The One Who’d Never Change
“Darling, why must you insist on that ruffian? He’ll bring you nothing but trouble, mark my words—you’ll weep buckets over him, you will! He’ll land himself in jail one day, and you’ll be left waiting like some soldier’s wife from the old tales, won’t you?”
“Mum, don’t say such things! Tom’s no ruffian. He’s kind and caring. And he loves me!”
“Love? That sort only loves when it suits them! Put him out of your mind. You’d do better with Geoffrey. Now there’s a proper husband—steady as a stone wall. Take it from me, I know what I’m talking about.”
Lydia glared at her mother, hurt by her lack of understanding—or willingness to understand.
“Mum, I don’t fancy Geoffrey. He’s just…”
“Just what? So he’s not the dashing type, but he adores you! Give him a chance! Boot that Tom of yours to the curb!”
“No, Mum. I’ll marry Tom and no one else. That’s final.”
“John, for heaven’s sake, talk some sense into her!” Margaret turned to her husband. “Must you just sit there?”
John heaved himself off the sofa and joined the fray. He wasn’t fond of Thomas either, but meddling in his daughter’s affairs wasn’t his way. She was grown, he reckoned, and ought to decide for herself. After all, it was her life to live, not theirs.
“What’s all this fuss about? Maggie, let the girl see who she likes. And you, Lyddie, mind yourself—but if ever you need help, you come to me. Understood?”
Margaret threw her hands up, while Lydia beamed and hugged her father.
“Thanks, Dad! Tom and I are only courting anyway. He hasn’t even proposed yet.”
“Aye, and let’s hope he doesn’t,” Margaret muttered.
Lydia bit her tongue, unwilling to stir another lecture.
At twenty, she was sure she knew her own mind—and equally sure her mother understood none of it. To Lydia, Tom had been the sun and stars for years now, a fact that grated on Margaret no end. Geoffrey, her university classmate, might’ve charmed her mother, but Lydia felt nothing for him.
With her father’s blessing, she began seeing Tom openly. The lad was over the moon. Though Tom had a wild streak and mates to match, his love for Lydia was real, and he’d have moved heaven and earth for her. Even reformed himself.
“Tom, we will rent a flat after we marry, won’t we? Can you manage it?”
“Course I can. Worst comes to worst, Mum and Dad will chip in. They’re chuffed about us, you know. Say you’re a good influence.” He grinned.
“Truly?” Lydia flushed, pleased.
This talk came during her final year at uni. Tom, already working, was saving hard for their wedding. Margaret still disapproved and refused a penny toward the costs. John didn’t argue, though he helped Lydia on the sly.
“Find yourself a decent chap, then we’ll pay our share,” Margaret said. “Tie yourself to that ne’er-do-well, and you’re on your own.”
Lydia wept from the sting of it, but her mother wouldn’t budge.
They made do. Luckily, Tom’s parents proved kinder, welcoming Lydia warmly.
“I wish Mum didn’t dislike you so. At least Dad said I can choose for myself. He doesn’t interfere—just supports me.”
Tom pulled her close, meeting her eyes.
“Don’t fret, love. Your mum only worries for you. I’ll bear her sharp tongue—plenty have disliked me before.”
“Oh? And who might that be?” She nudged him playfully.
“Well…” He kissed her. “Only ever loved you.”
“Always?”
“Always.”
True enough—he’d been smitten since childhood, back when Lydia’s family moved to their neighbourhood. He’d teased her rotten at first, till she stood her ground. Friendship blossomed, then love, deep and true.
His old mischief never held him back from scrapes, though—something he sometimes regretted but seldom dwelled on.
Now, though, he’d turned over a new leaf: finished trade school, worked at a garage, earning honest wages.
They married without her parents’ help. Tom, well-regarded at work, left his rakish youth behind. Lydia was happy, though Margaret still scoffed at her son-in-law, certain her daughter was doomed with him.
“Tom, let’s visit my parents tomorrow?” Lydia hugged him.
He stroked her rounded belly tenderly.
“Lyddie, best not stir trouble now. Once little Edward’s born, we’ll go—show the grands their grandson. Speaking of, Mum and Dad want to visit soon.”
“Lovely. Ask your mum to bake that brilliant pie of hers, would you?”
Tom smiled. “She’d be glad to. Dotes on you, she does.”
“Aye, your mum’s a dear.” She rubbed her belly. “She’s bent on a healthy grandson—says I must eat well.”
“Let her fuss, then,” Tom laughed.
Their life wasn’t lavish—debts crept in sometimes. Lydia hadn’t worked since graduating, so Tom bore the load alone. But the former scoundrel never complained. For her, he’d do anything.
Time flew, and Edward arrived at last. Eager to show him off, they visited Lydia’s parents at the first chance.
Margaret had cooked up a feast; John tidied briskly, longing to see his grandson—unlike his wife, still cold to Tom.
“Hullo, Mum!” They burst in, Tom cradling Edward, Lydia hauling nappies.
“Lydia! Carrying all that alone? Fine husband you’ve got!” Margaret jabbed.
“It’s not heavy, and Tom’s got Edward. Mum, enough.”
Tom touched her sleeve—they’d agreed to ignore Margaret’s jabs. But Lydia bristled at slights to him.
“Here, give us the lad,” John said, scooping up the baby.
“Well, when did you learn to handle bairns?” Margaret blinked. “You wouldn’t touch Lydia as a babe!”
“I told you I visit. Play with Edward often.”
Margaret reddened. “Oh, never mind. Come, let’s eat!”
At the table, talk flowed—John and Tom on work, Lydia and Margaret on the baby. Soon Tom joined in:
“We’ll put Edward in boxing or wrestling when he’s older.”
“So he’ll be a ruffian like you?” Margaret snipped.
“Mum!”
“Let her speak.” Tom met her gaze. “Am I a bad husband? Father? Do I not provide? Love my wife? I’ve changed. Yes, I was wild—that’s past. What faults remain?”
Silence. Margaret held firm:
“People don’t change. You’ll break her heart yet.”
“I’m happy already—”
“Margaret,” John cut in. “How many windows did I smash as a lad? Even had a record with the bobbies.”
“That’s different! You reformed!”
Tom laughed. Even Lydia smiled. Margaret flushed—then Edward wailed, halting the quarrel.
…Tom knew she’d never fully accept him. But he hoped, for Lydia’s sake, she might soften. Her approval mattered little to him—but Lydia’s sadness did. And love, he’d learned, could mend most things. Given time.
