“Pick Up the Pieces in Your Own Back Garden”
“Youre a right fool, Emily! That husband of yours, that good-for-nothing Simon, will leave you high and dry one day! Hasnt he put you through enough over the years?” Mum never minced her words when it came to her son-in-law.
“Mum, Simon and I have been together 37 years, and all this time, youve done nothing but warn me about him! Please, just stay out of it!” I snapped into the phoneagain.
I tried to avoid her as much as possible because every conversation was the samehow my husband was a worthless scoundrel. I was sick of defending him, even though, deep down, I knew there was some truth to it.
Back in the day, when we were young and foolish, Id left Simon once. Our son, Oliver, was five at the time. Wed had a blazing row, and I ended up in hospital with a concussion. I thought that was itdivorce, single motherhood, the lot. After I was discharged, I went straight to Mums, since Oliver had been staying with her while I was laid up.
She sighed heavily and said, “Tell me I was wrong. Thats not a husbandthats a monster! Stay here. Your dad and I will help you raise Oliver.”
“Ill think about it,” I muttered, too exhausted to make sense of anything.
“Dont thinkjust stay! That brute might do for Oliver next! I wont let you go back!” She might as well have bolted the door shut with us inside.
Mum had never approved of Simon. From the moment she met him, she couldnt stand him. Shed even hidden my dowry, sneering, “Let your precious fiancé clothe and feed you.”
A week later, Simon turned up, hat in hand. Mum barred the door, hurled abuse at him, and slammed it in his face. I was out walking Oliver at the time, so I had no ideaSimon told me later.
After a month of stewing, I decided to go back. Families go through rough patches, dont they? Like they say, husband and wife may quarrel, but they still share the same bed. Besides, I loved Simonalways had, always would. Thered never been another man for me.
So I hatched a plan. Winter was comingwhy not fetch our warm clothes as an excuse to see him? Without telling Mum, I took Oliver and went home.
Simon was over the moon to see us. The family was whole again. Mum, of course, was furious.
Truth be told, Mum and I never really clashed otherwise. She was kind-hearted, loving, a wonderful woman. But there was a skeleton in her closeta dusty little secret.
When I was fourteen, I found her diary stuffed away in the attic among old magazines while looking for a globe for school. Curiosity got the better of me, and I flipped through it. God, I wish I hadnt.
Turns out, after I was born, I was sent straight to a childrens homedespite having plenty of relatives. My biological father had refused to claim me, telling Mum, “How do I know who knocked you up?” The man I called Dad wasnt my real father at all. In her diary, Mum confessed shed only taken me back because times were hard, and her sister shamed the family into it.
That night, I confronted her with the diary. Without reading a wordshe probably remembered every lineshe tore it to shreds. But the damage was done.
From then on, a great wall rose between us. I felt betrayed. Anger festered in me like tar. The invisible threads binding mother and daughter had snapped for good.
I swore then that my children would be raised by their real parentsno stepfathers, no stepmothers.
Simon, sensing Mums hatred, suggested having another child. “She wont drag you and two kids away,” he said. I didnt argue.
Our little Paul arrived. Mum still raged: “Honestly, Emily, that tyrants tied you down with Paul now! And youre daft enough to believe him! That mongrel cheats left and right. Youll regret not listening to memark my words.”
She wasnt wrong. Simon was a real charmerhandsome, smooth-talking. Women clung to him like wet leaves. I shed plenty of tears over his affairs.
The day I landed in hospital, wed rowed because some brazen girl turned up at our house, thinking I was at work. Id left early with a headache. I walked in to find them half-dressed in our bedroom, champagne in hand. The girl bolted past me, shoving me hardI fell, hit my head, and woke up concussed.
Simon behaved for a while after that, but it never lasted. There were coworkers, old schoolmates, strangersyou name it. Still, I thanked my stars he never fathered any bastards. That wouldve been a proper mess.
Years later, our Oliver ended up in a scandal with a mistress who had his childwhile he was still married with a daughter of his own. Kids never escape the fallout of their parents mistakes. Hed watched his fathers antics growing up and decided to follow suit.
I dont know what Mum wants. Once youve married off your daughter, your jobs done. Not that you cut tiesvisit, help with the grandkids. But keep your nose out unless asked. Let grown children make their own mistakesits their life!
Like my gran used to say: “Pick up the pieces in your own back garden.”
This generational clash will never end. People keep stepping on the same rake, refusing to listen.
Mum and I havent spoken in three years. Were locked in stubborn silence. She tells everyone wholl listen that her daughter deserved better.
But maybe, Mum, I got exactly the husband I deserved.
And I wouldnt trade him for the world.
