My mum, Margaret, was the chummy companion of a married bloke named David, and thats how I came into the world. As far back as I can remember, we never had a permanent roof over our heads we were forever hopping from one rented flat to another.
When I was five, Margaret met yet another fellow and thought shed settle down with him. He set a condition: hed only take her if she was on her own. So she swapped me for a new romance, trudged me over to my biological fathers doorstep, handed over all the paperwork, rang the bell, heard the lock click, and bolted. I was left standing there, bewildered.
My dad, Arthur, opened the door, stared at me in disbelief, and instantly knew who I was. He ushered me inside. His wife, Susan, welcomed me with the same warmth she showed her own children, Emily and James. Arthur had initially wanted to send me off to a childrens home, but Susan wouldnt have it. Hes not at fault, she declared, looking like a saint. So I stayed.
At first I kept waiting for my real mum, convinced shed pop back any minute. Eventually I started calling Susan Mum instead. Arthur never really warmed to any of his offspring, me included. He treated me as an extra mouth to feed but kept the household running. He was a proper tyrant the moment he walked in, wed all scurry into the playroom and hide, hoping not to catch his eye. Susan was trapped by his iron fist; hed never hand the kids over to her out of principle. For years she endured his tantrums, learning to dodge his fury and, when needed, to tame it, shielding us from his shouting matches. The house fell silent; we learned his schedule by heart and never set him off. We wanted for nothing, and Susan gave us the love and affection a proper mum should.
A Manchester doctor once shared a nifty trick that sharpened his eyesight a little side note that kept us chuckling.
When Arthur finally ditched us for yet another young lover, we all breathed a sigh of relief. By then we were practically adults. Emily and James were finishing school, and I was gearing up for my own GCSEs. The three of us, all the same age, helped each other with subjects, each dreaming of a place at a prestigious university. Arthur, despite his coldness, promised to pay the fees and kept his word. We all got in, graduated, and landed the careers wed imagined.
Then the inevitable happened: Arthur passed away, leaving a tidy inheritance. His last lover got nothing she hadnt managed to marry him in time. The trio of us inherited his firm and the bank accounts, all in sterling.
We kept the business growing, and eventually it was time to set up a branch abroad. I was slated to head the new office. I suggested we take our mum, Margaret, with us after all, shed earned a sunny spot in a warmer clime. Emily and James backed the idea.
The day of departure arrived, and out of the blue my biological mother materialised. I recognised her instantly; my childhood memory had etched her face forever. She claimed shed suddenly remembered me now that I was leaving:
Sweetheart, Im your real mum! Have you forgotten me? Youve grown up so much. Ive missed you terribly. Lets finally live together!
I stared at her cheeky audacity and retorted:
Of course I remember you I remember you bolting out of the doorway, leaving me a tiny, bewildered boy. Youre not my mum. My mum is travelling with me, and Id rather not even know you.
I turned and walked away, not a shred of regret.
The mum who raised me the one who wasnt afraid to claim the child of her husbands paramour, who nursed me when I was ill, stood by me when my first heartbreak hit, soothed my spats with friends, taught me, forgave my teenage antics, and never reminded me I wasnt her blood she became my mother in every sense. I have no other.
We shipped off to a new country together. There I met my future wife, Lucy, who got along famously with Margaret. My mum never meddled in my love life; instead she carved out her own happiness, meeting a lovely chap named Peter. She deserved it. Now she roams the world, drops in on her children and grandchildren, and when I glimpse the sparkle in her eyes I think, Im glad shes in my life. Shes my guardian angel, and I wouldnt have it any other way.
