Mollys family
Mollys mategirls kept insisting that her son, Mike, had rushed into picking a fiancée straight from the pub. Hed just come back from his army stint, full of hotblooded enthusiasm, and suddenly a clever lass had swooped in and charmed himno objections, shed agreed to everything.
She was short, sturdy, a bit stubbylegged, with a broad face and tiny, slanted eyes. In Mollys eyes the name Jane didnt suit the future daughterinlaw at all, and the girls echoed her sentiment.
Girls a proper missfit, a real threestar disappointment.
Did she even finish school or end up at Oxbridge?
Mike was a handsome athlete, top of his class, and right after demob he dived back into university. The girl hed just met got pregnant almost immediately.
Shes doing it on purpose!
Jane isnt his type!
Mike decided to get married. Molly poured her heart out at tea with old schoolmates, vented, but at home she kept short, quiet chats with her son, choosing to stay silent. His eyes glittered far too brightly for her likingshe feared a nightowl would outsing the dayrooster, or perhaps she just didnt want to hurt Mike.
She remembered getting pregnant herself at nineteen, just shy of twenty, a month before her birthday.
The boy had been a frail child, often ill, but he grew up strong, took up sports, and was always eagersometimes more eager to wed than to study. Molly wasnt thrilled, but she hid her displeasure. The child, after all, wasnt to blame for his parents slipups. She fully backed Mikes wish to be a proper father, to give his child a proper name and a respectable life.
She swore she wouldnt become the kind of motherinlaw who, from day one, never said a kind word to her daughterinlaw, as shed once experienced with her own stepmother. That stepmother had never visited, even though they lived in the same town, and had let the house fall into disrepair.
When Mikes mother divorced, his grandmother took the baby in, registered the child before she passed away, and was relieved the flat would stay in the family. Molly, although not a believer, ordered regular prayers for her late grandmothers soul, knowing how much it meant to her. She kept the old photographs, tucked the albums in her room, and gave the portrait of her wartime grandfather a fresh frame, now hanging above the kitchen table. The grandmother had once reminded her of a certain 1950s film star.
Molly turned out a very different person, while Mike grew into a handsome young man. In autumn, Mike asked if he could spend a few weeks living with his mum, or if he should apply for a family room in the university halls. He cooked borscht (though now it was a hearty beef stew) and promised not to cause trouble if his mother said no.
Molly, halfamused, gave her verdict:
Move your Jane over. Well swap rooms. Ill give you the big onefor the three of you.
Mike leapt up, planted a kiss on her cheek and whispered, Mum, youre the best! Dont worry, Ill get a parttime job. We wont be a burden on you! He was full of confidence, barely grasping what it meant to have a baby in a student flat.
Molly didnt let the grin slip from her sons face. Life would manage, she thought. Yet the early days of this new household under Mollys roof went wildly against the expectations of the everoptimistic landlord.
Molly worked at the Manchester Central Library, headed a department, earned a modest £25,000 a yearenough, she told herself, if she stretched it. Then the nineties stormed in with all the promises of freedom and bright futures, only to deliver chaos. Her friends marriages crumbled one after another; husbands either drank, disappeared for seasonal work, or simply vanished. Nighttime gunshots rang outside some flats, blood stained the pavement, and wages at factories dried up. The librarys pay now looked like pocketchange next to soaring living costs.
Mike furrowed his brow and studied hard, despite everything. On weekends he escaped to the countryside with mates, helped elderly neighbours with their gardens. Jane, evercheerful, kept the jokes coming, even when she struggled up the fourth floor of their flat without a lift, her swollen belly wobbling like a jellyfilled toy. After a gruelling birth, the very next morning she showed the newborn to Mike, eyes sparkling.
What shall we call him?
A tiny light flickered inside her, reflected in her smile.
Soon Jane struck a deal with a pair of retired servicemen on the ground floor, Ivan and Elena, who seldom chatted with anyone else. She persuaded them to look after a garden shed started right under their windowspotatoes, carrots, the works. By spring, most neighbours were digging up their own soil, following her lead.
Molly, though often worried, watched Janes quick thinking. The young wife never claimed everything was lost. She didnt have time to philosophise; she had a baby and a parttime degree to juggle. Brilliant! Terrific! Absolutely smashing! became her mantra. No need to travel far for fresh vegno one stole her crops. The challenges only forged her character.
The child grew fast: crawling at nine months, babbling at one year. Molly loved taking him for walks, playing, and never complained about Janes quirksher odd dress sense, slipups in speechshe gently corrected without a hint of snobbery. Jane never took offence; she thanked Molly and kept learning.
The little boy, Tommy, was a sunny mix of his parentshis mums temperament and his dads good looks. He ate well, slept plenty, and only cried when something truly bothered him. During Janes exam period, Tommy shuffled between his best friend Len, the veteran Smirnovs, and Molly herself, eating well, sleeping a lot, and behaving exactly like the model infant in those parenting manuals.
Molly, once exhausted by a cranky, oftensick toddler, realized that the myth of the eternally cheerful child was just a marketing ploy. Real babies exist who nap a lot, smile on cue, and dont scream from dawn till dusk.
As New Years approached, Molly felt a twinge of embarrassmentshe still hadnt met Janes parents. The couple had married quietly a year and a half ago, visited each others homes, but never invited anyone over for a proper celebration. Determined to fix that, Molly grabbed her oneyearold grandson, hopped onto a regional bus, and promised Mike shed be back by the weekend for a short break.
At the tiny bus station of a village that looked more like a hamlet, a crowd of about ten people greeted Janes motherinlaw with a banner that read Welcome! (they hadnt brought a sign themselves). The guest room was spruced up, a cheerful poster on the door reading The Ivan and Zina Brigade welcoming our new niece!
Mollys mouth fell open; the crowd seemed to have mistaken her for the bride. They whisked the baby away near the bus stop, refusing to hand him back. By the time she reached her flat, Molly was in tears, finding on her nightstand a fancy glass of tea and a sweet bun with a note scrawled in three different handwritings. It read:
Dear Molly, big hugs! Sweet dreams in your new place! May a fiancé visit in your dreams!
The relatives knew that the towns godmother was divorced, and someone had joked harmlessly. The next morning, the mischievous youngsters asked Janes motherinlaw how the dreamfiancé had turned out, and the spry old lady chuckled, Whats the surprise? The little one looks like a girlclimber! Ready to be married off, eh?
Later, the youngest grandson, Tommy, was found sleeping in a neighbours garden shed; hed apparently been taken to the countryside. Molly, frantic, rushed to the local aunt, who confessed that the child had been handed to Zina, a sisterinlaw, who promised to return him by evening.
Molly broke down, feeling both ashamed and guilty, not a bad mother but a flawed grandmother. After a cup of mint tea with a spoonful of honey and a splash of cheap gin, the relatives promised to bring the child back safely. Zina sent the little one home with the grandmother, who also offered a sauna visit the following night. The next morning, Grandma Anastasia, ever the devout, insisted Molly attend church for a service.
The holidays stretched from two days to a week. Molly never let Tommy out of sight, and the whole family was shuttled back and forth, eager to make introductions. When they finally boarded the bus home, five of them squeezed into the back, along with four huge bags of mushrooms, preserves, pickles, and knitted socks for Tommy, Jane, and Mike. The driver shouted, Dont be shycome back often! Were starting a new trend.
The nineties, with all their prickly edges, eventually turned into a decent, if stern, school of lifefull of bumps but also of spontaneous joy, warm socks, notes from Grandma Nasty, dancing, and singalongs.
Molly realised she smiled more, frowned less, and was generally content.
A few years later, a nephew of Janes, whod moved to the city to study medicine, asked to stay with her. She gladly offered a spare room. The lad bowed respectfully, and Molly opened her mouth in surprise, grateful that Grandma Nasty had never doubted her.
Meanwhile, Tom the toddler started nursery, Mike began teaching history at a secondary school, and Jane landed a job with a construction firman unexpected gig that paid real money instead of school allowances. Mike, a bit puffed up, thought the invitation was for him, not his wife, but got a sensible reply: Youre writing a dissertation and moving to university, right? He hadnt fibbed to the family.
By the early 2000s, Tom began winning math Olympiads. At the university, Mike met an attractive young colleague, the deans daughtermuch younger than both him and Jane, with sleek hair and a pencilskirt. He whispered to his wife about filing for divorce.
Jane went pale, nearly fainted. Molly swooped in, hugged her, and whispered hoarsely, What on earth?
Didnt I tell you a thousand times Id never walk away like my father? I wont abandon my family.
Mike said nothing, packed his bags, and left. A few months later, while Jane was out, Mike dropped by, asking about the division of assets.
What do you mean? Molly gasped.
The flat, of course. And ask Jane to move out. I dont want her crying.
In a flash, Mikes grip loosened, and Molly clenched her fists, growling, Get out of my house!
She swore shed never forget the dirty laundry, the courtroom drama, and the public exposure of the familys woes. Yet fate wasnt kind to Mike; the judge presiding over his case turned out to be one of Mollys old friends, and the assistant judge was a woman whose husband had abandoned her in London with two kids. The judge had no patience for cheats, no matter how many gold bars were offered.
Mollys exmotherinlaw tried to mediate, but Molly and Jane shut the door on her. Tom, now a lanky teenager, wandered around the house, listening politely. He saw the old lady, gave a courteous nod, and left.
Molly stayed with Jane and the grandson, backing them firmly. She heard countless grievances from her son, even curses, but held her ground.
Jane and Tom are registered here. This is their home.
My mother Mike muttered, I couldnt raise you right, Im a rogue. Forgive me.
The drawnout stress lasted a couple of years, never a clean victory. They had to pay Mike a sum to keep the flat, which Mollys relatives pooled together. The money eventually helped buy a modest onebed flat for Jane and Tom, who now drove a sensible car and dated a divorced accountant from her firm.
Molly herself never lived alone again. Tom, after building a house out in the country, visited his beloved granny three times a week, taught at a grammar school, and his students kept winning international Olympiads. Mollys days were full of occasional students and relatives dropping by.
Grandma Nasty passed away not long ago, leaving a lively wake with three days of singing, as if two accordions had been broken in a bad joke. Shed raised wonderful kids and grandkids, and a year before her death she promised Molly shed never be left alone.
Now at sixtyseven, Molly feels spry, jokes that her prayers keep her looking ten years younger, and her old friends widower, a man half her age, tells her: If you find happiness, grab it with both hands and dont let go! Thats how his own granny taught him. Listening to our elders really does matter.
