If anyone had ever warned Ethel that she would become the spark of gossip, the wedge between father and son, she would have demanded the words be taken back. She was a plain, country girl, but she could still stand her ground. Yet the fates wove their knot exactly as they did, and even in the bleakest nightmare Ethel could not have imagined that happiness would require her to tread the seven circles of hell.
Ethel had only just arrived in Manchester, though she had begged her mother not to send her to her aunts house. At the family council it was decided that it would be Ethel who would go to Margaret Clarke, simply because there was no one else. John, the patriarch, had been a tractor driver and now found the fields overflowing with work. Mary, his wife, kept the farm humming, while the children shuffled between school and the little nursery.
Packing a modest suitcase with the barest necessities, Ethel set off for the aunt she had seen once, at a relatives christening. People whispered that Margaret, with her sharp tongue, had never managed to live peacefully with any of her three husbands. She had no children, no heirs, and Ethels parents secretly hoped she would leave the modest terraced flat to her niece. That is exactly what happened, but Margaret treated Ethel politely yet kept her at arms length. She never pried into the girls life and let no one into her inner world. One wonders why she wanted Ethel at all. Simply because, lately, she feared she would die unnoticed, lying there until a foul smell drifted up the stairwell and someone finally called the constable to break in.
Margaret had been battling an incurable illness for years, aware that she might depart for the beyond the very next day. Ethel became, to her, a ticket for a timely funeral and wake. Ethel sensed her aunts worries and asked no questions. She washed, cooked, cleaned, shoppedeverything expected of her. With no friends, the girl who after a hard day would usually sit on the village bench with peers felt a hollow ache. In the city she never left the flat except for the balcony, where she could sit for hours watching young mums strolling with babies, or elderly ladies gathering at the lift landing to chat about the weather. Ethels life seemed split in two: the unpleasant half, when she ran like a messenger delivering every whim of her ailing aunt, and the pleasant half, beginning when Margaret fell asleep after a dose of painkillers. Then Ethel brewed fragrant coffee and retreated to the balcony for a deserved pause.
Soon she met a charming neighbour, Andrew, who also appeared on the balcony at the same hour. At first they nodded silently, pretending not to notice each other, then exchanged greetings, and eventually their gestures began to echo the flutter of teenage infatuation. Both hurried to the balcony hoping to catch a glimpse of the other, to share a few stolen minutes. By the time Margaret passed away, Ethel and Andrew were already close, having confessed their feelings. After the modest funeral, Ethel did not return to the village; she stayed in Manchester, telling her parents she was enrolling at university, though they sensed the truth and did not argue.
Confident in her love, Ethel accepted Andrews courtship and his proposal. Andrew lived alone; his mother had remarried after a divorce and moved to the United States. His father, a doctor, worked in Nigeria, visiting only once a year on holiday. The wedding was simple but joyous, the couple the happiest they could be, now bound for a lifetime together.
Andrew decided to follow his fathers footsteps, training as a surgeon and taking a junior post at the city hospital. Ethel, wanting to match her husbands standing, enrolled in a nursing course after a brief stint of study. She imagined them working side by side, saving patients, but not all dreams come true.
Ethel, Dads coming in a week! Get ready, her sister whispered.
What does he like? We need groceries, a menu, a thorough clean
Relax, love. Hes not the king of Nigeria, just my simple dad.
Still, Ethel fretted. She had seen his photostanned, strongshouldered, a hint of Mediterranean. Appearances deceive; perhaps he was a snob or a perfectionist, finding fault everywhere. Or maybe Andrew would decide she wasnt worthy and leave. Yet Igor Vasily, the fatherinlaw, turned out to be a different man. He greeted his son and daughterinlaw with kisses at the door, apologized for missing the wedding, and brought a mountain of gifts. He praised Ethels stew, saying he hadnt tasted anything finer, then slipped away to visit old friends. A month flew by, and Igor returned to Nigeria, leaving the young couple alone.
Sometimes Ethel could not fathom why her fatherinlaw seemed ready to swap Igor for someone else. He cooked exquisite lacethin pancakes, rose early to prep, and helped Ethel tidy, offering his son this counsel:
Lucky you, good wifelook after Ethel, help her in everything, or youll lose your happiness.
Andrew smiled quietly, thinking, Where will she go? Ethel isnt the type to abandon everything; its not like his mother. Even if she strays, shell forgive and live as if nothing happened. Country folk endure for their children. He believed this with a strange certainty, so when a nurse flirted with him, he dove into a new affair, untroubled by the fact his wife endured a weeklong severe morning sickness and could barely lift a pot. He arrived home fed, dined with his colleague Karina, drove her home, then pretended exhaustion to retreat to his own room. Ethel seemed oblivious to the shift, lost in her new sensations. One part of her rejoiced at the thought of motherhood; another feared she couldnt cope, though how could she when her husband was so caring?
When the baby arrived, the demands multiplied. Milk ran short; the child cried at night. Andrew grew frantic, demanding Ethel soothe the infant while he retreated to the lounge. When Igor visited again, he barely recognised Ethelher oncecheerful, rosy face now pale and gaunt, a shadow of herselfwhile his son had grown gaunter, lingering late and looking over his shoulder.
Help your wife, will you?
Dad, shes at home all daylet her have a break with the baby.
Someone new in your life?
Why ask?
I see you light up when youre out, and youre irritably sour when you return.
Just nothing serious, Dad.
Make sure nothing serious turns into a disaster.
Ethels to blame; shes stopped looking like a woman. Look at her hair, her face.
Its your fault, you know. She never rests.
Im off, work wont wait! he shouted, vanishing.
Andrew seemed deaf to his fathers pleas, believing that because Ethel stayed home she must master everything. Only Igor understood her without words, offering help wherever possible.
Ethel, go to bed, Ill watch the granddaughter.
What if she gets hungry?
You think I cant mix a formula and feed the baby? Remember, I raised a bit of a rogueyour husband.
Thanks to his fatherinlaw, Ethel managed to catch some sleep. Igor walked the granddaughter, fed and tucked her in, granting Ethel rare moments of rest. Grateful, she prayed nightly that God would grant him a partner to share his own happiness. Alone in Nigeria, he seemed a lonely figure, while Ethel, Andrew, and their daughter formed a small, tangled knot.
Ethel found herself thinking more and more of Igor. He became more than a fatherinlawhe was a standin for father, brother, friend, confidante. She could talk about anything with him; he listened, soothed. Dark thoughts lingeredwhat if he left, what would she do without him?
Ethel, you look downcast.
Just
Here, some moneygo to the salon, get a haircut, colour, makeup, a manicure. Then shop for yourself. Dont worry about the child; Ill look after her.
In a single swoop she kissed Igor on the cheek and darted out to obey. By evening, a radiant, happy Ethel returned home. A sudden impulse nudged her toward a surprise for Andrew, and she turned toward the clinic where he worked.
Good afternoon, Im here to see Dr. Andrew Clarke.
Hes in, please come in.
Ethel imagined his face lighting up at her fresh look, but what met her eyes was a young nurse perched on his knee, her coat halfunbuttoned, clearly not for a routine checkup. Ethel bolted from the room, hailed a cab, and wept all the way home.
What happened, love? her sister asked.
Andrew hes cheating
Who told you?
I saw it with my own eyes
Igor wrapped his arms around Ethel, stroking her hair.
Cry, dear, itll ease the heart. Ill talk to him, hell come home.
Im leaving with the baby.
Dont be foolish. The village isnt sweet; work is hard, and you have a little one.
No one had held Ethel like that in ages. Their marriage had drifted into separate rooms, yet the scent of his cologne and his soft words swirled around her like a warm fog. Igor, too, felt an unexpected pull toward herher fragility, her vulnerability. He lifted her, carried her to the bedroom, and she offered no resistance. They kept a secret, hidden in shadows, a secret that would have been obvious if Andrew had paid any attention beyond Karina.
Guilt warred with a strange joy of being cherished. She compared Andrew with Igor, and to her dismay, Igor won every contest. Then she discovered she was pregnant again. The dilemma tangled her thoughts; they had been intimate only a few months earlier, and Andrew would surely suspect infidelity.
What are you thinking? Its wonderful! I never imagined becoming a father again at fifty. Will you marry me?
And Andrew?
What about Andrew? I know we both erred, but hes also at fault. Hell eventually leave, and I love youI cant live without you.
After the divorce, Ethel and Igor signed the papers and flew to Nigeria. Their parents could not understand; the village gossiped that shed only pretended modesty, but in truth Andrew spent years recounting how cruel his wife and father had been, yet they cared little. They were happy to have found each other, treasuring every fleeting moment they shared.
