Everyone Should Have Such Help
Poppy, dear, Im coming over today. Ill help with the little ones.
Poppy balanced her telephone between cheek and shoulder, gently bouncing a wailing Max.
Mrs. Henderson, thank you, but were really manag
The dial tone cut her off. Her mother-in-law had already rung off.
There was a crash in the loungeSammy had upended the box of blocks. Molly shrieked with joy and scattered them across the floor. Max, on her hip, wailed as though he hadnt eaten in a week, though hed finished his bottle a mere twenty minutes before
Poppy glanced over at Andrew. He lounged on the sofa, face glued to his phone, absorbed, rather too earnestly, in something on the screen.
You rang your mum.
It wasnt a question, but a statement.
Andrew shrugged, still engrossed.
Well yes. Youre exhausted, I can tell. Mum will help
Poppy wanted to insist she was managing. That she didnt need anyone. For three months after Maxs birth, shed managed the house, fed all three children, even slept on occasion. But Max started to cry again, so instead she slipped into the bedroom, rocking him and steeling herself for Mrs. Hendersons arrival.
Andrews mother descended at noontwo enormous suitcases in tow, looking as though shed come to rescue a sinking ship.
Good heavens, Poppy, you look absolutely worn out! Mrs. Henderson glided past, sweeping her gaze over the house. And what a tip. Never mind, Im here now, well set things to rights. Everything will be fine.
By the evening of her first day, Poppy was already wishing shed bolted the front door.
What on earth is this? Mrs. Henderson eyed the chopping board, suspicious, as Poppy sliced courgettes.
Stew. The children like it.
Stew? Mrs. Henderson said it as though Poppy meant to poison her grandchildren. Oh, no, no. Andrew loves a proper shepherds pie. My recipe, of course. Step aside, Ill do it.
Poppy retreated from the hob, vegetable knife clenched in hand.
Next morning, Mrs. Henderson had Poppy up at seven, though Max hadnt settled until five.
Poppy! How are you dressing the children? What sort of circus is this?
Sammy and Molly stood there in their favourite dungareesbright yellow and red. Poppy bought them especially, so she could spot the twins from afar in the park.
Its fine, theyre comfortable.
Comfortable? You call this proper? Mrs. Henderson was already fishing out grey trousers and beige jumpers from her suitcase. They look like parrots! Besides, its far too brisk outside, theyll catch their death. Ive brought decent clothes.
Theyre happier in
Poppy. Mrs. Henderson straightened, folded her arms, tears glistening in her eyes. I came to help. And what do I get? Backchat, defiance. I raised Andrew, I know how it should be done. You you just dont appreciate me. You dont respect me.
She clutched her breast and collapsed onto a chair, the picture of heartbreak.
Andrew poked his head round the bedroom door, glanced from his mother to Poppy.
Oh, come on, he whispered. Mums only trying to help. Not everyone gets such help, you know.
Poppy kept silent. She changed the twins into their grey and beige, gave Mrs. Henderson a smile, and felt a little more of herself break inside.
By the end of the week, the flat was Mrs. Hendersons domain. The nursery furniture rearrangedcotbeds now stood in the proper places. The daily routine redrawn, with bedtimes and meals as she decreed. Poppy fed Max under her scrutiny, bearing pointed remarks about the angle of the bottle.
Andrew vanished onto the balcony every half hour, gazing out over the garden, pretending nothing was happening.
Poppy lay awake at night, unable to relax, flinching at every soundperhaps Mrs. Henderson was checking the children, making sure they slept correctly.
Shed rise groggy, fingers trembling, and brew coffee that did nothing to drive off her exhaustion.
On Thursday evening, Poppy opened the cupboard for formula and froze.
The shelves were bare.
Mrs. Henderson, she called into the kitchen, where her mother-in-law shredded cabbage for yet another shepherds pie. Wheres Maxs formula?
Binned that filth, Mrs. Henderson replied, not looking up. All that stuff is dreadful, I read about it. I bought proper food for him.
She nodded toward the table.
Poppys heart sank. There stood a cheap tinthe very brand that, a month ago, had made Max break out in a rash.
Hes allergic to that, Poppy said, voice tight.
Nonsense, Mrs. Henderson waved a dismissive hand. Allergies are what you get when you feed children wrongly. You did something wrong last time. Itll be fine now, youll see.
Poppy stared at the tin. At her mother-in-law, calmly chopping cabbage. She thought of Andrewwho, she was certain, had retreated to the balcony once more.
Something inside her clickedquietly, but finally.
Forty minutes later Poppy was in a black cab, cradling Max. Sammy and Molly, awkward in their beloved dungarees dug out from beneath Mrs. Hendersons contributions, pressed their noses to the window. A modest bag rested in the boot.
At her mothers door, she broke down at the threshold.
Mum, I cant go on. I just cant.
Her mother gathered her close, led her to the kitchen, sat her down. She poured tea, stroked her hair while Poppy wept into her cup.
There, there, pet. You and the little ones stay with me.
Her phone began buzzing at eleven and did not stop until three in the morning.
What are you doing, Poppy? Andrew raged down the line. Mums beside herself! She only wanted the best! Shes been such a help, and you just
I just want to live in peace! hissed Poppy, trying not to wake the children. She threw out Maxs formula! The one your mother chose gave him a rash last time!
What rash? You always make things sound worse than they are! Mum knows bettershes older!
Well, let her live with you, then!
Youre an ungrateful, hysterical woman, Andrew spat. Without mum, you wouldnt cope at all. Come home right now.
I wont. Not while shes there.
Silence. Then, gruffly:
Suit yourself, and he hung up.
The next morning, Poppy went to the registry office and filed for divorce.
Three days later, she returned alone to gather the rest of her thingsthe children stayed with her mother. Mrs. Henderson met her at the door.
Poppy, how could you? Separating the children from their father? Ripping a grandmother from her grandchildren? Its heartless! After all Ive given you, all my love and effort. If only everyone had my sort of help!
Poppy paused. She looked upon this woman whod broken her beneath the guise of wanting to help. Whod tossed away what her son needed, bought the food that made him ill. Whod rearranged the furniture, changed the children, shunted her from the kitchen and frayed her nerves to shreds.
Youll manage. Youll all survive, Poppy heard her own voiceicy and unfamiliar.
Mrs. Henderson gaped, gasping for air. Andrew dashed into the hall, seizing Poppys wrist.
Whats got into you? How dare you talk to mother like that?
Poppy pulled free, looked at her husbanda grown man still whining to his mother.
Dont touch me.
She went into the bedroom, packed what was left, stuffed it in her suitcase. She left without a single backward glance.
The divorce came through after two months. Andrew phoned for a few weeks, then gave up. Mrs. Henderson sent a long, scathing letter about how Poppy had shattered the family and ruined her sons life. Poppy deleted it unread.
Her mothers flat was cramped, but peaceful. At night, shed soothe Max in the kitchen, gazing into the inky darkness outside. By day, shed stroll with the twins in the garden, feed them vegetable stew, and dress them in their bright dungarees.
Half a year on, Sammy and Molly started nursery. Poppy found remote workediting documents in the evenings, once the children were asleep. There wasnt much money, but it was enough.
In the evenings, shed curl on the sofa. Max would sleep in his cot, and the twins would nestle beside her, clamouring for a story. Poppy would read The Three Little Pigs, doing the voices, while Molly giggled and Sammy nodded solemnly at every turn.
In those moments, as she leaned back and gazed at her children, Poppy knew she had chosen right. Hard years lay aheadraising three children alone was no easy path. Sometimes she was tired, lonely, or afraid. But it was the right path, all the same.
