You have no mother left! snapped the motherinlaw.
Forget you ever had a mother. After youre married youll leave me alone, act as if I never existed, and I wont even hand over any wedding money. If I didnt pick your wife, I wont pay for this farce.
Eleanor Whitmore felt an odd, soaring joy when her little boy, Oliver, wrapped his arms around her and whispered:
Mum, youre the best in the world. Ill do everything to keep your smile alive.
Olivers innocent words turned Eleanors heart inside out. She swelled with pride at the thought of the cherubic child she called my little angel. Golden curls, skyblue eyes, a perfectly aristocratic faceevery feature breathed upperclass refinement. As he grew, Eleanor used his image to judge any potential future daughterinlaw: impeccable lineage, wellkept looks, a slender figure, a university degree, flawless manners, and a respectable position in a prestigious firm.
My son already owns a flat, she would say. Now we need a proper lady to keep it immaculate, to welcome guests at any hour, even three in the morning. Its her duty as wife and housekeeper.
Time passed, and Eleanors demands hardened.
No girls over twentyfive, otherwise theyll bear frail children. And we must be sure any child is truly Olivers.
Eleanor, have some sense of God, chided her relatives. Women like that dont exist now. If you want Oliver to marry on schedule, drop your obsessions, or hell stay a bachelor forever.
Oliver graduated with honours from both school and university, landed a wellpaid role, yet his love life stalled. Whenever he introduced a potential partner to his mother, Eleanor conjured a thousand reasons to banish the girl. At every meeting shed command:
Oliver, go to the kitchen and slice some fruit; well have a chat here.
The first girl Eleanor met was Mabel Clarke, from a modest backgroundher mother a bookkeeper, her father a coalstoker, with two younger brothers. Mabel worked as a pharmacy assistant, which set Eleanors mind racing:
She has constant access to medicines. What if she poisons my son? Or me? Shes unsuitable. Her family are labourers; we need something better.
Darling, you cant marry Oliver, Eleanor whispered when they were alone. Youre too different. He grew up in a world you cant imagine. Forget him and find someone more ordinary.
Mabel stood without a word and left, never saying goodbye to Oliver. When he asked why, she replied coldly:
Ask your mother who raised you in those special circumstances. She says youre too good for me; Ill look for someone simpler.
Mum, why did you hurt Mabel? I liked her, truly liked her. What did you tell her?
Son, youve forgotten something, Eleanor said slowly. Im your mother; I know best who can make you happy. Not Mabel, thats certain. Where did you find this? No proper family seemed to exist.
Oliver realised arguing with his mother was futile and walked away. He sometimes mentioned a new girl, but never brought her home. Eleanor offered help in finding a wife; he politely declined:
Ill choose my own partner.
I know exactly who youll pick, the old woman muttered. Youll bring home a cleaner with nothing but mops in her head.
At least the floor will shine, Oliver smirked.
Dont speak to me like that! she snapped.
Eventually Oliver moved out, taking the flat Eleanor owned and had rented out. His relationship with his father, George Whitmore, had been estranged since George left his mother when Oliver was six. After years, George agreed to meet.
You know why I left Eleanor? She never let me breathe, always monitoring where I went, what I did, what I thought. She said I couldnt teach you anything because I lacked a degree. Why should she have borne my child? I was just a draft animal for her. I quit. Then I thought, why waste my life on a madwoman who never cared? I left, she refused alimony, and they stripped me of parental rights.
And youre happy now? Oliver frowned.
Why ask? George replied, irritated. I bought you a flat and gave you the keys. Didnt she tell you?
What? Oliver stared.
I saved for ten years to give you a place of your own. If you ever stay with her again, youll have no life. She counts no one as a person.
Why didnt you talk to me? Oliver asked tentatively.
I didnt want you to suffer. Eleanor threatened to whisk you away to another town, and Id never see you again. So I watched from a distance.
Georges words shifted Olivers view of his mother. She became the most precious thing to him, and he often said hed seek a partner who reminded him of her. Eleanor smiled condescendingly: You wont find anyone like me anytime soon. Im a oneinamillion, perhaps a oneinabillion.
After Mabel, other introductions failed to satisfy Eleanor. Finally Oliver gave her an ultimatum:
Either stop meddling in my life, or Ill cut off contact with you.
Ungrateful wretch! Eleanor roared. Who do you think youre talking to? I gave you a home, an education. How dare you?
Mum, enough, Oliver pleaded. I know who actually paid for that flat. I talked to father; he told me everything.
And you believe him? she exploded. Not my own mother, but some hopeless drifter?
That drifter is my father, isnt he?
Eleanors face turned mottled. She stared at him with contempt and shut herself in her room. The next morning she didnt join breakfast. Oliver knocked, heard a furious shout:
Leave me alone and crawl back to your worthless dad!
Mum, why? Oliver opened the door and entered. She lay on the bed, hair tangled, dress rumpled, staring blankly at the ceilinga stark contrast to her usual immaculate appearance and expensive perfume.
You know, son, Ive decided, she said slowly. Marry whoever you wish; Ill be indifferent. Even a man halfPapuan with a penguinrhino mix. Just forget you ever have a mother. After the wedding youll leave me alone, and I wont give you any wedding money. If I didnt choose your wife, I wont fund this charade.
Understood, mum, Oliver replied with a wry bow, closing the door behind him. That day he moved into his own flat.
Six months later he invited his mother to a restaurant to announce his forthcoming marriage.
And who is she? Eleanor asked, indifferent.
She wont please you, Oliver answered coldly. Her name is Poppy Greene, twentysix, from a long line of doctors. A perfectly respectable lady.
Good heavens, and youre so sure of her worth? Eleanor rolled her eyes. Show me a picture.
Oliver pulled out his phone, displaying a photo of a young woman with delicate, eastern features.
Thats not Poppy, thats a girl named Gulchatai. Why call her that?
Poppy is halfKorean, Oliver explained patiently.
Even better, the mother sneered. She looks like a bulldogrhino cross.
Youll grow to like her once you meet her after the wedding, Oliver smiled.
Eleanors breath caught at his words.
After the wedding?! Youre really going through with this? Just to spite me?
Not to spite you for my own happiness, Oliver grinned, flagging a waitress.
She sat in shock, trying to picture grandchildren that looked like that an impossible, grotesque vision.
On the wedding day Oliver sternly instructed his mother:
No drama. If Poppy leaves because of you, Ill never forgive you.
Eleanor was forced to sit silently, like a shadow beneath the grass. She watched the radiant bride and her jubilant son receive congratulations, dance, and share tender glances. The next morning the newlyweds arrived with a gift for Eleanor, but she barred them from the doorway.
Listen, son. Ive done everything you asked. Now obey me. Dont bring that mixedblood creature into my sight again. Do you understand? You may have a thousand wives, but Im only one mother.
The couple left, and Eleanor, in a fit of spite, tossed the gift into the bin.
I wont take a thing from this halfbreed, she snarled.
After that, Eleanor fell ill often, and Poppy tended to her. Sometimes Oliver hired a nightcare aide so his mother wouldnt be left alone. Eleanor could never accept the daughterinlaw she despised, especially since the son had once compared her unfavourably to his mother.
You said youd find someone like me, Eleanor muttered. Where is the resemblance?
Dependent on Poppys care, she was forced to keep her tongue in check, a situation that grated on her nerves.
When the phone rang, she answered in a singsong voice:
Hello, dearest Poppy. How are you? My pressures spiking a bit. Can you pop over and have a look? Splendid, well arrange that
