchild meant the end of her little luxuriesall the things shed come to expect now cut adrift, like a ship on a foggy morning.
Caroline tried to ignore Margarets constant gloom, but it seeped into her dreams nonetheless, colouring them grey and shapeless. Still, the decision was theirs, and not even Margarets shadowy opinions could sway it. Another child would be joining their peculiar, bustling family.
All the while, Margarets meddling ricocheted through their lives, mixing up the order of things, as if she were rearranging teacups in a room with no gravity. How does one handle a mother who dips her fingers into her childrens affairs so deeply she leaves odd fingerprints everywheresometimes gentle, oftentimes cold as dew?
And so, the dream drifted on, strange and expectant, as the house seemed to grow endless rooms and the kettle whistled tunes that no one had heard before.
